Red Hill (6 page)

The lock clicked open and the doorknob turned, and then Jill opened the door wide, waving quickly for us to come in.

I set Zoe down. Her glitter sneakers slapped against the green-and-yellow diamond-patterned linoleum of the kitchen. I took a deep breath, trying to blow out all of the anxiety I'd just built up while attempting to get Zoe out of the car and inside the house alive, while Jill locked the door behind us and set her rifle down.

Jill slammed into me, wrapping her arms around my torso and squeezing so tight I was glad I'd taken a good breath beforehand.

“Oh my God, Nate! I'm so glad you came!” She let go of me and then bent down to hug Zoe. “Hi, sweet pea! Are you okay?” Zoe dipped her chin once, and Jill looked up to me, fear in her eyes. “Where's Aubrey?” When I didn't answer, she stood up and peeked out the window. She turned back to me. “Nate! Where is she?”

“She left me.”

“What? When?”

I shrugged, unsure of what expression matched the conversation. “Today.” Any other time I would have felt justified telling my sister-in-law the news, but at that moment I just felt stupid. With everything else going on, the end of my marriage seemed trivial.

Jill's almond-shaped eyes bounced between Zoe and me. Aubrey leaving wasn't exactly a surprise. She'd been depressed and unhappy for a long time. No matter what I tried or how many times I asked her to go to counseling—together or just her alone—Aubrey was no longer the woman I married, and we were all waiting for the woman who took her place to finally say she didn't belong in that life. We all pretended it would get better, but the unspoken truth is always louder than the stories we tell.

Still, for Jill any expression but a smile seemed out of place. She was a beautiful woman. Watching her clean a buck or a catfish with that porcelain skin and those long, delicate fingers had always been surreal to me. The fact that she could shoot a gun and bait a hook made her perfect for Skeeter, and he loved her as much as any man could love a woman. They'd been dating since high school, and neither seemed to mind that they'd never experienced anyone or anything else. Anywhere but Fairview, Jill would have never ended up with Skeeter, but here, in the middle of the middle, even with his blossoming beer gut and unkempt beard, Skeeter McGee only needed country-boy charm, working man's muscles, and a decent job to score the magnificence that was Jill.

Speaking of Skeeter . . . “Where is he?” I asked.

Jill put her hand up to the side of her face. “He left about half an hour ago. He went down the street to Barb's and Ms. Kay's to see if they needed help. They're getting old and their husbands have been gone for years. He shovels their driveways every winter, and fixes things when they need fixin'. He worries about them. With hell breaking loose outside, he wanted to try to bring them back here where he could take care of them.” Jill unconsciously reached for Zoe's hand, the thought of the monsters outside reflecting in her eyes.

“Did he take a gun?”

Jill nodded. “His thirty aught six.”

“He'll come back.”

Chapter Six

Nathan

BEFORE THE SICKNESS CAME
,
WAITING
was an irritation. Now that the dead were walking amid the living, waiting felt like the violation of being robbed, the helplessness when you've lost something valuable like your keys or your wedding ring, and the unbearable dread that comes over you when your child falls just out of sight at the shopping mall, all rolled into one sickening ball of emotion.

Jill paced in the kitchen, her fingers in her mouth while she chewed off every last bit of fingernail her teeth could find. I checked the windows and the front door, making sure everything was secure. Zoe sat in the doorway connecting the kitchen to the living room, quietly picking at the hem of her long-sleeved T-shirt.

A familiar whistle sounded just outside the kitchen window, and then a shot rang out. Without looking, Jill scrambled to unlock the door, and Skeeter stumbled inside, out of breath and sweaty. He sat his rifle beside Jill's while she locked the door, and then they hugged and kissed like they hadn't seen each other in years.

Jill whimpered, and Skeeter held her face in his hands. “Don't cry, Jillybean. I told you I'd come back.” He kissed her forehead, and then held his arms out wide to Zoe, crouching as much as his six-foot-three frame and 220 pounds would allow.

Zoe immediately popped up and ran to him, melting into his arms.

“Zoe!” he said, kissing the top of her head. “We've missed you!” He looked to me. “I think she's grown a foot!”

The conversation was typical, but typical conversation was unsettling during an apocalypse.

“Where's Aubrey, trying to boot up the computer?” he asked.

Jill looked to me, and I looked down at Zoe. “She wasn't home when we got there. She left a note.”

Skeeter's expression was hard to decipher. I wasn't sure if he was confused or just trying to process what that meant.

Jill stood next to her husband. “Ms. Kay? Barb?”

Skeeter offered a contrived smile. “I got them both to the church. I came back to get you. They're boarding up the windows as we speak, and almost everyone brought supplies. Food and stuff. Guns. Ammo. It's a good holdout.”

“Skeeter,” I said. “It's not a good idea to get all those people in one place. It'll be like a buffet.”

Skeeter's face fell a bit. “There's not that many people.” He grabbed his gun with one hand and wrapped the other around Jill's waist, talking softly in her ear. “Get a few changes of clothes in a bag.”

Jill squirmed. “I don't want to leave the house, Skeeter. Can't we just stay here?”

