THE SLEEP OF THE GODS

A NOVEL

JAMES SPERL

Copyright © 2009 James E. Sperl

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

The author wishes to acknowledge the use of Michelangelo’s masterful The Creation of Adam, located in the Sistine Chapel, Vatican City.

Book design: James Sperl

The author wishes to acknowledge the following people for their time and commitment in proofing this book. The story is, ultimately, a better one because of them. In no particular order, special thanks is extended to Kim, Barbara, Ma & Pa Sperl, Linz, Toeknee and Martha, may she rest easy.

Prologue

Now

The light was green. She didn’t know how long it had actually been illuminated, urging her to move, but guessed it had been some reasonable amount of time given the chorus of car horns blaring at her from behind. Yes, the light was, in fact, green.

But she couldn’t move.

Staring through the polished windshield of her Toyota Prius, Catherine wondered if Clarendon Avenue would look the same several months from now. Would her favorite bakery, Nino’s, artisan baker of authentic Italian breads, still be there, kneading and crafting their ever-so-wonderful ciabatta and diavola? Would the Switchback Coffee House still be brewing her daily—and life saving—cup of South American bliss with just a splash of cream and a smidge of cocoa? Or better yet, would Andy’s market still be able to produce the quality and quantity of fruits, vegetables and other cooperative goodies for which it had become so regionally famous? Only time would tell, she knew. But lurking somewhere in the back of Catherine’s mind was a nagging voice, one that whispered what she already knew to be true.

She eyed the swaying sycamore trees that lined either side of the street, they seeming to dance and rejoice at the beauty of the day. This caused her immense sadness for if they knew what she knew they might indeed find a way to resist the temptations of the wind. She could only look at them now as doomed friends who, on so many occasions, had provided her and her family with a shady park bench on which to enjoy an afternoon ice cream. It seemed unfair to simply leave them to their impending fates. But this was something she would have to get used to.

Glancing at herself in the rearview mirror, Catherine swiped away smudged mascara from her face and tried to free the clumps of black that were beginning to cake her eyes. She sniffed deeply and willed herself to push down on the accelerator.

But she couldn’t.

The symphony of horns had given way to a vocal cacophony as irate drivers yelled epithets and other unpleasant suggestions. And it wasn’t as if Catherine was choosing to endure this vehicular abuse because she particularly enjoyed it. It was merely the lesser of two evils. For she knew as soon as she stepped on the accelerator the reality of where she was going and what she was about to do would sink in like a lead weight.

The man on the crosswalk signal switched from green to orange. She considered, for a moment, the idea of allowing the light to return to its home position of red. She knew this would not please her fellow drivers, but the alternative was just too frightening, too real. And before she had a chance to consider her options, the car was moving.

She glanced, as if not believing, down at her own foot, now firmly pressed on the gas pedal. The traffic light drifted overhead, its signals just visible enough to witness the bright red circle come to life thus trapping the small line of cars that had formed behind her.

The sudden, involuntary decision to drive had come from a subconscious place. Somewhere where the importance and urgency of what was at stake overrode Catherine’s unwillingness to face it. But now she was driving. She was on the path and there was no going home.

Damn you, Warren.

Part I: Exodus

1

32 Minutes Ago

It was all coming together. Everything was going just as planned and Catherine couldn’t be happier. Warren had long since put in for vacation time and the kids would be out of school soon enough. Then summer would be upon them all and the long awaited, over-planned and oft-debated summer vacation of their dreams would be in full swing.

Catherine became giddy at the thought of it.

The trip would commence in Barcelona, Spain continuing on through to Sevilla for the weekend. Then, riding in style in the best Andalucian car they could afford to rent, they would wend their way over to the French Riviera and on up to Paris for a few days. From there it would all be by rail—Brussels, Amsterdam, Warsaw, Prague, Vienna and Salzburg with the final leg of their journey landing them in “The Boot”, as Warren called it. Italy had been at the top of her list since she could remember and the reality that she would soon be sipping cappuccinos for breakfast while imbibing Vino Nobile and other notable Italian wines over dinners had her in such a state of anticipation she had actually considered canceling a city or two just to allow some more time in that most fertile of peninsulas.

It was at this time, as Catherine re-inspected her family’s packing list, that Terri called. The vacation was in less than a week and there was a lot to do. Terri, ever the omniscient, seemed to sense the building stress that accompanied such planning even though said planning should have been a joyous activity, a prologue for the adventure to come.

Catherine grabbed the chirping phone from its cradle, glanced at the number on the display and plopped down on the sofa with a smile.

“Your timing couldn’t have been better,” she exhaled.

“Let me guess,” Terri kidded, “you’re packing and repacking suitcases, re-examining your itinerary endlessly and, basically, just bouncing off the walls like a fifth grader on the last day of school.”

“You know me too well,” Catherine grinned as she adjusted her blouse to allow air to move over her chest.

“Catherine, honey, it’s gonna be fine. You guys are gonna have a wonderful time,” Terri assured.

“I know, I know,” Catherine conceded, “It’s just that I always feel like I’m forgetting something. And not just ‘something’ but something important like a passport, a ticket or some other vital piece of information that I’ll most certainly need.”

“And if you do, so what?” Terri countered. “You think you’d be the only person to have forgotten something on a trip?”

“No, I know.”

“Then stop worrying,” Terri urged, her tone taking on more sincerity. “In one month you and I will be parked in front of your computer, a glass of wine in our hands, looking over every last picture you’ll take. And all this fretting and hemming and hawing you’re doing is gonna seem like a distant memory.”

Catherine nodded silently, glad she had a friend like Terri in the world to keep her grounded. There was a time when she and her husband Dan were to join them on their world adventures and the initial late night talks over travel itineraries were both enthralling and exciting, as if by the mere mention of a country’s name they had somehow teleported themselves there and received some near experience. But two weeks after this plan had been floated out into the ether, Dan was hit with massive layoffs at his Motorola plant and lost his job along with twenty percent of the overall workforce. For Terri, the dream would remain just that.

“Do you need me to come over?” Terri offered.

“No, no. Of course not,” Catherine said, brushing it off. “Geez, you’d think I was planning a funeral the way I’m carrying on about all of this.”

“Hey, travel’s a stressful thing. And let’s face it, you’ve got one whopper of a trip coming up.”

“Thanks,” Catherine teased.

“Sure thing,” Terri returned. “But just remember that everything you’re doing is supposed to break down into one common goal: fun.”

Catherine rose from the couch and sauntered into the kitchen, pouring herself a glass of water from the dispenser in the refrigerator door.

“I just don’t want this to bore everyone, you know?” Catherine said, taking a quick sip. “I’d like Warren and the kids to have at least a little interest in what we’re doing. But they just seem so...indifferent to the whole thing.”

Catherine dumped the remaining water into the sink. “Listen to me,” she said, irritation rising in her voice. “Poor me, blah, blah, blah. Seriously, how do you tolerate me sometimes?”

“Heavy sedation and therapy,” Terri responded, laughter immediately following.

Catherine put her hand to her mouth, stifling the snorty laughter everyone who had ever known her had grown accustomed to hearing. She leaned forward on her kitchen sink and gazed into her over-manicured backyard. “So has Dan had any luck yet?” she uttered, her laughter fading. She knew full well he hadn’t but felt compelled to move this one-sided conversation someplace else.

“No, not yet,” Terri said with a sigh, “but we’re keeping our fingers crossed on a barista position opening up down at the mall. We hear one of the perks are free muffins for employees, so that’s good.”

Catherine beamed from ear to ear, tickled at the thought of seeing Dan—a chemical engineer since birth, as far as she was concerned—donning an apron and matching baseball cap only to serve java to hyper-caffeinated soccer moms. Happy for the levity, Catherine played along.

“Well, you know, if that doesn’t pan out,” she began, “I heard there’s a fantastic opportunity at the Fry Bread House.”

“Oh, yeah?” Terri said. “What are the benefits like?”

“Are you kidding?” Catherine responded, trying desperately not to burst into laughter. “The works: matching 401k, stock options, bonus incentives, all-you-can-eat fry bread...”

“Hold on a minute,” Terri requested. “Let me get a pen.”

Catherine could hear Terri rustling through papers in the background, feigning a search for a writing implement. It was all she could do to keep character.

“Okay,” Terri returned, “now tell me about this fry bread.”

That was all it took and Catherine found herself stifling and snorting in equal measure as she exploded into laughter. And as if it were there to signal the end of a jaunty round of tomfoolery, a faint beep emanated from Catherine’s phone. She quickly glanced at the face, checking the incoming call as she wiped happy tears from her eyes.

“It’s Warren,” she said.

“All right, I gotta go anyway. I need to apply some festive buttons and pins to Dan’s overalls just in case TGI Friday’s calls back. I’ll talk to you later.”

Catherine chortled loudly, trying desperately to regain her composure before answering the phone as it beckoned to her with simultaneous buzzes and tones. She breathed as deep as she could and let it out, lifting the phone back to her ear.

“Hi,” she said enthusiastically, doing all she could to keep from giggling.

“Hey,” Warren replied, his voice sounding exceptionally lower than usual. He’d always been a baritone with a deep, resonant voice, but there was an unusual quality to his pitch at the moment. The kind of quality one might have after a night of loud talking in a noisy bar.

“Were your ears burning?” Catherine inquired.

“What?”

“I just got off the phone with Terri. We were talking about the trip and how much I’m looking forward to it and stressing over it and hoping everyone has a good time and all that stuff. You know, basically psychoanalyzing myself and flushing out my neuroses.”

Catherine smiled broadly, proud of that fact that she was able to mock herself and feel no real sense of anguish at admitting what was, invariably, the truth. She was a basket case and that was okay, thank you very much.

“Yeah,” came the response from the other end. Catherine knew immediately that Warren had either not listened to or cared about what she had just said. And this perception immediately brought her back to earth like a brick without a parachute. “So, what’s up?” she said joylessly.

“I, uh...I can’t talk long but I need you to listen. Listen carefully.”

“Okay,” Catherine said, not sure exactly what that meant, but now focused on the next words to come out of Warren’s mouth.

“The three star hotel is booked. You need the four star retreat,” came the words, monotone and dry.

Catherine took a minute to get her bearings, the sentence being not at all what she was expecting.

“Did you hear what I said?” Warren asked, Catherine noticing a slight tremble in his voice, as if he were trying to suppress emotion.

“Yes...but everything’s already been arranged,” she replied, still confounded as to what he was talking about. Yet, there was a synapse in the corner of her mind trying to ignite, trying to brush the cobwebs loose.

“The three star hotel is booked. You need the four star retreat,” he repeated, his voice now taking on a more urgent tone as if what he was saying desperately needed to be understood. In the background, Catherine could hear other voices speaking in a discordant swell, overlapping and intertwining with each other. But even amidst the jumble of words and noise Catherine could decipher one unmistakable characteristic: fear.

“Warren, what’s going on?”

“Catherine, please. The three star hotel is booked. You need the four star—”

“I know, I know. I heard you. The four star retreat. I need the four star retreat,” Catherine said forcefully, pure, actual anger starting to build. “But I don’t understand. This trip has been booked for two months and you wait until a week before we’re supposed to leave to start making changes—”

And then it hit her.

That synapse finally fired, punching her in the stomach with an electric jolt of reality.

The Four Star Retreat.

Yes, she had heard him all right. But every fiber of her being wished she hadn’t. “Warren, what...what are you saying?”

“I love you,” he uttered, his voice breaking slightly. “Tell the kids...” His voice trailed off, not wanting to finish the sentence, as if by uttering what he wanted to say would only add more weight to the situation. “I have to go.”

Catherine stared into her backyard again, this time seeing nothing. The world had been reduced to a pinprick of light in front of her and everything that was ever beautiful had just been corrupted. Staggering backwards she managed to find the top of a kitchen stool and sat, her body resting limply upon its surface. The phone felt like it weighed twenty pounds and she could feel the blood leaving her face.

“Okay,” was all she could manage to say. Anything else seemed as if it would take an effort she was incapable of providing.

“Goodbye. I love you.”

The click of the receiver in her ear may as well have been a thunderclap. She held the phone to her head with a numbness she had never experienced before.

With a thud, the phone crashed onto the countertop as her arm just couldn’t seem to bear the weight any longer. She pushed herself up from the stool, as the spinning world seemed to resume a more manageable speed. She moved her foot forward in a gesture that resembled a step until gravity, both figurative and literal, grabbed hold and forced her to whirl and vomit into her kitchen sink. As she hunched over the stainless steel basin she had a brief moment of levity when the thought occurred to her that one of the last things she would see of her home would be a tarnished and stained sink trap.

Catherine moved with increasing speed. She had already pulled the pre-packed duffle bags from the farthest reaches of the walk-in and tossed them carelessly on to the bed. She then proceeded to withdraw a small stack of unassembled cardboard boxes from an overhead shelf near where she kept copies of important documents such as wills, birth certificates, life insurance and the like. She glanced at these momentarily knowing with a deep pang of sorrow that there was a very great chance they would be worthless after today.

She tossed the boxes beside the duffel bag and stood, wiping the tears that just didn’t seem to want to stop flowing from her face. It had taken her a moment since Warren’s call to rejoin the now, but once she did the impact was astonishing. She was unprepared for the emotional strife she would feel, the shock of it all. It’s one thing to plan and prepare for a situation that, by most accounts, was one percent possible and ninety-nine percent improbable, but it’s that one percent that sneaks up behind you, grabs you around the throat and holds a loaded gun to your head.

Catherine quickly tied her shoulder-length, chestnut brown hair in a haphazard ponytail, surveying her bedroom as she did so. She drifted from object to object, recalling in flashes of borrowed time where she had attained the various items that comprised her sleep oasis, as she’d come to view it: the privacy screen from Japan which was more decorative than useful; the self-portrait of Inicio Juarez, a Brazilian painter she had discovered and a piece of whose art she was fortunate enough to have attained; her French, Renaissance-era armoire that had cost several car payments, but was worth every penny of its handcrafted mastery.

But it was the pictures that gave her pause.

Sitting on top of her dresser and vanity, they seemed to entrance Catherine. She gazed at them in a way she had never considered before. She stepped toward them and looked over the eclectic group of framed photos, each depicting a different, but always happy, moment in her, Warren and the kids’ lives. And that was what she loved most about photographs: the ability to suspend time and portray the true spirit of the moment, regardless of what happened before or what happens after the shot is taken. That moment is real.

She glanced from the various shots of Abby and Tamara at the beach to a family portrait she had, more or less, forced everyone to do. Josh was the most difficult to persuade to cooperate, not so much for his distaste of staged photography, which was colossal, but more to the idea that he would have to don “nice” clothes. But even after all the bickering and pleading, the final result had proven to be one of considerable pride for her.

While viewing the pictures had given Catherine a much-needed calming effect, an immediate and sudden opposite reaction soon took hold. She quickly checked her watch. It had been seven minutes since she had spoken to Warren and her world turned on its ear. But what was pure and complete hysteria moments ago had now metamorphosed into a focused, more determined Catherine. Despite the nauseating effect it had on her, she managed to realign her priorities and fight through her deep desire to curl up in the fetal position in the corner of the room. She grabbed the portrait from the dresser, held it up close so the details were more visible: Tamara’s summer dress and golden hair; Abby’s white smile and sparkling eyes; Josh’s well coiffed hair and tidy suit; Catherine herself, in what she considered one of the better pictures she had ever taken; and Warren, as handsome as he ever was, standing over them all, the proud father he had always been.

This was what her job was now. This was and is the only thing that had ever been truly important to her. And whether she liked it or not things were going to be different after today and it was up to her to be strong for everyone, regardless of how immensely difficult it would prove to be.

She quickly stuffed the photo, frame and all, into one of the duffel bags zipping it shut with authority. She snatched both bags and the boxes and made a beeline for the door, glancing over her shoulder briefly before disappearing into the hallway.

Catherine rushed into the kitchen and quickly assembled the three collapsed boxes. She immediately began pulling food items from the pantry and cupboard and tossed them into the empty boxes. Rice, pasta, dried beans, crackers, cereal, granola bars, soups and canned goods—anything non-perishable or with a long shelf life. That’s what Warren had said.

It took three trips to get everything packed into the vehicle. Certain she was in possession of all necessary items, Catherine slid the ignition key into its slot with a shaky hand and turned, the strength required to do so seemingly more than usual at the moment. The car hummed to life as Catherine stared up at her two-story dream home. From the wrap around porch complete with his and hers rocking chairs to the enormous bay window overlooking the community lake to the pottery studio she had always wanted, Catherine had never been happier than she was here. She tried desperately not to think about what she was losing, instead trying to concentrate more on what she was preserving. But as she shifted the Toyota into reverse and made her way on to the street, the tears she thought she had cried out of herself into a near drought had managed to find moisture again as a monsoon arrived.

2

School Daze

The drawing was one of the better ones he had ever sketched. Not really one for faces, this one actually had the appearance of a recognizable human being. The ears and eyes were proportional, the nose majestic and striking and of suitable length. The mouth, with its full lips, was pursed in a pensive, yet sultry fashion. And the hair, well, it was one of his strong points; having mastered its tricky series of challenging swoops and curves long before anything else.

Mrs. Patrick continued to prattle on from the front of the class. Something about organic compounds and covalent bonds or some other such nonsense. It was a shame, too, for someone as pretty as Mrs. Patrick to be so consumed by the periodic table of elements and test tubes and beakers and the like. But she made a great model for his heroine, her curves providing a virtual still life roadmap without requiring much need for the comic exaggeration that had become such an iconic fixture in sequential art.

Josh began adding shadow tone to the breasts while simultaneously glancing at the chapter in his textbook into which he decided to pencil the drawing. Currently, they were on chapter four, a long and arduous stack of pages (fifty-four!) on the properties and dynamics of hydrogen. Josh exhaled wearily, boredom being but the simplest of words to describe the effect this class had on him.

While being far from a four-point-oh student, he was even further removed from the bottom of the grade barrel. This was due in large part to his disinterest in core subject matter, while knowing full well the value of these classes. It had been instilled in him at a very early age, and not without physical threats to his backside, that at all times he was to give his absolute best: in school, in life, in everything. Anything less would be considered unsatisfactory, especially for his father. So it was with this nugget of sage advice that Josh did as requested and tried his absolute best not to waste any more time than was required to accomplish the same goals as someone who’d spent twice as much energy digesting information they could’ve read about on their own time.

Beginning now on the thighs, Josh noticed a sudden absence in the air. His senses were returning to him, the mind-numbing blabber, which had served as a scrim of white noise up until now, had vanished. He raised his head, searching for the source of this most welcome break from tedium.

Mrs. Patrick had indeed stopped talking, instead focusing her attention on the classroom door. A look of concern overtook her face as she strode to the entrance and spoke into the hallway in hushed secrecy.

Josh’s good buddy and fellow artist extraordinaire, Travis Enerts, leaned conspiratorially over his shoulder. “You did it now, Hayesly,” he jested, jabbing his friend in the shoulder with a dull number two pencil.

“Oh, man,” Josh began, “I hope it’s not your dad.”

“Why would it be my dad?” Travis responded, seriousness replacing the previous bout of jocularity.

“He must’ve found out about me and your mom. I tried to tell her we needed to take it easy, but she just kept asking for more and more cock. Shit, I hope she’s not pregnant.”

Travis rapidly assumed a tactical stance and let slip the dogs of war on Josh’s ear with the eraser end of his pencil. Josh cried out with a laugh as he tried to deflect further oncoming assaults by covering his ears.

“Josh?” a muddled voice seemed to say from somewhere in the distance. Josh removed his hands and looked around the room.

Everyone was staring at him.

“Josh,” came the voice again, this time clear and unmistakable. “Would you come here, please?” said Mrs. Patrick.

