Red Hill (9 page)

“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!”

My legs ran faster than they ever had before, even in high school when I attempted track and wanted to please my mother so much that I ran until my lungs felt they would burst. Still, I was always the slowest, always the one left behind. But not that night. That night, I could fly.

The old railroad station came into view, and I skipped over the rails, and then surged past the remnants of the brick and mortar that displayed the word
ANDERSON
. The letters were dirty and rusted like my hometown had become. I glanced back just once before crossing the street. Even though sweat poured into my eyes, and my lungs could barely keep up, I wouldn't stop. Three more blocks to my babies. They would be there. They would.

I cut down an alleyway, getting a second wind when I felt the familiar gravel crunch under my feet. A dog barked, and I smiled. Not a single dog could be heard on the other side of town. The soldiers hadn't reached this side yet. Jenna and Halle would be waiting for me and I would take them into my arms and squeeze them so tight that nothing else would matter. The craziness outside the city limits would disappear.

I reached the end of the alley, across from Andrew's house. His detached garage and drive were directly in front of me, but his white Tahoe was absent. My chest heaved, and my guts lurched, purging the rattled remnants in my stomach.

Chapter Ten

Nathan

“
THAT
'
S YOU
,
BROTHER, LET
'
S GO
!” Skeeter said, running to a window. His head moved in every direction as he tried to get a good look. “Two cars! Right out front!”

Someone outside yelled, and I could see a large group of the dead peel off the wall and amble toward the street.

I ran to the door and pressed my ear against the door. No scratching, no rubbing noises. No moans.

“Zoe?” I called.

Zoe jogged to my side. I positioned her behind me and grabbed the knob.

“Wait!” Zoe cried, looking at her aunt Jill, who was lying lifeless on the floor, aside from her eyes. They were forcing themselves open, bloodshot and weeping, but alert.

“Zoe, we have to go,” I said, holding her wrist.

“I love you!” Zoe cried. She was just a child, but she knew that she wouldn't see her aunt again. “I love you, Aunt Jill!” Tears streamed down Zoe's cheeks as she reached out to her aunt, pulling against my grip.

Jill wore a faint smile. The veins had become more visible under her skin: blue, slithering lines, branching off and ­covering her like the virus spreading through her body. A single tear slipped down Jill's cheek and dripped to the blanket be­neath her.

Skeeter rushed to Zoe, pulling her into his arms. “Don't cry, lil' bit.” He placed his thumb under her chin and lifted her eyes to his. “I'm going to take care of Jillybean, mmkay? You know how much Uncle Skeeter loves Aunt Jill, don'tcha?”

Zoe nodded, and her eyebrows pulled together.

Skeeter smiled and hugged her to him once more. “We love you, Zoe. Listen to your Daddy. He's going to take good care of you. Be quiet, now.” Zoe's fingers pressed into Skeeter's shoulders. Skeeter let her go and stood. “Go, Nate. Go now.”

I nodded, put my car keys in my mouth, shoved the clip into the AR, cocked it, and opened the door. I leaned out to take a quick look. It was clear. I nodded to Zoe, and then nodded to Skeeter. He winked at me, and I ran, tugging Zoe along with me.

Crossing the street, I saw a black Jeep Wrangler speeding away toward Anderson. I didn't wait to see if those things would follow.

I let go of Zoe's hand and pulled the keys from my mouth. “Zoe, keep up!” I said, holding the key out in front of me so I could shove it in the lock as soon as we got to the car. I didn't want to do anything stupid like drop the keys, so I made sure to hold it securely between my fingers.

When we reached the car, I remembered I hadn't had time to lock it before, so I just opened the door and reached back to grab Zoe. Something rounded the corner of the house, but I didn't pay attention to what it was or how many, I just picked up my daughter and nearly tossed her into the passenger side. And then I did exactly what I said I wouldn't do. I dropped the fucking keys.

They slid under the car, out of sight.

“Daddy!” Zoe cried.

My focus shifted to the man walking toward me. I raised the AR and pulled the trigger and missed. I pulled the trigger again, this time hitting this ragged, bloody predator in the neck. The wound didn't faze him. Suddenly the left side of his skull exploded, and he fell to the ground, midstep. Skeeter stood on the other side of the street, with his hunting rifle in his hand. He held up his fist, extending his index finger, pinky, and thumb. I returned the gesture and jumped in the car, backing out of his drive and turning west onto the highway.