Skeeter lowered his voice even more. “They're breaking through the windows. We don't have anything to board ours up.” He lowered his chin, waiting patiently for Jill to agree. Once she did, he continued, “We need to take as much food and water as we can carry. I'm going to get the weapons and ammo. Be quick, baby.”

Jill nodded, and then disappeared to the other side of the house. Skeeter brushed past me into the living room and opened the closet door. He pulled out two oversized duffle bags and brought them to a brown safe sitting against the wall next to the television. It was taller than Zoe. Almost as tall as Jill. Skeeter turned the combination and quickly opened the heavy door, pulling out pistols two at a time and setting them into the bag. Once he emptied the safe of handguns, he began pulling out his rifles, scopes, and shotguns. He filled the other bag with ammo, hunting knives, a first-aid kit, and several boxes of matches.

I looked down at my brother-in-law, watching as he kneeled down on the floor to organize his survival bags. “Jesus, Skeeter, did you know this was going to happen?” I said, only half ­joking.

“Anyone that didn't think this was a possibility was in denial. With the technology out there, how long have people been talking about zombies? Since before we were born. I knew last fall when the reports about
human attacks
were on the news for a day or two, and then you didn't hear anything about it. I don't care how crazy bubble bath can make a person . . . there is no drug that can get me high enough to chew someone's face off.”

“It was bath salts, Skeeter. They said the guy even admitted to it. It was in his system.”

Skeeter looked up at me, dubious. “You still believe that, do ya?”

I crossed my arms and leaned against the doorjamb, trying to pretend his theory wasn't completely disturbing. Surely our government didn't know. This sickness couldn't have been here that long—months—without the government telling us until it got out of hand.

“They would have reported it in the news before now.”

Skeeter paused and took a breath, still staring at the floor. “They did, Nate.” He reloaded his thirty aught six and stood.

A crash sounded on the other side of the house, and Jill screamed.

The next events seemed to happen over a span of several minutes, but it was really only seconds. Skeeter scrambled up from the floor and tore through the living room to the bedroom. He yelled, and then shots rang out. They were loud. The emotional side of me thought about covering Zoe's sensitive ears, the logical side—which won—went into survival mode and I grabbed my daughter and raced through the kitchen to the back door, clawing at the dead bolt. Just as I pulled open the door, something dead and horrifying stood in our way.

Zoe screamed, and then another shot rang out, this one not far from my ear. All sound merged into a single, solid ringing noise. Skeeter had shot the . . . thing . . . in the face, and shoved past me with Jill on one arm and the survival bags on the other. He yelled something to me, but I couldn't hear him. The only thing I could hear was the ringing.

Skeeter finally pointed and motioned for me to follow. I grabbed Zoe's hand and shut the door behind us, hoping whatever was coming through the bedroom window would have trouble with doorknobs.

Miranda

ONCE WE GOT TO THE
ranch, we would be safe. That was what I kept telling Ashley while trying to keep the Bug from getting stuck—on or off the highway. Daddy would be there waiting for us. He was a crack shot, and Bryce had been hunting with him enough over the years that he was getting pretty good, too. I had teased my dad so many times about his ridiculous collections of firearms and ammunition.
No one needs this many. It's like a car collection. It's a waste,
I would say. But because of my dad's silly obsession we would have weapons, the kitchen cabinets and pantry would be well stocked, we would have well water, and Butch—my dad's bull. He didn't like anyone in the yard. Not even us. If we let him out, we'd have our own security system. Red Hill Ranch was the best place to ride this out.

All we had to do was make it there, and we were in like Flynn.

We'd all tried our cell phones. Different numbers. Even 911, but we all got the same busy signal, or out-of-range signal, as Bryce called it.

“The towers must be down,” he said.

“Well, that's just great,” Ashley said. “I can't get Internet, either!”

“Trust me,” I said. “No one is checking your Facebook status right now.”

“For the news,” she snapped, irritated with my joke.

“I'm going to take this exit. Take a back way. The interstate isn't getting any better, and if I keep driving in the median and the shoulder I'll end up blowing a tire.”

Bryce frowned. “We've only got another twenty miles until the Anderson exit. The interstate is the fastest way to your dad's.”

“It used to be. Now we're bypassing hundreds of cars stuck or stalled and trying not to run anyone over.” Ironically, just as I said that, an older man stepped out between cars. He leaped back just as I passed. I wasn't slowing down. Not even for the terrified people who were now on foot and crying out for us to save them.

“Miranda,” Ashley said, her voice small. “They're not all sick. We can help them.”

“Help them how, exactly? Give them a ride? We're in a Bug, Ashley, we don't have any room.”

“Ash,” Cooper said, trying his best soothing voice, “she's right. Everyone is afraid. If we stop, someone might take our vehicle from us.”

“I'm taking this exit,” I warned, glancing over at Bryce.

“Stay on the interstate!” Bryce barked, a hint of desperation in his voice.

He wasn't trying to be a jerk. I couldn't blame him; leaving the interstate was choosing something unknown. Anything unknown in this mess was downright terrifying. Staying on the same road as thousands of others who had the same goal of survival was less daunting somehow. We weren't alone in our terror, and passing all of these people with the only working car on the road was both scary and comforting. We had the advantage. We were the safest out here where no one was safe.

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.