While initially creating quite the frenzy upon her invasion of Polk High, Catherine had managed to quell the uproar down to a mere whisper upon exiting the school. With two teachers, a security guard and most of the office staff serving as witnesses, Catherine approached principal Derris directly and, as plainly as she could put it, explained there was an emergency she was neither willing nor able to discuss at the moment. And this, surprisingly, seemed to be enough for old Mrs. Derris. With a simple nod of her head and a request for future clarification—at Catherine’s earliest convenience, of course—Mrs. Derris had allowed them all to leave.

Sitting in the parking lot of Whittier Elementary, Josh wondered if she had caused a similar hysteria in retrieving Tamara. One in which her bluntness and affability would have to be called upon again to relinquish the two of them from the evil clutches of school administration.

Josh still had no idea what this was all about and he really didn’t care. His mother had refused to divulge any pertinent information in regards to the matter, only reassuring him and Abby that everything was fine and that she would explain it all soon. And that was good enough for him. He’d just as soon pay a visit to the dentist than endure another five minutes praying for the sweet release of death from Mrs. Patrick’s lectures.

Abby, on the other hand was having a much greater difficulty in accepting the current state of events. With her phone pressed firmly to her ear she chattered on incessantly to, Josh could only guess, her friend, Samantha, in a grating shrill which bordered on a mild form of torture.

“We’re here right now. Yeah,” Abby squawked in a rapid staccato rhythm. “I have no idea. She’s acting totally crazy.” Abby chomped her gum. “No, she won’t tell us anything. I wonder if she’s, like, kidnapping us or something. That would so be my luck.”

The tinny, compressed response from the other end of the phone was much louder than it really should’ve been, Josh almost able to make out words. “I just hope whatever’s crawled up her butt leaves before next week,” Abby continued. “I am not missing the end of year dance. I know. Totally.”

“She’s not kidnapping us, you dank,” Josh chimed in from the front seat, unable to endure the ravings of a fourteen year-old lunatic any longer.

Abby pried herself from her phone, covering the mouthpiece with her hand, “Shut up, Josh! I’m not talking to you.”

“And I thank the gods for that little gift. But is there any chance you could take it down a notch? You’re at a ten and I need you at about a three. It’s like listening to a fork on a chalkboard the way you and Sam shriek at each other.”

Abby feigned a smile and, ever so ladylike, raised her middle finger, reattaching the phone to her ear. “Nothing, it’s just my dipshit brother, acting like a dipshit.”

Josh spun back around in his seat, returning in kind an equally intentioned middle finger of his own as Abby continued to babble incoherently. He stared through the windshield, the world around him deathly quiet when a single helicopter flew overhead, floating away from him toward the north side of the city. Looked like Channel Three news, he thought. Must be another high-speed chase on the freeway. Seemed like there was at least one every week or so.

Suddenly, Catherine and Tamara emerged from the school’s unassuming entrance alone—no security guard, principal or administrative official in sight.

They scurried in a half-run to the car, Catherine quickly opening and ushering Tamara into her seat, even fastening her seatbelt for her, which Josh hadn’t seen her do in years.

The consternation in Tamara’s face was apparent. Of the three children, she was the only one who actually cared for and enjoyed school. Not just the learning, but also the interaction, the process, the sense of discovery, all of it. It sometimes made Josh feel much older than he really was—and not in a good way. School never used to be such a burden, but the disinterest in classes, the cliquishness of the student body, the lack of participation in anything resembling school pride and the seeming unfairness of being forced to learn, quite simply, destroyed his spirit.

But that was him. Tamara was not like him and he was grateful for that. Knowing she needed some sort of reassurance at the moment, Josh attempted to proffer some words of encouragement as Catherine walked hurriedly around to the driver’s side.

“Everything’s okay,” he began, the anxiousness on his sister’s face all too evident. “It’s cool.”

“Where are we going?” she asked, her voice filled with noticeable apprehension.

“Not sure yet. But I have a feeling we’re about to find out real soon. How’d you do on your spelling test yesterday?” he asked in a deliberate attempt to divert his sister’s fears.

“I got an eighty-four,” she answered as Catherine hopped into the driver’s seat. “I missed two words.”

Josh stared at Catherine as she settled herself behind the wheel. “Which two words were they?” he continued, never taking his eyes off his mother.

Catherine clutched the steering wheel and breathed fast and deep, the first major hurdle accomplished. And as if to verify this, adjusted her rearview mirror to better view her daughters in the back seat.

“Tedium,” Tamara said, “And...”

Up until this moment, Josh had accepted his mother’s behavior without a whit of concern. She was a good mom, always acting in the best interest of her kids. And where most of his friends seemed to have issues with one parent or another, Josh had nothing but the utmost trust for Catherine. She had always made the right call at the right time and in instances where Josh was left to question an action, the resulting denouement had proven itself to be the accurate course. But now, as he watched his mother, he witnessed something he had never encountered before in such a large dose: doubt.

Catherine started the car, leaning forward over the steering wheel. In the subtlest of ways she glanced up at the sky, her eyes darting skittishly over the heavens. This small gesture had an earth-shattering impact on Josh. For now, not only had he seen her express uncertainty, he realized this state of being was rooted in something much deeper and more profound, something which was the driving force behind today’s events.

Fear.

“What are you looking for?” Josh asked tensely, not altogether sure he wanted to know the answer.

Catherine turned suddenly, surprised at her son’s discovery of her. She forced a wide, sweaty smile as a little voice sounded from the back seat. “Oh, I remember the other word,” Tamara said.

“Yeah?” Josh replied as he searched his mother’s face, desperately seeking any semblance of solace in her eyes, but finding none. “What’s that?”

“Emergency.”

3

Force of Convictions

Catherine sped along the freeway, utilizing the car pool lane to its fullest extent. If there were a silver lining to the chaos of the day then the sparse traffic of a Tuesday morning would have to serve. Notorious for assuming the role of a parking lot for several hours in the morning and provoking homicidal tendencies in priests in late afternoon during the most unholy of rush hours, it had become equally infamous for its desert-like population in its off peak hours.

So far, everything had worked to her advantage.

“Mom, seriously. This has gone on long enough,” Abby blurted, piercing the silence of the car. “Where are we going? Does dad even know you have us?”

“He knows, honey. He knows,” Catherine affirmed just as one of the ubiquitous directional signs of the interstate passed overhead. Signaling her car, Catherine moved into the right lane and exited.

Josh, now astutely aware of his mother’s actions, also noticed the sign, but couldn’t begin to discern a rational explanation as to why they’d be heading the way they were.

Catherine quick-checked her watch and mumbled incoherently to herself, gripping the steering wheel with a white-knuckled intensity as the car began to accelerate.

This was all Josh could tolerate. “Mom! Enough, okay?”

Catherine whipped her head around briefly to meet Josh’s puzzled expression.

“I mean, Jesus,” Josh continued. “I think we’ve been pretty patient, don’t you? You yank us all out of school, shove us in a car, don’t tell us word one about what’s going on, only that we should trust you and that everything’ll be okay?”

“Yeah, mom,” Abby attempted to concur, “Why can’t you just tell us what you’re doing? Don’t you trust us?”

“Of course I trust you. I trust all of you,” she said, just able to intercept a lone tear with a quick swipe of her hand before it announced itself on her cheek. “It’s just that this...”

“This, what?” Josh asked, his volume rising. “Tell us.”

Catherine swallowed hard, readjusting her sweaty fingers on the wheel as she checked the rearview mirror. She glanced fleetingly at Josh who immediately grasped her unwillingness to comply.

“All right, fuck this,” he declared, turning around to face Abby. “Give me your phone. I’m calling dad.”

“You’re not supposed to cuss,” Tamara interjected.

“Sorry, Tamara,” Josh responded heatedly, snatching Abby’s phone from her extended hand. He instinctually flipped open the pink sequin-encrusted handset and started dialing.

“You can’t call your dad,” Catherine said.

“Yeah? Why not?”

“You just can’t.”

“Watch me,” Josh challenged. He put the phone to his ear.

“Josh, I’m telling you—”

“Why are we headed to the marina?” he yelled, surprising everyone with his outburst.

“We’re going to the marina?” Abby said, sitting up.

“What’s at the marina?” Tamara wondered aloud.

“Boats are at the marina,” Josh railed, focusing his attention back on Catherine. “I saw the sign, too. Back there where you turned. For Sandy Shoal? That’s where we’re going, isn’t it? Why are we headed that way, mom, huh? What’s at Sandy Shoal?”

Catherine knew she couldn’t reply. Not yet. It devastated her to keep her kids in the dark like this, staggering around like drunken sailors on a merry-go-round, but she knew—knew—this was what she had to do. A plan was in place and there was no deviating from it.

Straightening herself in her seat, Catherine made eye contact with her daughters in the rearview. “Listen to me, all of you,” she started, “I love you, do you understand? I love you. And I know you all have a lot of questions. My God, who wouldn’t? It’s completely crazy what I’ve put all of you through this morning, coming in and pulling you out of school the way I did. I would be just as bewildered as you are right now.” Catherine signaled again and maneuvered her car into the exit lane. A sign indicating the Sandy Shoal turnoff breezed past.

“What does bewildered mean?” Tamara queried the car.

“It means pissed off,” Abby snarled.

“Shut up, Abby,” Josh said, turning to Tamara. “It means confused.” He then shifted and eyed his mother. “It means really, really confused.”

“That’s right, honey. It does mean confused,” Catherine repeated, glancing at Tamara. “And you all have every right to be. I knew this wouldn’t be easy. You all probably have many other emotions going on inside you, too. Fear. Maybe anger. It’s all okay. And I promise all of you that I will explain everything and answer any questions you have. All I ask is that just for the moment, just for this immediate time, you trust me. Can you all do that for me?”

Abby fidgeted with her purse, subconsciously zipping and unzipping the main pocket. “Are you and dad getting divorced?”

Catherine locked on Abby in the backseat, and despite the lunacy of the day’s events, still managed to conjure a look of incredulity.

“Divorced?” Catherine forced herself to repeat. Then, as if uttering these words aloud had made trivial what would otherwise be considered a traumatic life and family event, Catherine burst into laughter. Tears of some sort spilled down her cheeks as she rapidly worked to clear the remaining mascara from her face. She glanced at Abby and smiled from ear to ear, the sadness in her expression unable to be vanquished with upturned lips. “I should be so lucky to have such problems.”

The waterfront crept into view. Everyone craned their necks, staring out into the open water toward the bevy of miscellaneous watercraft, which crowded the numerous marinas lining the harbor.

Another helicopter sped overhead curiously close to the ground, enough so that Tamara ducked.

Josh caught the reaction of his mother as the chopper flew past, the slight wince, the tensing of the shoulders. And as much as he’d like to believe these were responses brought on by surprise he knew better. His mother was downright afraid.

He turned from her and gaped out the passenger window. Storefronts lined the boulevard opposite the marinas. Funny, he thought for the briefest of moments, how in all the years he’d lived in this city he had never visited this area. It looked interesting enough with its tourist shops, cafes, restaurants and ice cream stores. And as if this very thought were transmitted, Abby realized it aloud from her place behind him.

“This place looks pretty cool,” she stated, her gruffness eased off just enough to seem peaceable.

Catherine squeezed out a smile over her shoulder when she was forced to brake dramatically. An ice truck veered into her lane just short of a traffic light, it changing from orange to red. Anxiously, Catherine tapped her thumbs on the wheel, as if by this very action the shift from red to green would hasten.

Josh looked from her back out onto the promenade. He watched people move to and fro along the sidewalk when something peculiar drew his attention. On any other day he would have thought not a whit about it, but today his senses were heightened, more acutely aware of his surroundings.

There were already six people standing at the display glass and three more appeared to be approaching, a look of curiosity on each of their faces. The sign above the store entrance read Telly’s Tellies, an apparent mom and pop electronics showroom. But the throng of onlookers gathered at the window prevented Josh from discerning exactly what it was that had captivated everyone’s attention.

The light, mercifully, turned green and Catherine made no hesitation in finding the accelerator. The car lunged forward and as they rode past the shop, Josh craned his neck to catch a glimpse of the center of commotion. But all he could see was a modest selection of widescreen plasma and LCD TVs broadcasting what looked to be a cable news network station. He thought it might be CNN judging by the color of its identifying banner but he couldn’t be certain. But doubtless was the impact the story seemed to have on the throng of bystanders, the majority of who displayed shock and surprise, their hands cupped in semi-permanent distress over their mouths.

With the ice truck now out of her way Catherine steered the car a few hundred yards farther up the street before turning in the direction of an entrance gate that displayed above its wall of chain link containment a breezy and appropriately whimsical sign that read “Sandy Shoals”. Designed in a cursive navy blue, it boasted a four-foot tall caricature of a Belted Kingfisher replete with sailor cap as he thumbed—or feathered—over his shoulder toward the marina.

Catherine maneuvered the car alongside a stand-alone digital card reader. A single quarter-inch high by two inches wide slot resided above a standard numeric key pad, these items the only blemish on the otherwise immaculate stainless steel surface. Above the reader was a small placard, black letters on white, with a brief message reminding visitors to punch in their berth number followed by the first three initials of their last name.

Josh deciphered the words even before the vehicle came to a halt. He watched as his mother proceeded, undeterred by the instructions and indications that this was a member’s only facility.

Annoyed that he was apparently the only one in the car who could read and was aware of the fact that they didn’t own a boat, Josh turned to Catherine, “Mom, you can’t get in. It’s a secured marina. Do you not see the gate five feet from your bumper?” Josh turned toward his window, exasperated. “Jesus, this is fucking crazy.”

“You cursed again,” Tamara muttered from the back.

“I know I fucking cursed, all right?” Josh railed.

“Don’t yell at Tamara,” Abby defended. “She’s not the one acting crazy.”

Catherine rapidly threw the car into park and began rummaging through her purse. Abby and Tamara glanced at one another in amazed silence, the absurdity of it all seeming to increase as the day prolonged.

And as if to emphasize this point, yet another helicopter flew overhead, its flight pattern close enough to the ground to upset the boats moored in the marina with the downdraft from its rotor. This time it wasn’t a news crew.

Catherine gave the chopper only a cursory glance, the distinctive emblem of the county sheriff’s department evident on the doors. Having discovered the object of her search, she pulled a slim, plastic case from the confines of her purse. She turned to Josh. “You remember a few moments ago when you asked me, ‘What’s at the marina?’” Catherine said, a look of minor success mixed with uncertainty clearly etched on her face. She held up a key card for the entire car to see, the same cartoonish Kingfisher stenciled opposite a side with a magnetic strip. She reached through her window and slid it into the awaiting slot of the reader, punching six keys on the keypad. A loud chirp sounded and the gate began to slide open.

Catherine returned the card to her purse then looked up at Josh with all the compassion and love a mother could have for her child.

“The answer is, quite simply, everything.”

She was the first one out of the car, popping the trunk from the inside as she scrambled to the rear of the vehicle, the door slowly rising open at her arrival.

Josh could see she was unloading several boxes and various other items from the trunk. He glanced at his sisters, stopping on Tamara. “Sorry, I yelled at you.”

Tamara grinned just a little, “It’s okay. You’re a dummy head. That’s what dummy head’s do.”

Josh smiled, pleased to have patched the minor rift he had created moments earlier in a bout of frustration. He wrenched himself almost completely around. “Well, should we go see what this is finally all about?”

“First smart thing you’ve said today,” Abby proclaimed. “Samantha is going to just die when I tell her about all of this.”

Josh winked at Tamara, she trying desperately to return the gesture as he opened his door and stepped out. Tamara and Abby’s doors popped open in succession as each girl clambered from the vehicle, following Josh to the trunk.

Catherine was finishing unloading the last of three boxes of food as everyone joined her, staring open-mouthed at the stash of odds and ends lying at their feet.

“What’s all the food for, mommy?” Tamara asked innocently, perusing the open boxes of canned and boxed goods.

“Hell with the food, what’s in the duffel bags?” Josh queried.

“Clothes. Now everyone grab something and follow me. Quickly.” And with that kernel of info tossed so carelessly forth, Catherine was off, a duffel bag strapped over her shoulder, a box of food cradled in her arms. She quick-stepped over to the end of a pier marked with a modestly sized letter ‘C’ whitewashed on sheet metal. That ubiquitous kingfisher was emblazoned in the corner of the sign, his wings outstretched as if to say “Welcome aboard!”

Catherine turned, scrutinizing the progress of her children: they were still standing beside the car. Summoning authority from her innermost drill sergeant, she inhaled deeply and bellowed in a way meant not only to command, but also, to a small degree, frighten.

“Pick up those goddamn boxes, get your asses over here and follow me. Now!” She knew this extreme manner in which she was attempting to get her kids to comply would be resented, but she also knew it would achieve the intended result. And as she lamented having to barrage Tamara’s innocent ears with such language, her decision to do so was immediately validated as her kids stooped and claimed the rest of the dockside merchandise.

She waited impatiently at the entryway of the pier for her children to rejoin her. And in that brief moment she felt what others surely must feel before embarking on a sea bound voyage, that exhilaration and anticipation of preparing for a humbling reduction in egocentricity. For that was truly what it was in her mind: Man versus sea. And so very often the sea lay claim to victory much to the chagrin of the individuals whose original intention it had been to venture forth upon her, seeking thrills or commerce. But with these excursions, unlike the one she was about to commence, there was the notion of finality. A destination. An end. And as she stared at the sleek and polished sailboats and yachts bobbing so harmoniously along the pier, Catherine yearned to share in that sense of terminality.

Josh, Abby and Tamara finally reached their mother. “Okay,” Catherine said, turning on them and starting down the pier.

Abby gawked at Josh and Tamara, the incredulity and incomprehension of her mother’s actions defined in her slack-jawed expression. “Where are we going?” Abby demanded, the irritation in her tone setting new standards even for her.

“This way,” Catherine answered over her shoulder without so much as a glance their way.

A series of sirens initiated somewhere in the distance. The familiar wailing of the horns began low, barely discernable, then gradually increased in decibel level until the source of the ear-numbing din became apparent. Three cruisers, lights ablaze, screamed along Stevenson Boulevard just outside the marina, vanishing in the same blur in which they appeared, their sirens fading into the air.

Catherine doubled back behind her kids. “All right, that’s it. Let’s move.”

“What’s happening, mommy?” Tamara asked.

“I don’t know, baby, but we’ve gotta go.”

“If you don’t know what’s happening, then what’s the rush?” Josh interjected.

“Not now, Josh. Just keep moving.”

“No, seriously. You’re acting all freaky. What’s happening? And where are we going with all this shit?” Josh commanded.

“We’re going this way,” Catherine indicated with a nod of her head down the pier. “Just keep moving. C’mon.”

Josh, having reached his tolerance threshold, tossed his bags to the ground.

“What’re you doing?” Abby said, drawing the attention of Catherine.

“Calling dad,” Josh replied, instantly dialing on Abby’s phone, which he still possessed. “This is bullshit. And I’m not going anywhere until I find out what’s going on. We could be breaking and entering for all I know.”

Catherine dropped her supplies and stormed up to Josh. She snatched the phone from his hand and threw it with all her might into the softly rippling water.

“My phone!” Abby screamed, as it plopped unceremoniously into the sea.

“ What the hell is wrong with you?” Josh howled.

“What’s wrong with me is that you’re not listening to me!” Catherine charged back with equal intensity. “Now pick up those boxes.”

Josh crossed his arms in defiance. “I’m not picking up shit. You want them? You carry them.”

“Josh Andrew Hayesly, you pick up those boxes right now. I am deadly serious.”

“Or what?”