Miranda

FIFTEEN MINUTES EAST
,
I PULLED
the Bug over to the shoulder of the road. Mascara was burning my eyes, and it was getting harder to see. Bryce was still looking out the window. I reached back, squeezing when I felt Ashley's hand in mine.

She was my older sister, but Daddy had always said I was the strong one. Ashley didn't give me a choice. When our parents split, Ashley became a different person, like a sweater you put in the wash and it never fits or looks the same. She wasn't the giggly, carefree girl I grew up with. Instead she was sensitive, overly emotional and cynical. When she leaned up to show me her eyes, her blond hair fell forward, the long, stringy strands hovering over her lap. She was still sobbing, most of her face blotchy and wet.

“What if there's soldiers waiting at Fairview, too?” Cooper said, stuttering over his words.

Ashley's voice surged, in a half hum, half groan. “I want to go home, Miranda. I want to see Mom!”

“Fairview won't have soldiers. The only reason Anderson had those idiots with guns is because of the armory,” Bryce snapped. He was clearly more than annoyed with Ashley. As if the loud sobbing wasn't stressful enough.

“What do we do?” Ashley said. “It's going to be dark soon. I don't think we should be out at night.”

I looked to Bryce. “She has a point.”

He didn't necessarily agree, but he didn't argue. I pulled back onto the road and drove a few more miles until we came upon an old farmhouse. I turned into the drive, nearly taking out the formerly white, rusted mailbox.

The Bug's new brakes squeaked to a stop. We all stared at the house, waiting for someone to open the door, or greet us, or try to eat us. I reached for the door handle, but Bryce grabbed my arm.

“I'll go,” he said. He pushed open the passenger door and slowly walked up to the side of the house.

I glanced around. There were no vehicles, but there was a barn. Maybe they had parked there, and it only appeared deserted. Two cars traveling west on Highway 11 caught my eye: a silver car and a black, four-door Jeep Wrangler. For half a second, I focused on the child in a car seat. She was passing by in slow motion, holding up a teddy bear, oblivious that the world had gone to shit around her.

“Oh my God,” I said, turning to watch them drive past. “Oh my God!”

“What?” Ashley cried, instantly panicked.

“They're headed straight for Anderson. They're going to be killed by those crazies on the bridge!” I opened my door and stepped out.

“Bryce, let's go! We have to stop them!”

“We can't save everyone that heads that way,” Ashley said, gripping my headrest.

“But there's a . . . there's a baby in the car! Bryce!”

Bryce turned to me with a frown, holding his finger to his mouth.

“But . . . ,” I said, watching them drive out of sight. And then they were gone. I sat back in the Bug and shut my door. “That's on us,” I said, my eyes meeting Ashley's in the rearview mirror.

“Hurry up, Bryce,” Cooper whispered, mostly to himself.

Bryce took one look inside and turned on his heels, jumped off the small, concrete porch, and sprinted to the Bug. He slammed the door and pointed to the road. “Go,” he said, out of breath.

“What did you see?”

“Go! Go!” he yelled, pointing.

I stomped on the gas and pulled back onto the highway. “What?” I said, safely back on the road. “What did you see?”

Bryce shook his head.

“We should turn around.”

“No.”

“Try to warn that family about the bridge.”

“No.”

“Didn't you hear me, Bryce? There was a baby in the car! We should turn around!”

“There was a baby inside that house, too!” he yelled. He took a few deep breaths to calm himself, and then spoke again. “Trust me. If they're killed on that bridge, they're better off.”

I watched Bryce for a moment, and then returned my focus to the road. All color had left his face, and sweat had formed along his hairline.

“What did you see?” I said quietly.

He looked out the window. “You don't want to know. I wish I could unsee it.”

The next miles were quiet as we made our way to Fairview, but it wasn't hard to tell when we'd reached the city limit. More infected roamed the streets than I had anticipated, alone and in groups. We were almost through town when I slammed on my brakes.

“What?” Bryce said loudly, slamming his palm against the dash.

A woman was running down the street barefoot, carrying a little girl in one arm, and pulling along a boy, maybe nine or ten, with the other. She wore a red dress with white polka dots, and her hair had mostly fallen from her low, dark ponytail.

“Bryce,” I said.

“I see them.”

The woman stopped at the corner church, and helped the boy climb up on top of the air-conditioning unit, bravely passing a large group of infected. She heaved the boy onto her shoulders, and then pushed him up, allowing him to climb onto the roof, and then held up the little girl. He pulled her up safely, but she was reaching for the woman, crying and drawing the attention of the mob of bloody horrors pounding against the front of the church. Several of the dead ones broke away and ambled in the woman's direction. She was struggling to climb, but the boy waited, bent over and holding his knees, encouraging her.