In running through potential scenarios in her mind, this was one to which she had given the least amount of scrutiny: downright refusal to obey. Of course she suspected there would be resistance and anger and threats as well as the full spectrum of other emotions that would come into play on a day like today. But not this. She did not expect this. And as she stared at her son, knowing that time was of the essence in ways he just couldn’t comprehend, she found herself at a complete and total loss for words. She surveyed her children: Abby, wide-eyed with shock, Tamara, the poor child, fighting bravely to contain the tears that threatened to burst from her eyes.

She turned back to Josh, hoping he could recognize in her eyes the maternal compassion she was attempting to convey to him in this moment. She stepped up to him, speaking calmly and clearly and placed her hands on his shoulders. “Honestly, Josh, I don’t know what the answer to that question is. But I do know this: something is happening. And it’s not good. I can’t tell you how I know this. Not yet. But I will. Now, I’m going to say this for the last time: I need you to pick up those boxes and follow me. I can’t force you. You’re old enough to make your own decision. All I ask is that you just give me a little more time. Just trust me.” Catherine fixed her gaze on Josh as she spoke, his eyes finding mostly the tops of his shoes. “But more than that, I ask you—no, I beg you—to please not force me to make the decision to leave you behind.”

Josh’s head snapped up, found the seriousness in his mother’s eyes. She cupped his head in her hands, wailing on the inside like so many mothers of martyrs, then turned from him. She encircled her daughters in her arms as she headed down the pier, recollecting her dropped items.

Tamara looked back, the restraint previously maintained now abandoned as tears streamed down her face.

Josh watched with incredulity as his family moved away from him, their footsteps creating a dampened, staccato rhythm on the vinyl-coated decking.

“But...we don’t even own a fucking boat!” Josh hollered after them, holding his ground.

Catherine stopped midway down the pier, shifted she and her daughters so they were facing the water, perpendicular to Josh. She stared down the walkway at him and said simply, “Yes, we do,” then ushered Abby and Tamara forward.

Josh watched as his mother followed his sisters, disappearing behind a large yacht. And for the first time in his young life he had the distinct impression that this was the first truly individual decision he would make that could alter the course of his future existence. It was obvious to him that something was afoot. He had witnessed several helicopters en route to some newsworthy story and had seen police, both land and air, fulfilling their duty to protect and serve. But were these things uncommon? This was a large city after all. Shit happened. Sometimes a lot of it and, usually, it was bad. So what makes today so different than any other?

The quick answer: his mother.

Not prone to scare easily, she was quite levelheaded when it came to things that go bump in the night. Which made today all the more intriguing. He had seen fear in her eyes today. And while the surreal journey of the morning left him pondering which fork in the road to take as he stood uncertainly on a swaying marina pier, he knew instinctively which was the correct path, whether there was a sign or not.

Josh exhaled deeply, gathering physical as well as mental energy, and retrieved the boxes from the walkway. As he strode in the direction of his family a thunderous motor sprung to life, its idling sounding like a parked big rig. He continued forward, taking a turn along the slip down which he had seen his family disappear.

“You’ve gotta see this,” a voice from above yelled out.

Josh craned his neck, searching toward the sky and found Abby’s face peering down at him from the bow of a sleek, well-kept sloop.

“It’s a frickin’ yacht!” she barked, vanishing back over the lifeline from whence she came.

Tamara, her previous exhibition of emotion now thoroughly evaporated, popped her tiny face over the bow pulpit. “Josh, c’mon, c’mon!” she shrieked excitedly. “We’ve got a boat!” And with that she was off.

Josh couldn’t believe what he was seeing. Not once had he stepped foot on a sailing vessel of any sort and now on this most bizarre of days learns that his family is the proud owner of such a craft? Try as he might he just couldn’t find the enthusiasm his sisters seemed to share. Why had this been kept a secret? What possible harm could it have done to inform the rest of the family that we were in possession of a boat? And as this thought coursed through his neurons, an even greater question found its way to the forefront of his mind: what else had his parents refrained from sharing with them?

Josh held out his hand, caressing the white fiberglass hull of the ship. It didn’t take an experienced seaman to recognize that the boat was in top condition, most likely new. There was very little cosmetic damage to the exterior, the only blemishes having been created by the dock bumpers, which were molded in an unfortunate black.

Josh climbed aboard. His mother was a flurry of activity in the cockpit, busying herself with the various instrument panels. Catherine turned and saw her son standing on deck. She quickly descended the two steps from the cockpit to the main deck. She ran over to him and hugged him immensely.

“Thank you, Josh,” she said, tears forming in her eyes. “Thank you for making this decision. I can’t do this without you. Thank you for trusting me.” She kissed him firmly on the cheek and gave him another hug for good measure. “Are we good?” she choked out, holding Josh’s head in her hands, their faces mere inches apart. This time, Josh managed to hold her gaze and knew in that moment he had made the right choice—regardless of its outcome.

“Yeah,” he said. “We’re good.”

Catherine smiled, but in the most haunted of ways, as if this were only a minor victory in a lengthy, indeterminate battle.

Tamara bounded up from below deck. “Have you seen our rooms? They’re so cool. We’ve got bunk beds!” she said, her voice trailing in a Doppler effect as she ran to the stern of the ship.

Abby now joined them as she climbed the narrow steps from the lower deck. “How come we have so much food?” she asked Catherine, not overly concerned about the answer.

“What food?” Tamara shouted from her position along the lifelines.

“All the food in the big room in back,” Abby replied. “There’s tons of stuff. And barrels, too. What’re in those, mom?” she queried, her attention more focused on the new boat and all of its characteristics than on any real attainment of knowledge.

Catherine knew, however, that even though Abby had asked the question, Josh would be the one to which she would be answering. And as she freed the bowline from the mooring cleat she could feel his eyes on her waiting for an explanation.

“It’s water, honey,” she tossed out quickly. “Josh?”

The mention of his name jolted Josh into a sudden state of awareness. “Yeah?”

“Could you free those two spring lines for me?”

Josh looked around the ship, a look of complete ignorance on his face.

“Out here. On the float. These two in the middle.” Catherine pointed to two criss-crossed lines as she walked briskly past them to the stern, hastily freeing its mooring line from the dock cleat.

Josh watched how his mother unwrapped the nylon rope in a peculiar series of figure eights, tossing the freed cord onto the ship. He emulated her, but at a much slower pace. Wresting the first of the two lines from its knotting, he threw the rope aboard in a similar fashion, moving quickly, to his surprise, to the remaining line.

“Abby, gather those lines up, will you?” Catherine requested as she flipped open a seat bottom exposing a storage space filled with life jackets.

“Gather it up how?” Abby asked, confounded at the inquiry.

“Just pull them out of the way as best you can so we don’t trip over them,” Catherine directed, forgetting for the moment the immense lack of knowledge on the part of her children in regards to nautical terminology and procedure.

Josh worked the last line free in half the time of the first. He threw the rope then hotfooted it onboard. Catherine met him at the top thrusting a sparkling new orange vest in his arms. “Put this on,” she directed.

Josh took the vest, taking notice of his sisters who were already donning the latest in seaman’s attire, having seated themselves on a bench below the cockpit into which Catherine was now returning.

She positioned herself at the helm, throwing a single switch on the control panel near the wheel. A low groan emanated from somewhere inside the hull, immediately inducing a look of panic in Tamara’s eyes. “It’s just the anchor, sweetie.”

Catherine took a survey of her vessel: all lines had been cleared, the anchor was away, her children had put on their safety vests with virtually no fight—by all indications she was ready to set forth. And this sudden realization delivered a crippling wave of nausea directly to her belly.

Was she really doing this?

She turned around and looked down at her precious children as she took hold of the wheel. There would be many questions. And she would stay true to her word, answering each with as much honesty as she could. But they were not alone in their befuddlement. While she could provide some resolution to their inquests, a lonely thought tampered with her own need for explanation: who would be there to answer questions for her?

The anchor broke the surface of the water, its chain coiling automatically around the windlass until the remaining slack had been absorbed, the anchor coming to rest in its home position on the hull.

This was it.

The boat was adrift now. Catherine found the throttle and shifted into the maximum speed allowed inside the no wake zone as she angled the ship away from the pier and toward the main channel. She idled past the dozens of other moored pleasure boats and couldn’t help comparing them to a dog tied to a tree alongside a burning house. They were inanimate objects she knew, but there was still a sense of helplessness that weighed on her. Perhaps she was engaging in a form of transference, each of the boats representing someone in her life she held particularly close, unable to inform them of the knowledge with which she had been imparted.

Grateful she was facing away from her children, Catherine succumbed to her emotions and let the tears fall. All of her friends, her mother, her brothers and sisters and other family, her neighbors—what would become of them all? She knew only time would tell and although not an especially religious person, sought the only comfort available to her and prayed. To whoever was listening.

Catherine navigated past the last of the boats in the marina, giving cursory waves to other ships as they sailed past. And just beyond the breakwater directly ahead lay the ambiguous destination that would soon become home. Increasing speed, Catherine knew it was imperative, for the sake of her and her family, that she shed all the trappings of her former life and immediately assume the role of captain and mother. For a new life awaited her. One she had previously only envisioned, but would now become reality.

Buoys marking the end of the no wake zone floated past on either side of the ship and without a moment’s hesitation, Catherine shifted the throttle to its furthest position. The engines roared to life, the bow pointed toward the horizon as Four Star Retreat embarked on its one-way voyage into the depths of the Big Blue.

4

Afloat

August 30th – Day 63

Nothing much happening today. I read some more of Swiss Family Robinson this morning and think that I really like it. It’s really neat how they live in the tree house all the time. Mom says it’s like that ride at Disney World where you can walk all through it and see how they lived. Josh says that we’re kind of like the Robinson family only instead of living in a tree we live on a boat. He’s getting really good at fishing too. He caught three fish yesterday. Mom called them amberjacks and said the biggest one was ten or fifteen pounds. We are eating a lot of fish now. The more the better mom says so we can perserve the food we brought. Abby doesn’t really like the food that much. She always complains about how it tastes, specially the powdered milk. But she drinks it cause mom says it’s important and that it still has a lot of vitamins and calcium. I don’t mind it too bad. I really wish I had an orange soda. I miss those. Okay, until next time. Bye!!

Tamara snapped her diary shut, wrapping a moss green leather strap around the cover. She took her pen—a glitter filled shaft with a fuzzy cathead on the end where the cap should go—and jammed it in between the binding and the spine.

She climbed to her feet, clasping her hands and arching her arms backward in a post-entry stretch as she stared off into the horizon. The sea was mercifully calm today. A far cry from two days ago when she was certain the boat was going to sink due to a powerful storm that had knocked them all silly. But they just put faith in the ship and rode it out, clutching one another, waiting for it to pass. She hated days like that.

She hopped down from her favorite spot atop the galley and sauntered toward the stern of the ship. Josh, she knew, would be there. He was always there, taking on the role of provider as he tirelessly worked to perfect his fishing skills. And it was a good thing, too, she thought, since she was too small to handle the pole and Abby found fish to be “icky”.

She clutched the lifeline as she traversed the starboard side of the ship, alternating steps between the deck and the gunwale as she made her way aft.

Josh was sitting in his fighting chair, staring absently out to sea. He had just finished applying sun block to his arms, rubbing the remaining cream into his bronzing biceps. Catherine had insisted upon liberal use of sun block when above decks, but had been particularly adamant in regards to Josh, his pale and sun-shy skin the most susceptible to burns and skin damage. Even as Tamara approached she could make out thick traces of the liquid on his shoulder where he’d missed.

She noticed he was wearing his deep sea harness but rather than seating the pole in the gimbel and securing it to his vest, as was his usual preference—regardless of whether or not he had a bite—had it and the ship’s only other pole in rod holders on either side of him. Listlessly bobbing with the rhythm of the sea, the lines trailed emptily behind the boat.

Not much had changed with Josh in their days at sea, Tamara mused. He was still the ever-reclusive, independent older brother she had always known. Only now, the person to whom she attributed those qualities didn’t much resemble the person sitting in that chair. His hair had grown quite lengthy and faced the scissors only one time that she could recall since embarking; he even developed several dreads, which he initially intended to cut free but ultimately kept, deciding he liked the extra-added character it gave him. His face was scruffy and although he grew hair in all the right places the volume didn’t seem adequate enough to completely qualify as a beard. His hands bore the salty scars of a seaman, from rope and line burns to hook wounds. His skin was a healthy brown, which surprised everyone considering his previous lack of exposure to the sun. More of an indoor guy, Josh once described himself as being part of the “fluorescent generation” since he believed he and others of his age and preoccupation were predisposed to work in cubicle-like environments under the steady hum of fluorescent tubes, drawing a hefty salary and suffering from vitamin D deficiency.

“Catch anything?” Tamara said loudly, her tiny voice lost in the vastness of open water and tossed like chaff out to sea. Josh’s head cocked slightly. Then as if someone had just yelled in his ear, turned suddenly to find his sister.

“What?” he called, his deepened voice cutting through the air.

“I said did you catch anything?”

“No, not yet. Been kinda dead today.”

Tamara traipsed up beside him. She laid her small hand on the enormous fishing pole, her dainty fingers exploring inside the reel between the spool flange and the line. Josh, having discovered this transgression, snatched her hand free of the device. “Jesus Christ, Tamara! Are you trying to lose a finger?”

“I was just looking at it,” she said, startled at his sudden action.

“Looking at it’s one thing. Getting your hand sheared off is another. All that’s got to happen is just one fish bites that line. Once he does that he’s gonna be off. Know what happens then?” Josh pointed at the reel, making sure his own fingers were a safe distance away. “This thing turns into a saw blade and anything caught in its way pays the price. You understand?”

Tamara nodded. “Sorry.”

“It’s okay. I just don’t want anything to happen to you that’s all. So, what’s up?”

“I’m going below. You want anything?”

Josh considered this for a moment before finally answering, “No. Thanks.”

“Okay. Abby’s forward on the bow. Doing her usual thing.”

Josh rolled his eyes as Tamara about-faced and began her journey back toward the cockpit and the stairs leading below. Her diary tucked firmly in her waistband, Tamara clutched the lifeline securely having long since adopted the sailing mantra one hand for you, one hand for the boat. This phrase had taken on an even greater significance five weeks ago when it had been decided in a family wide agreement to cease wearing their PFDs.

It had been ruled that even though their personal flotation devices should be a mainstay of deck life, they were in fact very cumbersome and unwieldy for day to day living. Catherine, to no one’s surprise, was the most reluctant, but she herself had grown weary of taking the blasted things on and off so many times a day. So a new rule was enacted, one proclaiming that at no time should there ever be just one person on deck alone. If someone had to use the head, then that person either needed to find someone else to replace them temporarily or bring their “deck partner” below. The first violation of this neoteric ordinance would invoke the old standard. So it became incumbent upon everyone to adhere to the new safety guidelines, which seemed to be followed less out of a concern for each other’s personal safety and more out of an avoidance of having to wear those terrible vests again.

Tamara grabbed hold of the boom, using it for leverage, and swung herself into the cockpit. She glanced toward the bow where she located Abby, lying on her back in her underwear on a bath towel. This was all her sister seemed capable of doing since the inception of their voyage. While everyone else had managed to attain their “sea legs” within a week or so, Abby had been prone to seasickness from day one with virtually no improvement in her ability to keep anything down. Her days, therefore, consisted of naps, lying out, some light reading, followed by more naps until Catherine would signal the commencement of another meal.

Josh resented Abby immensely for her lack of participation onboard deeming her worthless to the point of suggesting an alternate use for her: chum. No one, of course, found this particularly humorous, least of all Abby, whom Tamara had actually pitied. It wasn’t her fault she was so sick all of the time. Maintaining a constant state of nausea was one of the most unpleasant things Tamara could imagine and, given the option, would much prefer a long, hard day’s work to vomiting on a regular schedule.

Tamara stood on her toes looking in the direction of her sister. “I’m going below! Josh is aft!” she yelled. Abby raised an arm weakly and gave a thumb’s up, dropping it like a dead tree limb upon signaling.

Tamara turned and descended into the galley-salon. She could already detect the odor of sautéed garlic and beans before she reached the bottom. This, along with some bread baked on deck yesterday, would probably be lunch. Canned juice had run dry three weeks ago so powdered drinks became a permanent beverage at mealtime for those that didn’t prefer tea. Powdered milk was of limited quantity and reserved solely for the morning to pour sparingly over cereal or simply to drink.

Peeking quickly into the galley, Tamara was surprised to discover the absence of her mother. The frying pan was resting on the burner, the food in it still sizzling despite the fact the propane had been turned off. She peered past the salon into the forward stateroom that was, in fact, not a stateroom at all. Having purchased the ship new, her father had taken it to an acquaintance and had some modifications performed on her inner workings. One of the most grandiose and, perhaps incriminating, alterations carried out was the complete gutting of the forward stateroom. Intended to be the master stateroom, her father had other plans for it, removing all bedding and head fixtures so the maximum meters cubed could be attained. In place of a bedchamber, he’d had custom shelving installed utilizing every available nook and cranny. Now, after a series of aftermarket “upgrades”, it served as the storeroom.

Tamara saw her mother there like she had on so many a day, clipboard in hand, reviewing their dwindling supplies. She recalled with great fascination the first moment she had laid eyes upon this room, its shelves packed to capacity with foodstuffs of varying classes. It had been organized efficiently and expertly. Dry goods such as flour, rice, oats, sugar, cereals, beans and pastas had been stored in giant plastic bins on the lowest shelf below their canned and bottled counterparts, which contained, among other things, fruits, vegetables, sauces and oils, soups and juices. Adjacent to these were other food items, some with a lesser shelf life such as cured meats and fish as well as certain cheeses, but also powdered fruit drinks and milk, spices, dehydrated fruits and vegetables.

Directly across from what became known as the “survival shelf” was the “maintenance shelf”, a veritable cornucopia of supplies and materials required for a prolonged stay at sea. Here one could find virtually anything that could be attained in a small, corner street drugstore. Very much the mini-pharmacy, it was loaded with varying pain relievers from aspirin, acetaminophen and ibuprofen to naproxen sodium. Also available were a wide array of cold, cough and flu medications, both in pill and liquid form, and a diverse selection of other helpful medicinal aids that ran the gamut from Dramamine, Gas-X and Tums to laxatives and other abdominal related meds. A small surgical kit complete with IV bags had even been provided, situated at the end of the shelving unit alongside two fire extinguishers.

Arranged in a sizeable alcove along the bottom shelf were soaps and cleaners ranging from bar soap to shampoo to all purpose ammonia cleaners and non-chlorinated, calcite-based scrubbing cleansers. But it was the barrels, the “elephants in the room” as her mother called them, which bore the brunt of responsibility and became the determining factors as to how long they would actually remain adrift.

Four fifty gallon drums of fresh drinking water had been lined against the back wall of the storeroom and served as a supplement to the other one hundred and fifty two gallons the ship was able to contain in its fresh water hold. This would serve as the lone source of drinking and cooking water, the supply being replenished on an intermittent basis with rainwater captured from above decks. But the hold had run dry weeks ago and the battle to keep the barrels filled to capacity had been a losing one marred by hot days void of rain. Catherine insisted everyone drink only what was required and no more, but that they do, in fact, drink. Hypothermia and dehydration were always at the forefront of her mind and not conditions she took lightly. But now with only two and a half barrels of fresh water to meet all of their cooking, drinking and cleaning needs, she feared water rationing might be forced upon her.

Tamara traversed the twenty or so feet until she was standing in the narrow doorway of the ship’s pantry. “Whatcha doing?” Tamara asked, clutching either side of the doorjamb as she leaned forward into the room.

Catherine looked up from her clipboard, pleasantly surprised. “Hey, peanut? You hungry?”

“Starving. But for anything except beans and garlic.”

“Ha ha,” Catherine smirked playfully, Tamara returning it in equal kind. “Can you go tell your brother and sister lunch is ready?”

“Sure.” Tamara said, lingering in the doorway. Her eyes darted over the near-vacant shelves. “Mom?”

“Yes, baby?”

“Are...are we running out of food?”

Catherine snapped her head up, all of her attention focused on her daughter. She let the clipboard fall to her side. “Why don’t you go get Josh and Abby. We’ve got some things we need to discuss.”

Josh swiped the remains of bean gravy from his plate with a crust of undercooked bread. He looked over at Abby as she moved beans around her plate with a fork. She’d managed to eat half of her portion, but toyed with the remaining half in a disinterested way.

“You gonna eat the rest of that?” he asked.

“Yes!” Abby sneered.

“Jesus. I was just asking. You don’t have to be a bitch about it.”

“Josh, that’s enough,” Catherine interjected. She placed her hand over Abby’s. “Honey, if you’re not going to finish that then you need to let someone else eat it. We can’t let anything go to waste.” Catherine looked over everyone at the table. “And this goes for everyone. I’ve inventoried our supplies today.” This brought the table to an abrupt and immediate state of suspended animation.

“Are we running out?” Josh said, his face concerned.

Catherine made eye contact with each of her children in turn, deciding if she should renege on her personal promise to be brutally honest at all times. There was no place for coddling anymore and she found no reason, especially now, to break her own treaty.

“I estimate three weeks,” she finally offered.

“Three weeks worth of food?” Abby stammered, the anxiety most prevalent in her eyes despite being the least of the food offenders.

“Roughly,” Catherine said. “Could be a little more, maybe a little less. But given our current rate of consumption three weeks seems to be about right.”

Tamara, a quiet observer until now, leaned ever-so-slightly forward, “So, what are we gonna do?”

Catherine sat back and set her napkin on her plate. “To be honest, I’m not sure what the right call is here. While we can stretch our food supply for a while, it’s our water that’s got us on the ropes.”

“But can’t we just collect more rain water?” Josh asked. “We could make more rain catchers on deck. Maybe rig some of the sails to act as spouts, set out every last bucket, cup, container, whatever?”

“I’ve been thinking about that, too. But it’s a big gamble. In the last three weeks we’ve had four days of rain and have barely been able to fill just one of those barrels. If we continue using at a minimum rate of one gallon per person per day—not what we should be drinking, mind you, but the bare minimum—one barrel buys us almost thirteen days. And that’s not including what we’ll need for cooking or washing.”

“Then let’s head in,” Abby offered. “I’m tired of being out here anyway.”

“Oh, poor Abby. She’s tired and bored so let’s put everybody in possible danger and go ashore,” Josh snorted, dismissing her with a wave of his hand. “Just shut up.”

“Don’t tell me to shut up!”

Josh turned and stared his sister in the face. “Shut. Up.”

“You’re such a fucking asshole.”

“Hey!” Catherine shouted. “That’s enough.”

“But he’s being stupid and selfish, mom. You just said we’re running out of water. We’ve been out here over two months and have no idea of what may or may not be happening back home. I know captain Ahab here would rather float out here than go back and face his pathetic life, but we can’t make water just appear.”

Josh leaned back and folded his arms, a look of pure disgust on his face. “You are such a stupid, pathetic bitch I can hardly stand it anymore.”

Catherine, having endured enough word fighting, slammed her hand down on the table hard enough to rattle everyone’s silverware.

“Both of you shut up! All right? Just enough.” She locked gazes with Abby and Josh, her eyes fierce and determined until each child backed down and returned to staring at their dinner plates. “Now, listen. All of you. I’m not sure what we’ll do yet. I’ll figure it out. But what I won’t have—can’t have—is bickering and sniping among you guys. We’ve got enough to worry about out here. We don’t need to add sibling rivalry into the mix.”

“I wasn’t fighting, mommy,” Tamara said innocently.

Catherine broke into a grin. “I know you weren’t, baby. And I’m thankful for that. Truly.” She reached across the table and squeezed Tamara’s hand.

“But you never answered my question.”

“What question was that, sweetie?”

“What are we gonna do?”

Catherine’s temporary smile evaporated as she recognized the true look of concern on Tamara’s face. “That’s what I’m going to try and figure out.” Catherine forced as sincere a smile as she could muster before releasing Tamara’s hand and reaching for her water glass. She eyed the contents and noticed the water was filled to the midway point and wondered analogously which way she should view it.

Silence overtook the table. Abby resumed eating her beans, managing to force down two more forkfuls before she relinquished her plate to Josh, pushing it in his direction. “You can have it if you want.”

Josh said nothing as he pulled the plate in front of him, shoving his own barren plate out of the way. He snatched his fork and began shoveling beans into his mouth.

Abby twisted at her napkin, kneading it. “Mom?”

“Yes?”

“What did dad do?”

If there were a record playing from another room, the inescapable sound of the needle being dragged briskly across its grooves would’ve put an auditory exclamation mark on the weight of Abby’s words. Josh and Tamara snapped their heads toward their mother, catching her equally off-guard and astonished look.

“I mean, I know he worked for the Air Force and all,” Abby continued. “And you told us back when we first got on the boat that it was for some special division that did research or something, but I was just wondering what exactly he did.”

Catherine only stared at her daughter, blinking profusely to stave off the tears of surprise that were beginning to form. How could she have not seen this coming? Of course, they would want to know what their father did. And in the initial days of their voyage she had laid out to her children the “whys” and “hows” of what had transpired to bring them all aboard a ship they had never known to sail someplace they had never seen based on information of which they were unaware. And that was enough for the time being. There was much that needed to be instilled and taught and she knew the reasons for their ocean bound existence would eventually be undermined by the ongoing, day-to-day survival lessons each child would be preoccupied in perfecting. The notion her children would re-express interest in their father’s vocation had been a fleeting thought at best. But this was the question and she knew she had to answer it.

“Well,” Catherine said, leaning forward again as she cupped her water glass between her hands. “The truth of the matter is...I have absolutely no idea.”

Josh’s fork slipped from his hand, clanking on his plate. He chewed rapidly in effort to say aloud what he knew everyone else must have been thinking. He swallowed with a large gulp.

“What do you mean you have no idea?”

Catherine nodded, knowing instinctively this would be hard for her children to understand. “Just what I said. Other than the fact that he was in the Air Force, left in the morning and came back at night, I have no clue as to what your father did to earn his paycheck.”

Josh sat back heavily with a snuff. He crossed his arms and stared at Catherine with a look of disbelief so profound it drew to her mind the time when he was a small boy and had just discovered the truth about Santa Claus.

“Did he fly planes?” Tamara asked.

“No, sweetie. He didn’t fly planes. Of that I’m sure.”

“So, what was he researching? Is he, like, a scientist or something?” Abby posited.

“Something like that,” Catherine said, smiling thinly through her answer. She glanced quickly at her children and saw the disappointment and betrayal on each of their faces and knew that they deserved more. Be honest, she reminded herself.

“Listen, you all have been through a tremendous amount of turmoil. You’ve been pulled from a life you’ve known, taken from your friends and surroundings and thrown into a situation that you—or I, for that matter—have no idea as to its impact, relevance or seriousness. In effect, you’ve had to trust me with decisions that children should not have to be forced to abide by. And because of this, I guess its only fair that I trust you with what I’m about to tell you.”

Josh slowly leaned forward as did Abby. Tamara clutched a small, ratty stuffed elephant named Sniffles, which always seemed to find its way to the dinner table. Their eyes were glued to Catherine.

Catherine breathed deep and exhaled weightily. She set her glass aside and crossed her fingers in front of her.

“The first thing you’re probably wondering is how it’s even conceivable that I wouldn’t know what you’re father did.”

“Gee, you think?” Josh said gruffly.

“Shut up, Josh,” Abby snapped.

Josh resumed his scowl as Catherine waited patiently for the inevitable tantrums to subside.

“Your father is an incredibly smart man. He may even be too smart. And his intelligence was not lost on certain divisions of the Air Force.”

“What, was he a spy or something?” Josh muttered, half serious, half mocking.

“No, Josh. He wasn’t a spy,” Catherine said, fully aware that it would take more than ambiguities and generalities to sate the inquisitiveness of her children, particularly Josh. “Six years ago, a few months after we had just moved into our home, your father called me one day and asked me to meet him for lunch. Told me he had ‘big news’. So I met him at Rialto’s and he told me about this new promotion he’d just gotten. Said it was a pretty big deal and that he would probably be gone a little more often than before but that it would most likely be temporary as he adjusted to his new position. I remember the conversation being rather bland. A little vague even. As if he were only keeping to the basics and withholding more detailed information from me. And I was fine with that. It wasn’t the first time as a wife of a military man that I’d not been told of all he did. And I remember that day seeming especially indefinite. But I let it go figuring he’d tell me more about it when he was able or, perhaps, permitted. So we finished lunch, he walked me back to my car, kissed me goodbye and went back to his car. And as I reached into my pocket to pull out my keys I found a slip of paper. I knew immediately your father had put it there and I fully expected it to be some cartoon or a goofy joke he had written down. You know how he liked to tell jokes.”

Abby and Tamara smiled along with Catherine, happy to recount their father in such an enjoyable way. But Josh’s frown would not be broken by this as he maintained his discontent.

“So I opened the paper and written on it was a note from him asking me to meet him at Woodson’s farmer’s market right away. Well, I knew that Woodson’s closed at noon on this particular day so it was a rather peculiar place to meet since there was nothing else there but the market. But why did we need to meet, I thought to myself? I couldn’t figure out why he couldn’t have just told me what he needed to right then and there before he left. I tried to call him on his cell to find out what the note was all about and to let him know that we’d be driving a long way for nothing since the market was closed, but he wouldn’t answer his phone. At this point, I assumed your father had some sort of surprise waiting for me. It’s the only thing I could think of that would explain his behavior. So I drove out to the market to meet him, mostly out of the intrigue he had created, but partly to see the look on his face when he realized he had picked the wrong day to attempt his daytime maneuvering. As you know, your father was rarely, if ever, wrong about things.”

Catherine paused briefly and took a sip from her glass.

“So, did he have it wrong?” Abby said, clipping Catherine’s speech before she had a chance to resume.

“It turns out he didn’t. Meeting at that market when it was closed was exactly what he wanted.”

“But why?” Tamara queried. “There wasn’t any vegetables to buy.”

Catherine hunched over to better make eye contact with her daughter. “You’re right. There weren’t. But daddy wasn’t there to buy vegetables. He was there to warn me.”

“Warn you about what?” Josh said, his angry expression softening just a touch as curiosity overtook him.

“Basically, this,” Catherine replied as she sat upright and indicated their immediate surroundings with outstretched palms.

“He warned you about the boat? That doesn’t make any sense,” Abby stated, clearly missing the point of Catherine’s gesture.

“Not about the boat, honey. But about the need to use it. When I arrived at the market your dad was already there, standing near the entrance. As I pulled in he motioned for me to drive around the back of the store and so I did, finding his car parked back there as well. Well, needless to say I was a little worried at this point. Secret notes and clandestine meetings were not something your mother was used to.”

“What’s clandestine mean?” Tamara asked.

“It means secret,” Josh answered, adding extra emphasis on the final word of his sentence as if to punctuate the years of deceit.

“That’s right,” Catherine concurred, eyeing Josh sympathetically. “It does mean secret.”

“Well, so what did he want? Why did he have you drive all the way out there?” Abby asked.

“He wanted me to meet him there because he felt it was a good place where he could talk to me without fear of being watched. There were radio towers less than two hundred yards from the building which, he said, would make it hard to pick up a signal if anyone was listen—”

“Wait a minute, wait a minute,” Josh blurted as he lurched forward onto his forearms. “Watched by who? You’re not making any sense. What’s with all the cloak and dagger bullshit? What was dad into?”

Josh was right, of course, Catherine thought. She’d had years to internalize and make sense of this information and had come to a relative peace regarding Warren’s vocation, whatever that may have been. She was never a very adept storyteller and found herself to be even less so at the moment as she attempted to recall the chain of events in the right order so they would make sense to her children.

“I’d appreciate you not cursing at me, Josh. Now, if you’ll just listen I’ll be able to explain everything. Or at least I’ll be able to explain the parts that I know.”

Josh sat back, irritated, as Abby glared at him in frustration. She desperately wanted to hear what her mother had to say and judging by the deer-in-the-headlights expression Tamara currently wore, felt her desire for knowledge without interruption was equally shared.

“The new position your father was promoted to was unlike anything he’d ever done before. That’s how he put it to me. And that’s the only way he ever put it to me. I never knew beyond that very brief, incredibly uninformative statement what it was he did.” Catherine squeezed her hands together tightly, edged forward on her seat. “But the one thing he did tell me, the one thing I thank the heavens for every day since we’ve been on this boat where all of us are alive and safe, is that, in no uncertain terms, we would be taken care of. That’s what was most important to him. His family. And now, because of this promotion, he told me, we would always be all right. You see, your father was involved in a special department I don’t believe even he could classify. But it was serious and of an extremely top secret nature. He told me that if anyone ever found out he had talked to me there could be consequences for telling even the little that he did. He was violating protocol, you understand. And he hadn’t even started yet. He told me of new security levels he would have access to and also the level of surveillance that would be directed at him and the rest of us just for him having this access. It was that important. And I remember him being incredibly excited at the possibilities of what it was he was about to enter, but he was also exceptionally wary as if he felt he might’ve been in over his head.”

Catherine sat back and looked at her children. Each stared back, hanging on Catherine’s every word. Josh had even relaxed his frowning muscles and had taken a visual interest in what was being said.

“But the main reason he was so enthused to begin work in this new position was that it provided him with information only a handful of people in the world would have access to. Information, he said, that would ensure our safety above all else.”

“What information was that?” Josh asked, not really expecting his mother to have the answer.

Catherine’s eyes welled with tears as she swallowed. She choked on the words as they left her lips. “Knowing when the end of the world would happen.”

It was Josh’s favorite time of day. The sun had just begun its descent into the horizon, dipping her celestial toes into the deep blue. In a few minutes she would submerge further into the water and splash the sky with colors found only on an artist’s palette. Then the slow fade would begin, the light diminishing incrementally as if some great hand was slowly reducing lumens by way of a heavenly rheostat until the sun vanished below the surface of the water. And as he witnessed the dying of another day he couldn’t help but wonder what horrors would be illuminated for others as a new day was born elsewhere. What were people forced to endure out there beyond the sea? What was life like now and how many people, in fact, were left in the world?

The sky clung to daylight by threads, the majority of the atmosphere already transforming from purples to cobalt blue in vast gradations. Josh stared up at the encroaching night sky, stars just beginning to glimmer from light years away. Typically eager to view this nightly display of heavenly bodies, it felt on this particular evening somewhat tainted, the anticipation sucked dry by the current actuality of their living situation and the revelations presented by his mother.

It was almost laughable the metamorphosis that occurred within Josh during his time on the boat. Having never set foot on a sailing vessel of any sort, he recalled reacting with extreme indignation over the notion that this fifty-two foot sailing yacht would become his home for an indeterminate length of time. But now here he was, two months and change later and he didn’t want to leave, didn’t want to go back to any semblance of “society”. There was even a small part deep within him that actually hoped for some type of world event to have occurred, reducing humans back to the efficiency of cavemen.

And this is what bothered him most of all. The searing pain of truth in his sister’s psychoanalysis ate at him from the inside like a cancer. He, in fact, had no real life to speak of back in his previous existence. He wasn’t popular, had few friends and even fewer interests. And the thought of returning to such doldrums roused in him such a state of despair the brief consideration of tossing himself overboard into the black water and sinking as far as the fathoms would allow had a certain amount of appeal.

The hatch over the galley behind him slid back with a fiberglass grind as Catherine emerged from the opening, plodding up the narrow stairs. Josh fixed his gaze on the last remaining vestiges of light on the horizon as his mother made her way topside and seated herself beside him.

She sat upright and hugged her legs close to her as she stared off into the impending blackness pretending to be interested in what lay beyond the confines of the ship.

“How’re we doing up here?” she asked.

“Okay, I guess.”

Catherine nodded as if this answer sated her desire for knowledge of Josh’s well being. “I love it out here this time of day. Especially when the sea is calm like it is now. It almost lets me forget about everything else that’s going on.”

“Almost,” Josh said, still glaring seaward.

Catherine leaned back, propping herself up with her arms as she stretched out her legs underneath the lifelines, her feet extending beyond the toe rail and dangling over the ocean.

“You know, it’s okay if you want to be furious with me, Josh. It’s the least I’d expect from all of you.”

“I’m not sure furious is the word I’d choose to use.”

“Then what word would you use?”

“There are several. Like betrayed. Deceived. Disrespected. Shit on.” Josh leaned forward, throwing his forearms around his knees in a pseudo-fetal position. He lowered his chin onto his patella.

“I just came from tucking your sisters in,” Catherine said as she edged forward and resumed her original position beside Josh. “Abby, of course, is feeling a bit under the weather so didn’t have too much to say about the matter, but I get the impression she’s dealing with it in her own way. But your sister Tamara, you know what she said? She asked me, ‘Is daddy okay?’ Is daddy okay,” Catherine repeated intentionally. “That’s what was troubling her. Not pride about not being let in on a secret or anger at having been excluded, but concern. Was her daddy all right.”

Catherine rotated herself around to better see Josh. “And if there’s anything I hope you can take away from all of this it’s that that was the one thing—the only thing—at the forefront of your father’s mind: would my family be okay.”

Josh turned suddenly, startling Catherine as he shifted. “But why couldn’t you tell us? Why all the secrets and lies? It’s not like we were going to go out and broadcast to the neighborhood ‘Hey, look at us! Our dad works for a super secret branch of the government that no one’s ever heard of.’ We’re part of the family, too.”

“You’re absolutely right. You are. And I can tell you in all honesty your father and I debated long and hard on whether or not to tell you all. But in the end it was the safest thing to do.”

“But what could happen?” Josh asked irritated. “Would someone come bust in our house or something just ‘cause they found out what dad did?”

“For all of the scenarios I could give you for what could happen, it’s the ones where we had no idea that pushed us to keep quiet. Remember, Josh, even though you feel you may’ve been able to keep silent about it, there are your sisters to consider. And I’m not laying the burden of our decision at their feet, but I know how girls are and how they love to chat and gossip, and all it would’ve taken from any of you is just one slip of the tongue and we would’ve had to live out every day since under the notion that your father had been compromised. You’ve got to understand, honey, that your father wasn’t punching a clock and making donuts. And because of that we decided the less you all knew, the less chance there’d be for anyone to ever find out. It’s not that we didn’t trust you, of course we did. It’s just that sometimes people make honest mistakes and on this particular thing an honest mistake just couldn’t be risked.”

Josh stared at the deck as if he were actually considering his mother’s words. To Catherine’s surprise, he glanced over at her. His posture appeared less rigid and his face even seemed to register a modicum of empathy.

“What about you?” he said.

“What about me?

“Well, I mean, you had to carry around dad’s secret this entire time. Weren’t you ever worried that you’d accidentally tell someone?”

“Worried? Sweetie, I was petrified. Everything we’re doing now originated on that day. From the code words to the boat to the food stores, all of it. I remember coming home from that first meeting with your dad, walking in the door and crawling into my bathtub and crying my eyes out. It was an enormous responsibility and one I’m thankful you and your sisters were never forced to carry. The only regret I do have is that I didn’t tell you all about this sooner once we were onboard. And for that I am sorry.”

Josh nodded then looked up, searching the sky.

“Mom?” he said.

“Yeah?”

“What do you think happened?”

“I don’t have a clue, kiddo. I really don’t.”

Josh nodded slightly then craned his neck, searching over the sky. Catherine mimicked him unsure of what they were supposed to be finding.

“Where is the North Star?” Josh asked.

“You see where the Little Dipper is?”

Josh twisted his head and pointed. “Yeah. Right there.”