It was then that I saw a trail of blood running up the side of the white wood of the church. Someone else had already gone in that way. Someone that was probably infected.

“We've got to help them,” I said, determined this time.

“Look,” Cooper said, his hand stretching between my and Bryce's seats. He pointed to the church. “The windows are boarded! There's people in there!”

Bryce looked to me. “It seems like a good place to wait out the night.”

I watched as the woman barely made it to the roof before the dead reached the unit she'd been standing on.

I let out the breath I'd unconsciously been holding. “Okay, but how do we get in? How do we get them to let
us
in?”

“They're not very fast,” Cooper said, gesturing to the woman on the roof. “She ran right past them.”

“I'm not going out there with those things walking around!” Ashley wailed. “No way!”

I looked around the Bug, making sure we'd have no surprises, and then noted the position of the sun. “We can't make it to the ranch before dark. There are already people inside there. They probably have guns, and water—”

“And a bathroom,” Cooper muttered.

Bryce nodded. “We have none of those. We're going in there. We just have to find a way to distract them long enough to get inside.”

“You guys get out here. I'll drive past them and lure them away, ditch the Bug, hide, and then double back.”

Bryce shook his head. “I'll do it.”

“Look!” Ashley said.

The woman was trying to open the window, but was having trouble. Suddenly it opened, and she held back her children, shielding them for a moment until she recognized whoever was standing on the other side. A tall, scruffy man ducked through the window, and helped the mother and children inside. He walked over to the edge and took a look at the frantic pack below. They were clamoring over each other, trying to get at the people on the roof.

“Look at them. They can't climb,” I said, surprised.

Bryce stepped out of the Bug and waved his arms. “Hey!” he yelled.

“What the hell are you doing? What if he shoots at us?” Cooper said.

“Help us!” Bryce said, ignoring Cooper.

The man on the roof signaled for us to come around to the backside of the church, and then pointed at his gun.

“He's going to cover us. Let's go. Let's go!” Bryce said, getting back in.

Without hesitation, I slammed my foot against the accelerator, and the Bug surged forward. Within moments, we were bouncing across the street and into the church lawn. The man held up his hand, palm out, and then turned to point, directing us.

I parked the Bug in the back of the church, and then jumped out, pulling up my seat for Ashley. “Go. Go!” I said, watching every undead thing on the side of the church turn in our direction and begin their approach.

The back door of the church opened, revealing the man from the roof. He turned the bolt lock as soon as the last of us was inside. The room was full of scared people, the mother and her children, another woman, two other little boys, and five men: the man that saved us, two middle-aged men, and two older men.

“Thank you so much,” I said to the man who let us in. “We needed a place to stay for the night.”

“Skeeter McGee,” he said, holding out his hand. I shook it, and he nodded to Cooper, Bryce, and Ashley, and then turned to one of the middle-aged men. “Gary, we're going to have to nail the boards back up on the door upstairs. Just one board this time.”

Gary nodded, and then turned, disappearing down a dark hall. His footsteps echoed back into the kitchen, and then the hammering started.

Everyone in the room traded glances, and then Skeeter tended to a woman on the floor. She looked near death, and a white, foamlike drool was dripping from the side of her mouth to the blanket she was lying on.

“Was Annabelle . . . ?” the older woman said.

“Not yet,” Skeeter answered.

“That's good news. Maybe Jill won't come back as one of those things. Or maybe she'll get better. We just don't know, Skeeter. Please don't do anything rash.”

“You don't have to bullshit me, Doris,” he told her. He ran his large fingers through Jill's damp, blond hair, and whispered something in her ear.

Doris looked at us. “Bless your hearts. You from Anderson?”

“We go to the university in Greenville. My father has a ranch northwest of here. We didn't really want to travel after dark.”

Doris nodded with understanding. “Can't say I blame you. You kids want some water?” she asked, already making her way to the refrigerator. She handed us all bottles of water, and we wasted no time tipping our bottles back.

“Your father has a ranch close to here?” Skeeter asked.

Ashley smiled. “Red Hill Ranch.”

Skeeter nodded. “I've hunted over there. That'll be a good place for you.”

• • •

GARY RETURNED FROM THE HALLWAY
, hammer in hand.