“Now follow the handle all the way to the end. That tiny, unassuming little pinprick of light is your way home.”

Josh stared intensely upward, his eyes fixed on the region in the sky where the Little Dipper lay. Any previous sign of anger seemed to be erased from his demeanor. But Catherine, no stranger to severe and sudden mood shifts among her children, chose not to push the apparent movement towards forgiveness and instead basked in the tranquility and relative peacefulness that a mother should share with her only son.

“It’s called Polaris,” Catherine offered, as if by providing a more proper name she would somehow increase Josh’s interest beyond what had already clearly captivated him.

Josh turned away from the glints of light and faced his mother. “How’d you do it?”

“How’d I do what?”

“How’d you manage to, you know, do all of this right under our noses and keep us from suspecting a thing?”

“Do you remember a little over five years ago when Aunt Kelly came to stay with you guys while your father and I went on a cruise?”

“Yeah,” Josh recalled. “To Mexico, right?”

“That’s what we told you, yes.”

Josh’s eyebrows raised in curious arcs as he cocked his head slightly.

“While we did cruise, it was nowhere near Mexico,” Catherine said as she outstretched her arms. “And that was my first introduction to the Four Star Retreat.”

Josh snorted, but the upturn of his lips indicated the incredulity was not to be taken personally. He looked to the deck, the smallest of smiles breaking on his face. Catherine seized the opportunity to empty her closet of more skeletons now that she had interpreted an agreeable reception to her words.

“And remember the long weekend we took in Phoenix? Or the week in New York? Or dad’s business trips? Or all the other alleged getaways we claimed to have enjoyed over the years?”

Josh snapped his head up. He shook his head and leaned back onto the deck adjusting the ratty, salt-stained baseball cap he always wore over his face.

“Oh, man,” he uttered. “Dad always said I needed to get my head out of my ass. Guess he was right.”

Catherine slapped his shoulder playfully. “Why do you think I was so excited to go to Europe?” she asked. “That would’ve been my first actual vacation in almost six years!”

“So what did you guys do on all those vacations, then, if you weren’t, you know, having fun and stuff?”

“Fake-ations, you mean. That’s what I chose to call them after a while since there was nothing ever relaxing or enjoyable about them. And what did we do? Oh, God, just about everything that had to do with survival. Uh, preferable food stores, how to pack for different durations of time away from food and water sources, evacuation routes, family collection scenarios, um, let’s see...the boat, of course. Lots and lots of training with that and all that came with it. He even had me learn the different types of fuel-efficient vehicles that were introduced each year so if it came to an escape by way of car, we could maximize our mileage by knowing which cars to steal if ours should conk out. Why do you think we traded in cars every couple of years?”

Josh pulled his hat back from his face and looked over at Catherine.

“Your father thought of everything. And I’ll be honest with you: it was hard. At first I went along with it because he had me so scared the world could end at any minute I just felt I needed to be prepared. But as time went on and I had more opportunity to think about things, I started to feel the idea of all these doomsday scenarios came across as not only farfetched but, really, hokey. But I loved your father and that’s what he needed me to do to help him do what he needed to do. So I did.” Catherine stared off into the dark water. “Your father liked to think of us as a modern day nuclear family like the ones in the fifties when people were building bomb shelters in their backyard. Only instead of a hole in the earth...”

Catherine trailed off, her voice cracking with emotion as she wiped forming tears from her eyes. She hadn’t cried in weeks and it felt good to be reaffirmed of her humanity.

“You miss him, huh?” Josh said, sitting up. “Me too.”

“Every day, buddy. Every day.”

“You think he’s all right?”

“That is about the only question I can answer for you with certainty. And that answer is yes.”

Josh nodded with his entire body, Catherine’s answer seeming to put to rest one less misgiving in his life. He had asked the question before—they all had—but tonight it felt especially meaningful.

He stared back out into the blackness, the horizon having long since dissolved into the sky creating a pitch black abyss made all the more dark by the lack of moonlight. He particularly loved nights when there was a new moon, when the stars would shimmer vibrantly and radiate with such brilliance he felt as if he could reach out and physically touch them.

The boat listed calmly, almost hypnotically. Josh closed his eyes and, for the moment, became one with the boat allowing himself to sway and drift as if he himself were floating in the water. He knew the day was fast approaching when he would have to leave this ship and it wasn’t one to which he was looking forward. He had grown to love sailing and life at sea and wondered how he would ever—

Josh’s eyes popped open.

He sat up quickly and scanned the water. Catherine saw this, following his gaze out into the dark. “What is it?”

Josh hopped to his feet, clutching the lifelines at the stanchion with both hands. He located the invisible horizon using the disparity between stars and sea as a focal point. Had he seen what he thought he had? Even on moonless nights there could be enough light to play tricks and with a low haze day like they’d had the stars always seemed to shine that much more incandescently come nightfall.

“Josh, what is it?” Catherine said as she climbed to her feet. She moved beside him. “What do you see?”

“I’m not sure. I thought I saw...”

And there it was. Not obvious at first, but once his pupils adjusted and were able to fixate it was unmistakable. Catherine noticed it even before Josh could speak.

A light.

It was impossible to tell how far away it was, especially on a moonless night, but it was close enough that Josh could detect a slight bob in its behavior. And the light source’s visibility would alternate between intense and diminished, this most likely caused by the parallax view of the their vantage point as the distant source rose and fell in the crests and troughs of deep sea waves.

“Pirates?” Josh asked.

Catherine eyed the drifting light curiously. “I don’t know. If they are, why would they have a light on to advertise themselves?”

Catherine and Josh looked at each other as each came to the same conclusion: They don’t see us yet.

As if set off by a starter’s pistol, each sprang to various parts of the ship dousing topside lights. Once finished they charged below.

This was worse than death, Abby thought. How could she still, after all this time on board, be so sick? Everyone else was fine, having gotten over the initial green period in the first few days of the voyage. But she had clung to the sour, gut-twisting agony of nausea much in the same way she had clung to the toilet seat from which she expelled said nausea on an almost daily basis. It didn’t make any sense.

Abby glanced over at Tamara sleeping soundly in the top bunk across from her and couldn’t help but feel a tinge of jealousy. She couldn’t remember the last time she had slept so soundly and had grown accustomed to sleeping in fits and starts, never really logging more than six or so hours in a given night. This was the most egregious of the shipboard insults, especially in light of her previous, land-given ability to reign as queen of the ten-hour nap. And she felt especially tired today what with the emotional conversation held during dinner. If only her body could stave off another stomach-wrenching attack, she might find the inside of her eyelids soon enough.

But whatever happy place she sought for respite was soon vanquished by the sounds of muted slamming and banging from the salon. Probably Josh, she thought, still acting like a big baby and having one of his teenie-boy tantrums. Begrudgingly, she pried herself from her bunk, which was mercifully the lower one, and forced herself to her feet. The initial meeting with gravity threatened to be unkind, but a few seconds and a couple of deep breaths and Abby felt willing and able to rip her brother a new one. She staggered unevenly to the door that separated the sleeping quarters from the salon and galley and pushed it open.

As the door rotated outward she found Josh immediately. “Think you could make any more noise, asshead?” Abby proclaimed. “Some of us are trying to sleep.”

Josh ignored her, casting not even so much as a scornful, sideways glance as he shut a cover over a porthole with authority, promptly moving to another and another, repeating the procedure in turn.

Abby stepped into the room, now taking note of her mother as she extinguished several lights in the galley leaving only enough illuminated to provide what would be considered more ambient than useful lighting.

“What’s going on?” Abby questioned, the hurried motions of her brother and mother striking a chord of anxiety in her already tremulous belly.

“Pirates,” Josh answered curtly.

Catherine stepped in front of Josh to intercept Abby’s gaze. “We don’t know that yet. We’re just taking precautions, sweetie.”

“There’re pirates?” a small, sleepy voice said from behind Abby.

Catherine moved up to Tamara as she clutched Sniffles the elephant, her eyes wide with the commotion. “We’re not sure yet, honey. There’s a light way off in the distance. We’re just trying to hide in the dark a little just in case.”

Tamara nodded unconvincingly as Abby moved beside her and laid a consoling arm around her slender shoulders. “Where is it?” Abby asked.

Josh pointed. “Directly off the starboard side. Not sure how far yet.” He turned to Catherine as he finished closing off the last window. “Mom, I need the keys.”

Catherine turned and faced him. “The keys to what?”

“You know what,” he responded. “I know you don’t like it, but we need to be ready. Just in case.”

Josh couldn’t have been more accurate in his assessment of Catherine’s feelings. She not only didn’t like what it was he was requesting, she downright abhorred it. But they lived in a different world now with a completely new set of rules and she would be a fool not to assume the worst. She unclipped an aluminum carabiner from the denim belt loop of her jeans and tossed it along with the handful of keys attached to it, over to Josh.

Josh snatched it out of the air, then whirled in place as he crouched in front of a low, wood paneled wall, which separated the galley from the dining area and served as the backside to the oven and several cabinet drawers. He fumbled through the various keys, selecting a green tinted one and slid it into a concealed lock that aligned itself perfectly within the blackened groove of the paneling, rendering it virtually invisible to the untrained eye. A quick twist and he had it open, pulling a section of the paneling and the door to which it was affixed ajar. He reached inside and withdrew a nine-millimeter Magnum Baby Eagle. Carefully checking the chamber he placed the weapon on the countertop as he reached back into the hold to retrieve the stock end of a Henry U.S. Survival rifle.

Catherine watched with a bizarre mix of discomfort and gratitude as Josh gingerly removed the end cap from the silver stock and withdrew a slender barrel and Teflon coated, fully assembled receiver from its confines. Fumbling at first, he affixed the receiver to the stock, then slid the barrel into place and tightened it into position with the barrel nut. He inspected each of two magazines then selected one and jammed it into the magazine well, slamming his hand on the underside to assure its locked status.

Josh tucked the stock under his arm making sure the barrel pointed toward the floor. He knelt back down in front of the gun locker and withdrew another magazine, this one considerably longer. He looked over at his mother who forced an uneasy smile as he gently grabbed the Magnum from the countertop.

He stepped over to her and handed her the gun and its corresponding, fully packed magazine. She took it gingerly from him, clutching the slide on the weapon firmly and guiding it back to check the chamber. Satisfied, she returned it to its home position then tucked the barrel end into the waistband of her pants. She felt ridiculous in doing so and the cold sting of steel on her lower back seemed to emphasize the laughable citizen soldier she had been forced to become. The discomfort was something she had never grown used to and was ever present when carrying a weapon.

She tucked the magazine into her front pocket, deeming it somewhat premature to be toting a loaded weapon around the kitchen.

Josh headed for the stairs.

“Where’re you going?” Catherine called after him.

“I’ll take first watch.”

“I’ll take first watch,” Catherine clarified.

“Look, I’m not gonna be able to sleep anyway. All I’ll be doing is wondering what’s going on above deck. So you may as well get some rest. I promise I’ll come get you as soon as something happens.”

Catherine stared at her son, appreciative and proud he had so selflessly taken on the role as man-of-the-house without a second’s hesitation. But there was an underlying sadness here, too. One that overshadowed his rite of passage. Whatever shreds of her little boy she was still able to see in this eighteen year-old man seemed to erode by the day as the fierce march of time and situation pushed that little boy farther and farther away.

Catherine stepped forward. “You come get me even if you think there’s nothing going on, you understand? And wear your PFD, but cover it with something dark.”

“Got it,” Josh said as he charged up the stairs.

Catherine turned to her daughters, crouching to Tamara’s level. “And why don’t you two try and get back to sleep. Okay?” she said as she stroked Tamara’s long, sandy blonde hair.

“Where’re you gonna be, mommy?” Tamara said.

“I’m gonna make myself at home right here on this sofa,” Catherine said as she indicated a cushioned bench which lay just opposite the dining area. “That way I can keep my eye on everyone.”

“Are we gonna be all right?” Abby said, real fear creeping into her eyes.

Catherine eyed her and couldn’t decide if what she was about to say qualified as a lie. But she said it anyway. “We’re going to be fine.”

Josh pulled the binoculars to his eyes and searched the darkness until he locked on his target. There it was, he thought. Still a considerable distance away, he had trouble determining its movement. Much like an approaching storm, the bearing it seemed to have may only be an illusion as compared to its actual course.

He set the binoculars down and held the rifle with both hands. In another life he had been a staunch anti-gun proponent, considering guns to be the cause of more problems than they solved. But now he was forced to take a different view and it didn’t really matter what his past beliefs were. You starve a vegetarian long enough and they’ll be more than happy to eat a steak.

He found he liked the feel of the rifle. It was lightweight, easy to assemble and would do, for the most part, what it needed to do. It was a twenty-two and it seemed a smart choice to acquire one that was silver so in the event it was dropped in the water—where it would float, by the way—the polished finish would reflect light and therefore be easier to spot.

Josh sat down cross-legged, his knees pulled up just enough to encircle with his arms. He’d thrown a navy blue wool blanket over his shoulders, making sure every square inch of the neon orange life vest he was wearing was covered. He fixed his gaze on that single, meandering light.

If pirates, how many of them were there?

He and his sisters had been warned at the onset of their escape regarding the possibility of pirates. Catherine had to be especially careful when explaining to Tamara that the variety of which she was speaking would not be like the ones Johnny Depp and his cohorts portrayed while gallivanting throughout the Caribbean. This new breed would be devoid of compassion or humility and their sole purpose, they were told, would be to take whatever they could by whatever nefarious means they felt appropriate. And sometimes, by means inappropriate.

Catherine spared her daughters the gory details of possible scenarios, but she had confided in Josh, relaying to him actual stories of piracy that still occurred around the world. Tales of pleasure boaters who had been boarded, robbed and in some cases murdered just for the hell of it—and this was before the world-altering event in which they now all found themselves.

While they’d been fortunate enough to evade any such diabolical encounters, they had run across a middle-aged couple, Stan and Louise something-or-other, two weeks into their evacuation from land. Leery at first, their senses were heightened as the couple’s fractional sloop drifted near their own, the couple waving excitedly from deck. Josh and Catherine had the weapons out that day as well, but kept them concealed in the event this was a friendly meeting. Josh remembered vividly Catherine’s instructions to him and his sisters to refrain from mentioning their reason for being at sea. If asked, they were all on a family trip to rendezvous with their father in South America. But no questions of that nature were raised. As Louise and Stan approached, it was clear from their appearance that banal pleasantries would be the least likely item of discussion.

Stan sported a sizable wound on the left side of his face and to label his wife distressed would have been a vast understatement. They’d met with some unsavory characters that had descended upon them in a speedboat, claiming to have had radio trouble. Stan and Louise agreed to allow them on board, but once the three-man crew had become deck bound they proceeded to rob the couple at gunpoint, issuing Stan a stern anti-hero statement alongside his skull with the butt end of a rifle.

Having had their radio smashed by the perpetrators upon departure from their vessel, the couple had been without a means of communication. Upon the chance encounter with Catherine and her family, Stan and Louise were presented with an opportunity to resolve their dilemma, ironically, utilizing the same premise the robbers had used to gain favor with them.

But Catherine had no radio to offer. At least none that would be of benefit. For days, there had been no contact. No communications. All channels were clear save for a handful of statically garbled transmissions that she presumed were originating from deep-sea freighters.

Catherine had asked where they were coming from and Stan indicated they were on the final legs of a west coast cruising vacation, having been at sea for the past eight days and now returning home.

Josh remembered Catherine conveying the unfortunate news to the couple that they had experienced communication difficulties, having discovered a predominance of radio silence over the past week. He recalled with some sadness the dispirited looks on Stan and Louise’s faces when learning that help would, in fact, not be coming. That they faced several more days of isolation at sea before facing whatever fates had been aligned for them back on land.

But mostly, Josh recollected the haunting, if not poignant, question Stan had asked just before re-embarking. The one that lingered in the back of everyone’s mind and persisted there, still, to this day: What’s happened?

With no suitable answer to provide, Catherine could only wish the couple well and hug her children as they sailed away.

Josh scanned the blackness again, verifying there was only one light with which to contend. Satisfied, he resumed his watch of the lone orb, it seeming a hair brighter than when he first stepped foot on deck. He and his family had been lucky so far, but everyone’s luck eventually ran out. If it were pirates, he would be ready for them.

He yawned with the intensity of an African lion, settling back just a little to make himself more comfortable. It certainly was exceptionally black tonight, he thought. And as his body relaxed while his gaze remained fixed, Josh became aware of another presence on the boat. One he knew well but had no time, this night of all nights, to engage. So somewhere in the inky darkness he would keep it, placing it at bay until a more appropriate moment would allow for its companionship. But the Sandman was a fickle friend. And he didn’t like to be ignored for long.

The night swirled with menacing visions. Images of men in tricornes. Sweaty men, oily with stained teeth. Sinister smiles harboring malevolent intentions.

Thump.

Stan and Louise were there, strangely enthusiastic. Dancing, clapping, interacting with the men.

Thump.

There was rain and wind and turbulent weather. Ships listed, water coating everything. There was a one-sided struggle.

Thump.

There was violence. Machetes and blood. So much blood. There were the men again, enjoying it, reveling in it, laughing. There was inescapable death.

THUMP.

Catherine fought to restrain him, but Josh kicked like a mule. She had heard his screams just as she was heading topside and discovered him fending off heaven only knew with violent swats of his arms. She rushed to his side and placed his head in her lap until she could calm him. This had been a bad one. Maybe the worst yet. He had never been one prone to nightmares before. But they had all succumbed to demons of some sort since the day they stepped foot on the boat.

His eyes suddenly popped open in wide-eyed terror, flitting from side to side until they locked on Catherine. The sun had just started to rise and the early morning light cast an ethereal glow over her, creating a calming effect on Josh.

“Hey, it’s okay,” Catherine said reassuringly. “Everything’s all right. It’s just a dream.”

Josh froze for a second, attempting to rejoin the world and make sense of his current reality. He pushed himself quickly to a sitting position.

“You all right?” Catherine asked, running her hands through his sweaty hair.

Josh glanced over the boat. Everything seemed to be in order. “Yeah. Yeah, I’m okay.”

THUMP.

“Good. ‘Cause I need you.”

The sound shot Josh to his feet sending a jolt to his heart that reverberated throughout his wobbly legs.

“Can we come up?” Abby shouted from the galley stairs.

“No,” Catherine yelled back sternly as she got to her feet. “Now take Tamara and get back in your room and lock the door.”

Lock the door?

“Mom, what is it?” Josh said as he turned toward her. Having already positioned herself at the railing, he found her clutching the life lines, staring over the side. But before she could even open her mouth to speak he had his answer.

Thump.

He estimated it to be roughly thirty to forty feet in length. Another single-masted sloop much like the one on which he and his family currently existed. Josh could only surmise that he’d fallen asleep on his watch and during the course of the night a highly improbable scenario had occurred, one that involved light winds, accurate currents and a truckload of luck.

This was the light source.

Catherine scooted past him, jarring him from his lingering sleep-induced stupor. She shuffled toward the bow where she pulled an array of sea-blue boat fenders from a storage bin. Josh peered over the railing and watched as the bow of the alien ship repeatedly tapped at the hull of their ship as if magnetized to it. Realizing the catastrophic possibilities of a hull breach, Josh rushed to Catherine’s side, freeing the fenders and subsequently tossing them overboard, arranging them in a protective line along the exterior of the ship. Catherine then grabbed a boat hook and fished a dangling line out of the water near the aft section of the drifting boat. She guided it in, Josh reaching for it and promptly tying it off on one of the mooring cleats.

Having secured their boat, Catherine and Josh looked down into the visiting ship. They took their first real survey of the broken down vessel and discovered it was in a heightened state of disrepair.

The main sail was noticeably tattered and piled in an unmanageable heap below the boom. The mainsheet was severed and looked, from Catherine and Josh’s vantage point, to have been cut, as was the boom vang, its cascaded fiddle pulley system hanging limply from the mast and boom, the line for the mechanism nowhere in sight. There was a fair amount of debris on deck including food containers, water bottles and some clothing, which appeared to have been torn. The sum of all these discoveries indicated one clear and disturbing truth: there had been a struggle.

“Hello?” Catherine yelled at the ship. “Is anyone there?”

The ship floated peacefully, belying the tense and anxiety-ridden situation in which Josh and Catherine found themselves.

“Hello?” she cried again. “Please, if there’s anyone there it’s okay. You can come up.”

But the ship only rocked with the steady ebb and flow of the sea, which was eerily calm.

“Come on,” Catherine said to Josh. “We’ve got to secure that boom before it catches the right momentum.”

Josh snapped his head back toward the derelict boat and located the object of Catherine’s concern. Without a mainsheet or boom vang, the boom was free to swing unrestrained. His mother was right. A sudden swell in the water could allow the boom to swing forcefully in one direction and as the water shifted could cause a reverse swing that could prove devastating to the hull of their ship.

“Okay,” Josh said.

“You’re all right?”

Josh caught Catherine’s eye, astonished that even in this moment of apprehension she was still able to carve out a sliver of maternal concern.

“Yeah, I’m fine.”

Catherine pulled the magazine from her front pocket while simultaneously retrieving the Magnum from her waistband. She slid the clip into the magazine well, snapping it into place with a quick jab from the palm of her hand. With a certain amount of reticence she drew back the slide, letting it snap into place. She tucked the gun back into her waistband.

“All right,” she said. “Let’s go.”

5

The Boat

Catherine was the first aboard. She held her nine-millimeter uncomfortably in her hands, pointing it at the ground as she was trained to do. She glanced quickly over the boat and discovered that the signs of a battle were strikingly more evident than they had previously thought. Large, gaping holes riddled the deck and cabin. Were these gun blasts? There was also a fair amount of broken glass and a dislodged fire extinguisher that looked as if it had been used. An axe and a hammer lay scattered near an overturned toolbox, the latter coated with a dark brown substance over its metallic, flayed surface.

Catherine swallowed hard as she pulled back the hammer on her Magnum. “Is anybody here?”

The boat creaked and bobbed. Silence.

Catherine looked over at Josh, awaiting Catherine’s go-ahead signal from the deck of their boat. She waved for him to come aboard and with the survival rifle slung over his back, immediately set to traversing a rope ladder as he climbed from the safety of his ship to the relative insecurity of the foreign vessel. And as his feet hit the deck and he loosed the rifle from his back, he was made immediately aware of one undeniable element.

The smell.

“Mom?” he said.

“I know,” she confirmed, having encountered the foul stench upon coming aboard. Bad things had happened here, she thought.

Catherine edged forward toward the stairwell leading belowdecks. The shredded remnants of the main sail hung like a curtain over the opening, providing brief glimpses of the darkened area beyond with each breath of ocean air that passed by.

Catherine turned, looked over her shoulder briefly. “Josh, make sure...”

But Josh had already anticipated her request as he fixed the boom in place with a spare piece of rope he recovered from a nearby storage bin, tying it off to the aft railing.

Satisfied, she resumed her path toward the stairs as Josh scooted up alongside her, rifle in hand.

Catherine leaned forward. “Is anybody there? Please come out if there is. We’re not here to hurt anyone.” She waited for a response, but got none. “We have guns,” she said.

“You think anyone’s down there?” Josh asked, his heart thumping in his chest like a kick drum.

Catherine glanced over the ship again. “I don’t think so. And if there are, I don’t think they’re the people that attacked this ship,” she said quietly. “With the mainsheet and boom vang gone and the mainsail destroyed there’s no way to control the ship. And we’d be too far out to power it in. Somebody wanted this boat to remain adrift. And I’d be very surprised if that same somebody was still here.”

Catherine reached forward with her left hand, holding on to the Magnum firmly with her right. She parted the shreds of the main sail over the entrance and pulled them aside.

“Last chance if there’s anyone here,” Catherine yelled into the blackened galley. Silence. She turned toward Josh. “Stay right on my back. And keep your finger off the trigger.”

“I know, I know,” he stammered as he loosened his sweaty grip on the rifle.

Catherine began her descent into the salon and was immediately assaulted by an intense, foul odor that virtually knocked her to her knees. She threw her hand over her mouth.

“Jesus Christ,” Josh said, his first steps below met with the same result. “What the hell is that?” he said through a muffled hand.

“I’m afraid to find out,” Catherine responded, feigning ignorance. But she knew straightaway what it was. Even to the untrained nose, there was no mistaking the aroma of death.

Catherine climbed to the bottom of the stairs and had her initial suspicions of foul play confirmed. Light filtered dimly through two open portholes, but it was enough to reach an unassailable conclusion. There had been a terrific battle as was evident by the enormous amount of debris strewn everywhere. Pots, pans, broken dishes and glasses, silverware, garbage, seat cushions and overturned chairs—it was almost as if the boat had been turned upside down, shaken, then returned to its previous position.

Josh reached the bottom and viewed the destruction with astonishment.

“Looks to have been some fight,” Catherine offered through her fingers. “Check the cabinets and pantry in the kitchen. See what’s left of their stores.”

Josh peeled off, pulling the collar of his shirt over his nose and tucking his chin into his chest to try and repel the thick odor. He slung his rifle back around and began rummaging through the few remaining cabinets that weren’t already flung open and barren. The report was as Catherine expected.

“Looks like they got everything,” he said. “There’s not even a sugar pack.”

Catherine nodded, not at all surprised. “All right, stay with me.”

Josh gripped his rifle again and joined Catherine as she made a sharp left around the stairs and headed aft, stepping slowly toward what was most probably the master berth. The door was closed and recessed into an area devoid of any source of natural light. Catherine searched the wall panel and found the presumable light switch, but was rewarded only with the empty click of the toggle.

“Got your Mag with you?” Catherine said quietly to Josh.

“Yeah,” he replied as he dug out a shiny blue flashlight from his cargo shorts. He twisted the head on it until a light popped on, then handed it to his mother.

Catherine clutched the light in her left hand and aimed the beam at the door to the stateroom. She turned subtly in Josh’s direction but not far enough around to actually see him. “Remember,” she whispered, “watch that trigger.”

Josh nodded, sweat beading on his face.

Catherine heeded her own advice as she adjusted her fingers on the grip of the Magnum and reached for the knob. With a gentle twist the latch was clear of the strike plate and the door pushed open with ease. Catherine clutched the flashlight in her left hand, readying the gun in her right. With a trembling leg, she nudged the door inward.

The room was the complete antithesis of the salon. The bed was made. Clothes were put away. There was even a drinking glass half full of water sitting on a pull down night table. A musky, sweet aroma lingered in the air—perhaps an aftershave or cologne—but the smell was a welcome diversion from the putrid foulness that would resume upon returning to the salon.

She stepped farther into the room and peeked around the corner into the head. Again, more of the same. The facility, as far she could tell, was sparkling clean. The toilet and shower seemed to be in stellar condition and the sparse shelving above the sink area was still neatly arranged with soaps, lotions and other toiletries.

Whatever had happened had taken place outside of this room. And this revelation stirred butterflies in Catherine’s stomach.

The pervading smell in the air was coming from somewhere belowdecks and Catherine had hoped in some bizarre way that the source would’ve been immediately apparent by now. But with the brief inspection of the galley area and the obvious lack of evidence, both physical and odorous, in the aft stateroom the source could only exist in one other area: the forward berth.

“Anything?” Josh asked nervously.

“No. Everything looks okay back here.”

Josh turned slowly in place and cast a long, worrisome stare past the salon and onto another closed door at the forward part of the ship.

Catherine squeezed past him, stepping gingerly over rubbish and broken glass. “You ready?” she asked.

Josh swallowed and nodded as he trailed Catherine over the trash-strewn floor. With carefully placed steps he and Catherine managed to reach the other end of the ship without so much as a sound. And while Josh doubted this stealthy approach would have any real benefit or advantage—especially if what he thought was behind the door was actually there—the mental propping-up it provided soothed him to some degree. In the off chance there was still somebody onboard that wasn’t emitting terrible odors, at least they would have a small, if mostly useless, upper hand.

Catherine tiptoed to the door and placed her sweaty hand gently on the knob. The smell was intense and sickening.

Did she really need to open this door?

With a determination that masked the Jell-O-like consistency of her insides, Catherine twisted the handle, shoving the door in with a swift quick of her foot. She resumed her stance with the flashlight and pointed it and her Magnum into the narrow, blackened space, her breathing coming in rapid, tremulous bursts.

The smell was indescribable.

“Get topside,” she choked out.

“What is it?” Josh asked, intrigued.

Catherine turned, screamed at Josh. “Get topside, now!”

Josh recoiled slightly at his mother’s sudden outburst. And as curious as he was to learn what atrocities lay at her feet, the intensity in his mother’s voice had been enough to assure him that he probably really didn’t want to know.

Catherine watched out of the corner of her eye as Josh trudged through the rubble and ascended the stairwell. Returning her attention to the room she attempted to bury her face in her sleeve as she shone the flashlight over the blood soaked walls. She directed the beam in erratic movements over the room, the jittery light seeming only to emphasize the surreal and horrific scene before her.

Jesus Christ Almighty.

Unable to fight off the pangs of nausea any further, Catherine stumbled from the room, spun and spewed a torrent of vomit with incredible force. She wretched until the “dry heaves” set in then stood doubled over with her hands on her knees as she attempted to catch her breath. Wiping her mouth with the back of her hand, she rose and let the subtle sway of the ship help her find her balance. Reluctantly, she turned back to the open door and forced herself to stare in at the area illuminated by the flashlight.

How could human beings do this?

Somebody or bodies had enjoyed this. Had taken their time. The fact that humans capable of such deliberate monstrosities were out there moving freely in the world shook Catherine to her very core. Maybe it wasn’t such a bad thing after all that the human race had suffered a blow, whatever it was. If an eradication on a massive scale could cleanse the planet of individuals ready and willing to commit murder to this degree, then maybe she was all for it. But as soon as this thought formulated in Catherine’s mind a more disturbing and unsettling counter theory sprang forth: what if the world event had, in some way, been responsible for creating people like this?

Catherine shook off this notion like rain from a slicker. Nothing made people evil and cruel. They either were or they weren’t. And whoever mutilated the two men piled in the forward stateroom had done so because the absence of law and societal rules had allowed their true selves to emerge. It was that simple.

Catherine pulled the door closed, catching a last glimpse of a rotting, glistening eyeball as it gaped emptily from the smashed skull of one of the victims. Catherine stood for a moment reflectively and said a small prayer for the men in the other room. Content with her mini-eulogy she proceeded to the stairwell, walking purposefully through the rubble when something on the ground caught her eye.

There was no real reason her attention should have been drawn to it, but something about it’s crudeness piqued her curiosity. She bent over and picked it up.

A single sheet of crumpled paper.

But this paper was not like the standard eight-and-a-half by eleven printer paper that had been so commonly used throughout the world. No, this was more like butcher paper or newsprint. In fact, that’s exactly what it was.

A newspaper.

The cut was precise—roughly one foot by two feet—creased in the middle and of a heavy, durable weight. And what was printed on it had Catherine’s heartbeat accelerating by the second.

There were stenciled items on both sides and it was clear the paper had been printed in a three-column format, but salt water and smudging had fairly well removed any semblance of legibility from either side. It was the head of the paper that had Catherine’s heart in her throat.

Across the top in simple, but large Poynter font were printed the words “New Shanghai”. The name of the paper? Catherine thought. A new city perhaps? Just below this header and to the right, in an unassuming location—which couldn’t have held more prominence to Catherine if it tried—was a simple line of letters and numbers that had somehow evaded visual damage. An informative bit of copy that held the promise of a future in its smudgy inkiness.

Catherine turned in place, clutching the paper in her hands and ran to the stairs, bounding up the steps like a child on Christmas. She reached the top to find the hatch to the engine room propped open. Josh’s head popped up from the cavity.

“They’ve got gas,” he said, matter-of-factly.

This was a feast, Tamara thought. They hadn’t eaten like this in a long time. And to add a cherry to the top of an already delicious cake, the meal was void of anything that had previously swum or crawled in the ocean.

Yes, this meal was a welcome change. Canned pears, Parmesan cheese bread baked fresh on deck in the solar oven, the last of the beef jerky, rehydrated peas with dehydrated onion and last, but most certainly not least, chocolate chip cookies for dessert which Catherine had made especially for Tamara. It was a rare occasion indeed when the oven was fired up, so to have burned precious fuel for something so frivolous as cookies had not been lost on Tamara.

Catherine was in an exceptional mood today. Probably the happiest Tamara had seen her in weeks. And it all seemed to have stemmed from the chance encounter with the sailboat. She and Josh hadn’t mentioned what they saw on board but Tamara could detect a bit of torment in her mother’s eyes upon her arrival back onboard. Superseding this suppressed anguish was a more powerful and encouraging sense of elation that seemed to put a bit of life back in her step. Was it hope? She mentioned to everyone that there was something of great importance she needed to discuss. Something she considered “good news”. And so it was with this carrot that Catherine had set to preparing the five-star meal enjoyed by all.

Tamara looked across the table at Josh as he finished the last of three cookies he had taken from the plate. Washing them down with a glass of powdered milk, Josh only stared off into space as he gulped the remaining white liquid. He hadn’t said much at all since that morning on the boat. She didn’t know if he was just tired or traumatized or both. She knew that he and Catherine had seen something on that ship, but neither was willing to divulge any information about it. He had spent a large part of the morning siphoning and transferring fuel from that boat to theirs and thought this surely must’ve worn him down. He was usually fairly quiet and introspective. But not like this.

Abby, as was her norm, fiddled with her food to the point of irritation. How could she let all of that go to waste? Tamara knew that, really, it wouldn’t be lost and that she and Josh would be quite happy to finish her portions if she chose to relinquish them over to her and her brother. But previous temper tantrums had set the rule so now one must wait for her older sister to offer up her scraps of her own volition.

Catherine stared down at her plate while she chewed at the already ragged nail on her thumb. The wheel in her mind was clearly spinning and Tamara could tell she was composing a talk of great importance in her head. Tamara glanced at Josh and Abby and found both to be equally as removed from the here and now. So Tamara took the initiative and chose to cut through the deafening silence.

“Mommy, what did you want to talk to us about?”

Catherine’s head snapped up at the sound of Tamara’s voice, Josh and Abby also looking at their sister in mild bewilderment. They turned their attention to Catherine.

Catherine eyed her children, sitting up straight as she flattened her napkin in her lap with repeated strokes of her hand.

“Well,” she began, “I wanted to talk to you about a decision I’ve made that will affect us all.”

“What decision?” Josh finally said, stiffening.

“It has to do with something I found on the boat today. Something I wanted to show you. I think it’s a good sign and something we should consider...” Catherine’s voice trailed off as she recognized the bemusement in her children’s faces, their eyes squinty with confusion. She was getting ahead of herself. Reaching into her back pocket, she withdrew a folded piece of paper and set it on the table and began to unfold it.

“Let me start with this,” she said, holding up the smeary newsprint.

“What is it?” Abby asked.

“Looks like a newspaper or something,” Josh said.

Catherine nodded. “That’s exactly what it is. At least, I think that’s what it is.”

“Why did you take it?” Abby said, eyeing the blackened and mucky paper. “You can’t read anything.”

“That’s what it looked like to me, too, when I first picked it up. But then I took a closer look and discovered something.”

“What’s that?” Josh asked.

“Here,” Catherine replied, indicating the small patch of numbers and letters on the front page just below the main heading.

In unison, Josh, Abby and Tamara leaned forward, narrowing their eyes in an effort to make out the black line of text at the tip of Catherine’s finger.

“It’s a date,” Josh confirmed. “So what?”

“Read it.”

Josh looked again. His mouth fell open, his eyes grew as round as saucers. “Holy shit,” he finally muttered. “Is that for real?”

“As far as I know it is.”

“What?” Abby exclaimed, clearly frustrated that she didn’t understand. “What about it? What are we supposed to be looking at?”

Catherine turned the paper so the front faced her children.

“This date,” Catherine started, “sixteen August, two-thousand nine.”

“Yeah?” Abby said, oblivious.

“But today’s August thirty-first,” Tamara said. “I read it in my diary this morning.”

“That’s right, it is,” Catherine agreed, wanting her daughters to reach the same conclusion she and Josh had already come to and share in the rush of discovery. But it was not to be and the seconds of silence seemed like minutes to Josh as he desperately craved the relevance of this newfound information and how it would factor into Catherine’s heretofore unknown decision.

“Oh, for the love of God already. The date is from three weeks ago meaning somebody, somewhere, made that paper,” Josh said, exasperated. “There are still people alive.”

Lights clicked on behind the eyes of Tamara and Abby.

“You mean nothing happened? Everything’s okay?” Abby said.

“I didn’t say that,” Catherine corrected. “For all we know everything that was supposed to happen did. But the fact that someone created this paper certainly lends a great deal to the notion that things are potentially not as bad as first thought. I mean look at this,” she said, indicating the copious amounts of ink smeared and bleeding on both sides of the paper. “There’s a lot of ink here which tells me that there was a lot to report. There were things to say and someone, or many someones, had to research and record these stories. And why go through all the trouble of reporting and printing a paper if you’ve no public to give it to?” Catherine’s head spun at her own explanation, seeing a light for the first time in what had been a very long tunnel. “What I’m saying is, maybe the world is still here.”

The stunned silence hung like a dense, impenetrable fog in the air. Josh looked at Abby who in turn glanced at Tamara, each child trading stares in an even mix of exhilaration and perplexity.

“So, then, what are you saying?” Josh said.

Catherine set the paper down and crossed her hands in front of her. “I know we just had a conversation the other night about our situation regarding food and water.”

“You said we had three weeks worth,” Tamara clarified.

“I did. And we still do. But in light of this new information,” Catherine said, patting the paper, “I feel we should head ashore. Immediately.”

Abby and Tamara beamed from ear to ear. Josh’s eyes dropped to his plate as he kneaded his napkin.

“I know this is all rather sudden.”

“It’s fine by me. I’ve been ready to get off this boat since the first day we got onboard,” Abby said.

“Yeah, mommy. I’m kinda tired of sailing, too,” Tamara added.

Catherine knew her daughters would view this news in a celebratory manner, each having long ago expressed their restlessness at being confined to such a small area for so long. But it was Josh that concerned her. The transformation she’d witnessed over the past few months in her eldest child had been both inspiring and alarming. To see her son go from the young man she had always known to the man she knew he could be far exceeded her expectations. But this transformation was not without cost and while Josh’s self-confidence built, his withdrawal from family and anything representing social interaction grew. He’d come to enjoy isolation and, in fact, seemed to thrive on it. Catherine knew her recent decision would hit him the hardest.

“Josh?” she said. “How do you feel about this?”

Josh twisted his napkin, but maintained composure. “I mean, I guess. Whatever. Can’t float out here forever, I suppose.”

“All right then. It’s settled. This afternoon I’ll chart us a course and tomorrow at first light we’ll head in.”

Tamara and Abby clapped their hands giddily as if told they were going to Disneyland. Catherine leaned forward and gently grabbed Tamara’s hands.

“Listen, you two. I don’t want you to get your hopes up. We’ve no idea what this means,” Catherine said, briefly lifting the newspaper as if displaying evidence to a jury. “I’m not sure how I feel about it yet myself, but I think given our situation it’s the right choice. And while this paper certainly offers a spark of hope, it’s in no way a guarantee. Now, I know this is a lot to ask of you. But you should try as best you can to prepare yourself for the worst. I can’t tell you what that will be, but I pray to God it’s nothing like today.” Catherine shot a quick glance at Tamara, hoping her mini-confession had eluded her. But Tamara only stared. “So just get that in your heads, okay? This is not a celebration. It’s just the next step.”

Catherine released Tamara’s hands with a loving pat and sat back eyeing her children, none of whom wanted to meet her gaze.

“So, where're we gonna go? Back home?” Josh said dourly.

“Sort of. It’s a bit north of the city. Near the coast.”

“Are we gonna meet daddy there?” Tamara asked exuberantly.

“Not quite. We’re gonna meet up with him when...”

The world suddenly spun out of control.

Blackness washed over Catherine as a nauseating dizziness engulfed her. She clutched the edge of the table attempting to maintain consciousness, her vision reduced to white pinpricks of light.

Please, God. No.

“Mom? You okay?” Abby asked, directing the attention of Josh and Tamara to their mother’s plight.

“I...I need to...” Catherine stammered as she clamored to her feet, stumbling away from the table and almost falling. She righted herself and charged like a drunken sailor into the aft stateroom.

Josh was already on his feet.

“What’s wrong with mommy?” Tamara asked, tears welling in her eyes.

“I don’t know,” Josh said simply as he barreled after her, Abby and Tamara right on his tail. Josh reached the doorway and stared in at a sight he had never before seen in his life.

His mother had lost complete control.

In a wild frenzy, Catherine had pulled clothing from drawers, scattering the garments about the room as she flung them with reckless abandon. She finished a drawer, tossed it aside and then moved to the next.

“Mom!” Josh yelled. “What the hell’re you doing?”

“It has to be here,” Catherine mumbled incoherently. “It has to.”

“What has to be here?” Josh said.

Catherine ignored her son, abandoning the drawers and sliding on her knees over to the beds. She wrestled several duffel bags from below the lower bunk and unzipped one ferociously. She inspected it thoroughly, checking the canvas pockets and other interior zippered areas with quick jabbing swipes of her hand. She tossed it aside angrily, tears of frustration forming as she moved on to the next one, but was met with the same result.

She climbed to her feet in a panic, charging over to a small vanity near the bathroom. She knocked small bottles and lotions from the table as she ransacked the tiny drawers, yanking each of three out in succession and rooting about unsuccessfully.

Abby held a crying Tamara, having chosen to remain outside the room as Josh stepped in.

“Mom, what are you looking for?” Josh said loudly, real concern finding a foothold in his voice.

Catherine again ignored him and tried to shuffle past Tamara and Abby into the galley. “It must be out here. It has to...” Catherine murmured. But that mature boy she had been so proud of had not only advanced emotionally and intellectually, he had also developed physically. And when Josh’s hand clamped around Catherine’s wrist and forced her to sit on the bed with a defeated slump, two months worth of fear, paranoia, anger, sadness and isolation gushed out of her like a geyser.

Having reached her breaking point, Catherine leaned her head on her son’s shoulder and cried in a way neither she nor her family had ever seen before. She wailed in huge exhalations, sometimes struggling to catch her breath so that she could continue her meltdown. Josh looked helplessly to his sisters who could only stare as he cradled his limp and broken mother in his arms.

Tamara ran into the room, tears spilling from her eyes as she clutched her mother. Catherine draped a weakened arm around her, pulling her close with as much strength as she could manage.

Abby stepped tentatively forward and sat at her mother’s feet. She placed a reassuring hand on Catherine’s foot and sat in silence as Catherine continued to purge her demons.

Eventually the crying subsided and Catherine pushed herself up from Josh’s shoulder, wiping her forearm in huge swaths over her eyes and cheeks. She sat for what seemed like minutes then finally inhaled shakily. She breathed out a cleansing, centering breath and lifted her head slightly.

“It looks as though we have a change of plans,” she said.

Josh, Abby and Tamara looked at one another in continued befuddlement as Catherine set to explaining her actions. Sitting on the bed, her life and sense of purpose returning to her in dribbling amounts, Catherine told of what it was she was looking for and what, it appeared, she had forgotten in her hurried and panic-stricken escape from their home. She explained its significance and how, if they were ever going to see their father again, they needed to be in possession of it. She then turned to Josh and acknowledged that he had been right in his initial inquiry—they would be going home after all.

6

Ashore

It had been a wonderful evening. The meal at D’Anzio’s was exquisite and of a quality they rarely experienced; and when the bill had arrived on a fancy porcelain tray they recalled in a painful swipe of their credit card the oppressive reason behind their five-star infrequencies.

But it had been worth it. Too many weeks had passed since the last evening they’d spent together that could even remotely be considered a date, and that had consisted of the latest comic-book movie at the multiplex and a TGI Fridays.

No, tonight was perfect. They had dressed the part, Warren donning his finest Hickey-Freeman suit and Catherine exhibiting her slender curves in a navy blue Donna Karan strapless knockoff. They had talked and shared anecdotes of their week. They had held hands across the table and lingered endlessly over a bottle of Bollinger Champagne, Special Cuvée—the price of which had almost rivaled a car payment. But most importantly, they had laughed.

Having spent the majority of Friday and Saturday knee deep in more sailing lessons and re-supply efforts, the dinner, which had been Warren’s idea, was a relaxing and thoughtful gesture which reaffirmed to her that she was still in a committed, loving marriage and not in a corporate partnership. For at times, the latter had seemed to dominate the landscape of their relationship.

Oh, yes, there had been fights.

Driving in silence on Friday night, Catherine had expressed her sincere distaste for yet another fun-filled weekend rife with training. But more than this she had loathed the lies they had chosen to tell both their children and Terri, who had so graciously volunteered her time to serve as stand-in guardian while they were away. But Warren had shot back vehemently, defending his actions and all that it entailed claiming every little thing they did was preparation for a “when” not an “if”. Catherine remembered rolling her eyes at this and wondered how it could be that so many people before her husband had predicted the end of the world and failed so miserably, yet Warren was so resolute in his conviction.

They spent Friday and most of Saturday in total silence save the few bits of instruction Warren would fling at her. But Sunday had felt like a new day and both were just plain weary of keeping their figurative arms crossed over their chests. Conversation had begun naturally over breakfast and continued throughout most of the day without so much as a spat. And when Warren surprised her with the evening dress he had stowed in his suitcase, she forgot about the previous days’ bickering and succumbed to the romantic vibe he put forth.

The dinner finished, they had returned home. And as if by some telepathic prompting they had discovered a note from Terri on the refrigerator telling of the movie she had taken the kids to see a little over an hour ago.

The house was theirs.

Scampering up the stairs like two kids on Christmas Eve, Catherine and Warren made a beeline for their bedroom eagerly shedding their high-priced duds onto the floor in careless piles. They fell onto the bed, their mouths finding each other immediately, their hands caressing and feeling.

Catherine lay back, ready and willing to lose herself in the moment when Warren froze as if suddenly thrust into suspended animation. Before she could ask what the problem was Warren was on his feet and digging in their overnight bag. Standing buck naked, he withdrew the object he was seeking from the confines of the bag and told Catherine he would be right back.

Catherine propped herself onto an arm and glared at her husband incredulously. Was he serious? They were in the throes of passion, ready to engage in a moment of bliss they hadn’t enjoyed in so long and he stopped for this?

But Warren had countered with an equal measure of disbelief, re-illustrating the importance of the object he held in his hand and how imperative it was that it be concealed at all times. And as he turned for the door to return the item to its hiding place, Catherine sat up. Never one for ultimatums she found this situation to be unacceptable and a fine time for one if there ever was. She knew that Warren didn’t respond well to threats, even of the sort that involved simple marital issues, so when the sentence “leave the room and sleep on the couch” had been uttered she knew the outcome even before the last word left her lips.

With an irritated swipe, Warren had snatched up his clothes from the floor and stormed out, closing the door emphatically behind him.

Catherine could only stare dumbfounded. Lying on the bed she gazed emptily before her, ruminating over the impact this night would have on her for weeks, if not months, to come.

But soon, other events would eclipse that evening, reducing the severity of the fight to the level of a playground spat. Yes, things would change. In ways she just couldn’t foresee.

Lying on her berth, Catherine drifted around in her head, floating along with the swell of the ocean that moved beneath the boat.

A glint of light sliced across the cabin wall accompanied by the creak of a sticky door hinge.

“Mom?” Abby’s voice whispered from the cracked opening of the stateroom.

Catherine had to shake herself from her trance of remembrance, wiping the glazed expression of regret from her face. She had been staring at the darkened wall in the stateroom for so long the blackish-brown knot in the wood paneling had taken on a hypnotic effect, allowing her to recall with relative ease and clarity her and Warren’s last “evening” together. It had not been a memory she wished to revisit, but the object at the heart of so much strife had been a unifying thorn in her subconscious.

She rolled over and faced her daughter. “Yeah?”

“Josh needs you. He...he says he thinks we’re here.”

Catherine sat up at this and rubbed her face vigorously. Composing herself with a few deep breaths she forced herself to her feet and pulled open the door allowing light to flood the room. She placed a hand on Abby’s shoulder and forced an unconvincing smile.

“Okay. Let’s go.”

Catherine followed Abby through the salon, up the stairs and out onto the deck where she immediately located Josh at the bow, binoculars to his eyes. The sun was thirty or so minutes from setting and there was thankfully little cloud cover. The sun would provide welcome cover astern as they made their approach inland.

She walked toward her son but managed only three steps before she took notice, her feet freezing in place as if stuck in tar. She peered with her mouth agape at the nightmarish vision that lay before her, moving up beside Josh.

Josh continued his reconnaissance through the binoculars, but sensed his mother’s presence at his side. He pulled himself away and, without so much as a sideways glance, offered the binoculars to his mother, sheer astonishment hijacking his face.

“You...you’re gonna want to look at this,” he said, his voice raspy.

Catherine raised the binoculars to her eyes and stared into the ocular lens. She could feel her heart begin to race as she adjusted the focus wheel with damp, sweaty hands. And as the images refined themselves with each turn, Catherine’s hands began to shake.

She knelt down and placed her elbows on either side of the bow pulpit for stability, truth rushing at her like a lightning bolt, sending electric shocks straight to her heart.

Through the binoculars she was able to make out the silhouette of a cityscape. Darkening skyscrapers in the downtown area stood like tombstones, glistening insignificantly in the muted oranges of sunset. On any given day these behemoths would glow like neon signs in even the poorest of light, but the towers she beheld were lifeless husks of their former selves. The lack of any illumination could only mean one thing: the glass in which so many of the buildings were encased had been removed. Or destroyed.

Catherine panned over other areas of the city searching for signs of activity, life, answers, anything. There were no cars or buses moving to and fro on the Lincoln overpass. No subways or trains whisking commuters from stop to stop. There were no airplanes departing or arriving from either of the two airports located near the city. There was no light of any sort. Not one street lamp, headlight or office fluorescent anywhere. But most disquieting of all, there were no people. Not one person moved along the shoreline, walked the beach or even strolled through the visible areas of town. The city seemed as quiet and lifeless as a cemetery, the chalky grays of dusk only lending to the eerie quality.

Catherine slowly lowered the binoculars. “What the hell happened here? Where is everyone?” she muttered to herself.

“Mommy, is that home?” Tamara asked from somewhere behind her.

Catherine turned slowly, her brain working feverishly to process everything she had just seen. Tamara sat with Abby near the stairs clutching Sniffles the elephant in her arms, a protective arm from Abby wrapped around her like a comforting blanket.

“I don’t know, baby,” Catherine uttered, barely able to choke out the words. For the duration of their time at sea, Catherine had only wanted to know one thing: Why? Why had they been driven from their home and their life, forced to live adrift in uncertainty for so long? The constant nag of ignorance had chewed away at her insides, but she knew the day would eventually arrive where all would be revealed. But now, compelled to navigate the shadowy, bleak city before her, she wished in no small way for the relative simplicity of sea life to return if just for a little while longer.

Catherine stared at the deck and the long shadows cast by the setting sun as they snaked over the fiberglass hull. She turned suddenly, peering over the railing into the water and took note of the enormous shadow preceding the boat as cast by the main sail. She whipped her head around to face Josh. “Let’s get that mainsail down.”

Josh screwed his face in confusion. “Why? We’ve got strong breezes and a lot of ground to cover still. Why would we want to lower it?”

“Because that sail,” Catherine pointed out, “will look like a huge black speck on the horizon to anyone keeping watch from land. I’m not convinced everything is as lifeless as it appears. There has to be somebody out there.” As she finished her explanation, Catherine’s words reverberated in her head. Yes, there had to be someone, hadn’t there? It couldn’t be just them. The odds were stacked heavily against it. Those poor people on the boat and the fiends that perpetrated their vicious acts against them had been proof. And that was at sea, for Christ’s sake. Certainly there were many others on the mainland, perhaps hiding, watching or even relocated away from the shoreline. The possibilities were extensive.

With this sudden nugget of realization Catherine’s spirit seemed to lift a little. But just as she had adjusted her attitude, Josh offered his own concern as he set to lowering the mainsail.

Moving to the mast he clutched the halyard in his hand, then quite simply and chillingly said, “There may be someone out there. But are they gonna be someone we want to meet?”

The outline of the city grew more ominous as they drew closer and with nightfall upon them the ghostly outlines of the skyscrapers stood like monsters in a darkened closet waiting for the right moment to strike. This sensation had been amplified exponentially as well since they had abandoned the relative safety and stability of their sturdy boat for the flimsy and cramped confines of the life raft in which they currently found themselves. Having discovered sunken ships and other debris floating dangerously in and around the harbor, the decision was made to abandon the unwieldy sailboat for the smaller, quieter and easier to navigate life raft.

Josh turned away from the Four Star Retreat with no small amount of sadness. It was a boat he had grown to love. It had, in fact, become home to him and today marked the second time in three months he’d been forced to abandon his place of residence. He faced forward and continued paddling in concert with his mother as Tamara and Abby sat silently huddled together behind them.

“How you doing, Josh?” Catherine whispered, panting heavily.

“I’m okay,” Josh replied, lying through his teeth.

The shoreline remained extraordinarily haunting as the absence of a living soul persisted amid the supporting creepiness of gently lapping waves. Several piers emerged out of the darkness like spider legs, Catherine and Josh directing their strokes to the nearest dock as it seemed to reach out toward them. A final few pulls of the water and Josh was able to grab hold of a piling and anchor the raft to the pier with his body as Catherine quickly tied off the raft to one of the mooring cleats.

Their first objective reached, Catherine and her family could only sit quietly in the boat catching their breath and listening. The sound of sloshing water and tiny waves filled the crisp night air. The few boats still moored in the marina strained against the lines to which they were tied, initiating unsettling groans that only contributed to the unease.

“Okay, come on,” Catherine whispered as she turned to her daughters and offered them a hand. Josh had already climbed onto the pier and crouched low extending his arm out to his sisters and pulling them onto the dock. Catherine threw two backpacks loaded with supplies—food, medicine, water—up to Josh before she crawled out of the boat and joined her family.

She looked over her children then pulled them together in a tight circle. “Now listen,” she said, her voice low, “our only goal here is to get back to our home as fast as possible. We’re not on a survival rescue mission or a disaster survey. We have no idea what’s happened and therefore don’t know what’s safe and what isn’t. We only eat the food and drink the water that we’re carrying. Understood? You stay close by me and do exactly as I say when I say it. Is that clear?”

The kids all nodded at Catherine, their eyes bulging wide. Catherine reached out and caressed Tamara’s cheek, trying her best to quell the overwhelming fear she and the others most surely had.

“Now we’ve been at sea for a long time so it’s going to feel funny walking for a while. If you need to slow down or take a break then let me know. Okay?”

“Okay,” they all said in unison.

“Okay,” Catherine confirmed.

“Do you know where we are?” Josh asked.

Catherine stood up part way and peered toward the darkened monoliths of downtown, then crouched back down. “If I’m not mistaken, I think Sandy Shoals is that way,” she pointed. “Maybe two or three marinas over. If that’s right then that means just outside of this marina is Shorecrest Drive and the onramp to the highway. If we’re really lucky we’ll find a car we can use then drive home under the cover of night and no one will even know we’re here.”

“If we’re lucky,” Josh reiterated.

“Yeah,” Catherine nodded, sensing this was most likely a long shot. But they needed a plan. Find transportation, get back to the house as quickly and covertly as possible then hightail it to the meeting point—it sounded as good a plan as any.

“All right, we ready?” she said to her children, new sweat already forming on her brow.

Everyone nodded nervously and collected whatever items they were carrying. Josh and Catherine flung the backpacks over their shoulders as Abby toted a small shoulder bag and Tamara clutched Sniffles.

“Let’s go,” Catherine said, forcing out the words as she headed down the pier, checking over her shoulder every three or four steps to make sure her family was still with her.

The navigation through and out of what turned out to be Sandpiper Marina had been mercilessly void of incident. Whatever ships remained tied to the docks seemed to have been abandoned. And if the thick layer of chalky dust that coated the decks of the boats was any indication, Catherine guessed they might have been tethered there for the duration of her time away.

But what had been an uneventful escape from the piers of Sandpiper Marina had, unfortunately, spilled over into an equally uneventful hunt in the parking lot. While there had been numerous vehicles to choose from, ranging from powerful, gas-guzzling SUVs to sports cars, random and thorough searches had yielded the same dispiriting result: no keys.

In the cases where tops were left down or doors remained unlocked, interiors were explored for any sign of a key, however ridiculous and unlikely. But even when Abby had discovered a magnetic spare key case on the underside of a BMW Sedan, the initial rush of adrenalin from the discovery was instantly snuffed as the turn of the ignition yielded not so much as a sputtering cough from the engine. The car was flat out dead.

And that’s when Josh discovered something.

“Mom, look at this,” he said, drawing Catherine’s attention to the gas tank door which was ajar.

Catherine bent over, squinting her eyes. But even in the darkness it was obvious, the raised sections of paint feeling like Braille under her fingertips as the tiny door swung freely in her grasp.

An “X”. Crudely etched in the upper right corner, it had been gouged deep enough so that there would be no mistake: this car had been drained and marked.

“Check the others,” Catherine said fretfully as she indicated the rest of the parking lot with a wave of her hand. And as she shuffled over to a yellow Humvee then onto a cherry red VW Tiguan, the same incriminating evidence revealed itself beneath her touch.

“They got those over there, mom,” Josh said, returning from across the parking lot. “And the batteries are all missing. We couldn’t go anywhere even if there was fuel.”

“These, too,” Abby added, thumbing over her shoulder.

Damn, Catherine thought. Damn, damn, damn. Someone or a whole lot of someones had completely siphoned off the entire parking lot. It only stood to reason that the same outcome would be met in adjacent marinas and probably worsen the closer they got to the city. But how far out did the fuel and battery deficit radiate? And how long ago had the cars been sucked dry? Clearly there were survivors, Catherine reasoned, and for the amount of fuel that had been siphoned off so far from the city center—the likely epicenter of human activity—more than one person was most likely involved in its acquisition and transport. The likelihood that there had been a group of people set to such a task made Catherine at once both wary and exhilarated.

“So what now?” Josh asked, leaning against the BMW in defeat, arms crossed.

“I’m thinking,” Catherine replied as Tamara inched her way into the protective arms of her mother.

Catherine chewed her already jagged nails, surveying their location and weighing all their options. The chance of locating a car with keys still in it was slim, she thought. Add to that the unlikely possibility of it also containing fuel and a battery and the slim became anorexic. So what to do? The house was too far to even think about attempting walking, but without a vehicle they didn’t have much of a choice. Even if they were to give it a try they’d be pulling an all-nighter in their efforts and would most likely not reach home before daylight. And who knew where they’d be when the sun rose and what sets of eyes would be watching them when it did. There was only one real option. But it was one that, despite its apparent probability for success, offered the most potential for risk.

Catherine stood tall, adjusting the backpack on her shoulder and taking Tamara’s hand in hers. “Okay,” she said. “Let’s go.”

“Where?” Abby queried.

“That way,” Catherine said, pointing smack dab into the menacing cluster of buildings, which at one time served as a vivacious and spirited downtown.

“We’re heading into the city?” Josh forced out.

“I think it’s our best and, really, only option.”

“But what if there are people there?” Abby added. “Bad people.”

“Look, I don’t like it any better than you, but here’s the situation. We need a car. Wheels of some sort. Heck, I’ll even take bicycles at this point. But the one thing that looks like a given is that gas is a rare commodity these days. Whoever cleaned this place out, it stands to reason they didn’t start or stop here and that every vehicle we’d come across would be just as empty as these.”

“But what if we did find one?” Abby asked.

“Then I’d say we’d be very lucky. But even if we do we still have the problem of trying to get the car started. And while your mom is a lot of things, she’s unfortunately not very good at hot-wiring cars.” Catherine smiled, drawing grins from Abby and Josh.

“What is hot-wiring?” Tamara asked.

“Something I’m glad you have no idea about,” Catherine said, pulling Tamara close.

“So what’s the plan then?” Josh queried. “Are we just supposed to walk through the city and hope we find someone?”

“For lack of a better suggestion, yes,” Catherine said, nodding with the absurdity of it all. “I can’t believe the only survivors left are ones bent on causing harm to others. It flies in the face of everything that makes us human. No, someone can help us. In that, I have faith.”

“But seeing as we don’t know which type of human we’ll encounter first, don’t you think you should get out your...you know?” Josh said, making an “L” with his thumb and index finger. As if for emphasis, he pulled his rifle from his back and clutched it in front of him.

Catherine couldn’t believe she had overlooked this. So eager and fearful to get ashore and begin unraveling the mystery of what had imprisoned them for the past few months, she had completely and irresponsibly forgotten the first rule of preservation: always be prepared. She flipped the backpack around so it was in front of her and unzipped the main pocket. Reaching in the pack, she withdrew the trusty Magnum she hated with every inch of her being. Sliding a magazine into the well and tapping it home, she tucked the nine millimeter uncomfortably into the waistband of her jeans. Readjusting the backpack to her back she quickly let her hair down only to retie it firmly into a secure ponytail.

“Okay,” she said, grabbing Tamara’s hand with her left hand while clutching the Magnum out of her belt with the right. “Let’s get moving.”

Navigating Shorecrest Drive was a creepy exercise in controlling one’s imagination. While they encountered nary a soul as they snuck along the storefronts lining the street, the various creaks, clangs and moans from swaying trees and lamp posts draped in festive lights and banners provided enough auditory hallucinogenic color to balance out the bleak, dark environment from whence they originated.

It was dark. Brutally, eerily and unrelentingly dark.

They walked at an adrenaline-induced pace, Tamara and Abby able to keep pace as Josh snaked along Shorecrest Drive itself, randomly inspecting the scattered and abandoned vehicles that peppered the road only to report the same negative outcome with each search of a car.

Catherine peered through the darkness at Josh as he opened the door to a minivan. Quickly popping on his Maglite, he shone the slender beam into the cab, shoving his head in and wrenching it around the steering column. But no sooner had he entered the vehicle than he flung himself back out as if ejected.

Catherine could see him standing beside the car, staring in what seemed like shock.

Something was wrong.

Collecting her daughters Catherine pulled them close keeping one eye on Josh. “Stay right here. I’m just going to talk to Josh. Don’t move. I’ll be right back.”

Both girls nodded, Abby adding, “Hurry,” as Catherine trotted over to Josh.

Even as she approached the van, Catherine could sense that something was different about it over the others they had seen. She reached Josh, gently taking his arm. “What is it?”

“I don’t know,” he said. “But I think some messed up shit happened in there.”

Catherine checked on Abby and Tamara still sitting along the front entrance of a Starbucks, then returned her attention to the vehicle. Grabbing the handle, Catherine pulled the door to the van open. The smell had dissipated somewhat, but the gore and the Rorschach-like patterns of what was most assuredly blood remained.

“May I see that?” Catherine said to Josh, indicating his flashlight. Josh numbly handed it to her. She snapped on the light and peered in.

The windshield was caked over with a thick brown film that looked as if someone had splashed a bucket full of watery mud onto it. The spatter had even reached the back window and coated most of the side windows. The upholstery on the seats was an outhouse brown, the texture some form of crusty, stomach-churning residue. Turning her attention to the steering column, Catherine discovered the nastiness was not limited to just the front seat. And when further inspection led to the discovery of the splattered and heinously encrusted roof, its previously flattened integrity now a series of concave depressions, Catherine realized she was in uncharted territory. It was as if something—or someone?—had exploded.

Seeing all she needed to, Catherine shut the door and placed a hand on Josh’s back directing him over to where his sisters waited.

“Not a word,” she whispered in his ear as they approached.

“What was it?” Abby asked.

“Thought we had a winner,” Catherine said. “No go. Come on. Let’s get moving again.”

The girls got to their feet as Josh shot a quick glance back at the van. But it was too dark to really see. Too dark to make out the violence that had occurred there. And it would be too dark to notice if any of the other vehicles on their path had met with similar fates, Josh not really all that interested to learn whether they had or not. Too dark to care and dark enough to remain blissfully ignorant. Yes, it was too dark for all of that.

But it was especially too dark to make out the figure in the road. The one that stood motionless, seeming to stare in Josh and his family’s direction as they walked unawares toward it. And when the figure slowly turned and crept away, it had been too dark to see that, too.

The trek into the city had taken longer than Catherine expected. But chalking the slow pace up to a combination of wobbly legs and extreme precaution made the sluggishness a bit more forgivable.

As with Shorecrest, Catherine steered her family from the roads themselves and kept to the extreme shadows of the sidewalks and walkways that crisscrossed throughout the city center. The plethora of parks and pedestrian areas provided ample opportunity to move about clandestinely while also allowing certain vantage points from which to view major public thoroughfares.

But unlike the relatively mild damage found along the winding, vacant curves of Shorecrest, downtown had been a war zone. There was such an abundance of glass in the streets from the hollowed-out skyscrapers and vandalized stores, the millions of shards scattered about literally served as a reflective coating over the existing pavement and concrete. Garbage and debris were strewn everywhere and a curious number of vehicles had been reduced to charred rubble, having been burned out long ago.

There was carbon scoring along the exteriors of several buildings noticeable even in the darkened gloom. Many of them seemed to originate several stories high and extended an additional two or three stories suggesting massive blazes. Huge chunks of brick and metal lay in heaps along the roads and sidewalks, their origins residing somewhere above in the gaps and holes of the buildings from which they were extracted. Bombs perhaps? Explosions? The destruction seemed random and not at all pointed as if whatever happened had been combated in a frenzy.

Traversing the minefield of dangerous rubble had been taxing, but the more onerous feat for Catherine had been in trying to provide reasonable explanations for all that she and her kids saw. The most revolting discovery, however, and one that needed no convoluted answer to explain away had been the inevitable discovery of bodies. This had been something Catherine both feared and expected since setting foot on the dock. More out of the trauma it would inflict on Tamara and Abby then on the actual visceral images it would burn into her mind, the inevitability of corpses lying in the street was something from which she tried at all costs to divert attention. But find them they did and in various states of decomposition. It set in Catherine a certain level of panic when several bodies appeared to have met their demise only within the past few weeks.

Having safely journeyed into the heart of the city, Catherine maneuvered her family into an area known by locals as Coffee Lane. With equal proximity to the business district and the university, the park was at all times rife with men and women in suits and a wide variety of twenty-somethings in tie-dyes and cargo shorts passing the time in between meetings or class, a cup of joe the vice of choice.

Catherine was familiar enough with this pass-through, having taken several classes nearby, and knew of a perfect area where she and her children could watch and rest. It was a small cul-de-sac of a space just off the main drag that offered privacy to those who didn’t wish to engage in socializing. Surrounded on all sides by sculpted shrubbery and with only one entrance point, it was an ideal location in which to hole up. It even had multiple benches so anyone requiring a few minutes of rest could lie down if one desired.

Tamara, to no one’s surprise, asked first. “Mommy, I’m tired.”

“I know, baby. We all are,” Catherine said, meaning every word. “You and Sniffles can rest on one of the benches if you like.”

Tamara nodded blankly as she and Sniffles curled into a ball on the iron bench.

“I think I’ll join you,” Abby said as she rubbed her eyes.

“Go ahead. But remember you two, we’re just resting,” Catherine clarified. “We’re only staying for a few minutes so don’t fall asleep. Okay?”

Abby mumbled something unintelligible as she found her own bench. Tamara was already sawing logs.

Turning her attention out onto the courtyard, Catherine knelt beside Josh. At one point it had been a beautiful green and manicured oasis. Now it was quite literally a shadow of its former self, the foliage having grown into unmanageable and unrecognizable shapes, the garbage and downed tree limbs strewn as if shot from a canon.

“Anything?” Catherine asked.

“No, nobody. But look at this,” Josh said as he pointed skyward toward the nearest building.

Catherine followed his finger and immediately saw it. A flicker of light emanating from what was most likely a cubicle-ridden office at one point. The orange-ish light seemed to shimmer and fade intermittently.

“Fire,” Catherine said finally.

“That’d be my guess. And look over there. There are more of them.”

Catherine turned, scanned the skyline and was met with an encouraging site. Dim yellowish-orange color flickered weakly from several places among the nearest buildings. She guessed the lowest to be, at a minimum, on the tenth floor, the rest significantly higher.

Catherine grabbed Josh’s shoulder. “This is good news,” she said with a smile.

But suddenly, as if there to contradict Catherine’s feelings of positivity, an enormous, thin glow of yellow-white light popped on just over the horizon. It’s hazy appearance seemed stark against the night sky, its presence unmistakable.

Catherine and Josh instinctively rose to their feet, eyes wide and mouths open.

“What the hell is that?” Josh said.

Catherine shook her head for a moment before finally answering. “I have no idea.”

Josh glanced back up at the buildings again, toward the places where fires had lived. Maybe there was a signaling system in place created by the survivors. One meant to warn or inform of peculiar situations such as this. But as his eyes searched the tall buildings he was stunned to discover that all of the fires previously burning in their respective shells had been snuffed—every last one of them.

“Mom, the fires—”

Gunshots rang out in the opposite direction driving Catherine and Josh involuntarily to their knees. Three quick bursts followed by a distant chorus of raucous laughter. Catherine peered around the edge of a ragged shrub and looked in the direction of the gunfire while simultaneously pulling out her Magnum and flipping off the safety.

Shadowy figures drifted into view near Fifth Avenue, one of the main arteries into Coffee Lane. Whoever these men were—and it was clear to Catherine that’s exactly what they were: men—they made no attempt to conceal themselves, walking brazenly down the middle of the street for all to see.

Struggling through the blackness, Catherine could just make out four individuals. One suddenly stopped and shot out one of the few remaining plate glass windows of what had been a shoe store. The men laughed again as if this were the funniest thing they had ever seen.

“They’re easily entertained,” Josh said from over Catherine’s shoulder.

“I think we should gather everyone up and get as much distance between those trigger-happy fools and ourselves as soon as possible.” Catherine said. “I’m desperate for help, but not at the risk of putting any of you in danger.”

Josh nodded without hesitation. “I’ll get Tamara.”

“Thanks, kiddo,” Catherine whispered gratefully.

As Josh stood and flung the rifle onto his back, he suddenly became acutely aware of another presence. And when he heard footsteps, his worst fears confirmed, he turned suddenly to warn his mother.

“Mom, I hear—”

But his sternly whispered words dropped out of the air like a cannon ball when he saw the three men standing with Catherine, their guns pointed at her head.

7

Coffee Lane

“Ellwesa, ellwesa. Atwhasa oodosa eweesa avehasa erehesa?” said the man in front holding a revolver to Catherine’s temple and relieving her of her gun. Surprisingly well shaven with only a two or three day growth, his clothes were not as haggard as one would expect. While certainly dirty, they were a far cry from the tattered rags so often portrayed in film and television where apocalypse was concerned. Even in the darkness the man’s sparkling new Adidas could be seen.

“Oowhosa reasa ooyoosa?” he said, eyeing Josh but speaking to Catherine.

She could tell the gibberish he was spewing was a question of some sort based on the intonation and the lilting quality of the final word. But for the life of her she’d no idea what the hell was being said.

“Please, my name’s Catherine Hayesly and these are my children. Don’t hurt us. We just need some help. We’re looking for a car...or, or transportation of some sort so we can find—”

“Eesheesa eedsnesa asa arcasa!” a pudgy man with muttonchops blurted out from behind Catherine as he kept the barrel end of his rifle placed firmly at the base of her skull.

“Look,” Josh began, the first tingling of fear-induced nausea beginning to creep in, “we don’t want any trouble. We...we just need some help.”

The third man, a small but stocky guy with a shaved head, walked out from behind Catherine in a large arc as if he were keeping his distance from her and pointed a shotgun directly at Josh.

“Oh, please,” Catherine began to cry, “don’t hurt him. We don’t want any trouble. Please.”

The Stocky Man walked up to Josh, but kept his distance. “Utpusa owndosa ethesa ungussa,” he said firmly.

Josh stared at him, his eyes filling with tears. “I don’t understand what you’re—”

“Utpusa owndosa ethesa ungussa!” the Stocky Man screamed causing Josh to jump.

“I think he wants you to put your rifle down. Just do it, sweetheart,” she said, doing all she could to keep from flying into a maternal rage.

Josh looked from the Stocky Man to Adidas Man and held his hands, palm out, into the air in a gesture of peace. Slowly, with his right hand he loosed the rifle strap from his shoulder and set the freed weapon on the pavement taking a step backwards to verify he understood the “request”.

Stocky Man stepped forward and viciously kicked the rifle away into the inky blackness, smiling ominously at Josh. He then raised his shotgun at him, chest high.

Catherine screamed, “No! No, don’t do it! Please!”

“Mommy, what’s happening?” Tamara said from the darkness, her small voice cutting through the air like a hot knife through butter.

The Stocky Man’s head spun so fast in her direction Josh thought he might have given himself whiplash. “Omtosa, etgesa verosa erehesa,” he said calmly to Muttonchops who then briskly joined him and pointed his rifle in at Tamara and Abby who had just been jarred awake.

Abby shook the lingering heaviness of sleep from her head and quickly assessed the situation. She hopped to her feet, pulling Tamara behind her. “Mom, what’s going on?” she said shakily.

“It’s okay, sweetie. Everything’s gonna be all right,” Catherine stated, sounding not at all convinced of that outcome.

Muttonchops leaned over conspiratorially and whispered into Stocky Man’s ear. Stocky Man smiled at whatever was being said to him, then backpedaled over to Adidas Man and proceeded to speak at a low volume into his ear.

Catherine glanced into the eyes of her children, never in her wildest dreams imagining that she would find herself in a situation such as this. The look of fear on their faces would be emblazoned in her mind forever.

She couldn’t hear what was being said, but Catherine could see Adidas Man nodding agreeably out of the corner of her eye. When Muttonchops was finished, Adidas Man walked forward and stared in at Abby and Tamara, keeping his revolver trained on Catherine the entire time.

And as she witnessed the salivating stares directed toward her daughters by the men, a wave of fear washed over her so intensely she thought she might actually pass out.

“What do you want from us?” she managed to force out, pushing back the terror in her voice and distracting the men from their ogling.

Adidas Man walked back toward her, stepping closer than any of the men had thus far. He reached around with his free hand and freed Catherine’s hair from its tie, allowing her dark brown locks to fall seductively over her face and shoulders. He placed the barrel of his revolver under a wavy tress near her collarbone and flipped it with a flick of the gun onto her back. He looked at her closely, as if inspecting her from head to toe like a choice cut of meat he was considering. He sniffed her hair, then her neck.

Catherine wanted desperately to close her eyes and find a happy place, but didn’t want for even a second to take her eyes off the other men standing near her children. Adidas Man placed his hand gently on her breast filling Catherine immediately with revulsion. He leaned in close to her ear and said in the clearest English, “You’re all right, aren’t you?”

Catherine turned and looked sharply at him, confusion etched on her face.

“I’ll take this one,” Adidas Man said to the others loud and clear.

The men smiled wide as if this were the cue they had been waiting for. And before Josh could even make sense of what was about to happen, the Stocky Man took two purposeful steps toward him and slammed the butt of his rifle into the side of Josh’s skull, laying him out flat.

“NO!” Catherine screamed as she charged toward her son, but Adidas Man’s arm ensnared her waist, promptly withholding her. In a flash her focus shifted to her vulnerable daughters. She turned and screamed wildly at them, “Run!”

But the hiding place that had been chosen for its secluded nature had now become the prison cell from which no one could escape. Abby snatched Tamara’s hand and did an about-face seeking out an exit from the horrors just mere feet behind her. But two months of neglect had allowed the surrounding shrubbery to grow into an impassible wall and as Abby spun back around to face the only escape route possible, she was met with a grimy hand from Muttonchops over her mouth. His other hand clamped around her arm and yanked her from her sister.

“Mommy!” Tamara cried, tears spilling from her eyes as Stocky Man strode for her and picked her up, throwing her over his shoulder like a Neanderthal.

“You leave them alone!” Catherine screamed, her voice cracking at the intensity of her own yell. “They’re just children!”

Abby swung wildly at Muttonchops, hitting him about the face with her free arm and drawing blood over an eye. Muttonchops grabbed her by the throat forcefully and shoved her to the ground.

“You ought not do that again. Am I clear?” Abby eyed him with the hatred of a swarm of angry wasps, but said nothing.

Tamara kicked and screamed over Stocky Man’s shoulder, flailing helplessly as she was carried away from the rest of the group, disappearing behind a small thicket of trees.

Catherine watched as Tamara dissolved into the darkness and for the first time in her life actually prayed for the death of another human being. So this is the way it was, she thought. Man, reduced back to our most primal, savage essence. For much of her life Catherine had believed that people were basically good at heart, ready, willing and able to do the right thing when a situation called for it. But now she was beginning to suspect that it was all pie-in-the-sky bullshit. That the true nature of man was basically violent, callous and opportunistic, eager to stomp on the fingers of another as they hung perilously from the cliff of life.

This was the way it was now. And it was up to Catherine to decide if she wanted to continue to hang from that proverbial cliff or pull herself up and do some stomping of her own. If she and her children were to die today it would be at her hands and of her doing, not at the hands of three molesters.

Her words conjuring hidden strength, Catherine raised her right leg and came down with all her might on the top of Adidas Man’s foot with the heel edge of her shoe. Unprepared for the assault, Adidas Man loosened his grip on Catherine’s waist. Taking advantage, Catherine spun, thrusting both her arms forward and catching him in the chest. The force of her push sent him careening backwards onto the pavement with a yell.

With a renewed sense of survival she charged like a wild lioness toward Muttonchops. Barely able to lift his head in time to see the fury that was Catherine Hayesly barreling towards him, Muttonchops feebly raised an outstretched hand to block the impending attack. But it may as well have been a stick with five twigs on the end. For as Catherine reached the vile lump of manshit that straddled her daughter, her speed and the pendulum-like momentum of her swinging leg in full arc smashed his own hand into his face so hard the fingers could be heard snapping like toothpicks.

Muttonchops flopped onto the sidewalk writhing in pain as he gripped his devastated hand; blood gushed from his now flattened nose and pooled in a black pond on the concrete.

Catherine spun, the adrenaline surge spiking uncontrollably in her as she saw Adidas Man climb uneasily to his feet. In a flash she snatched up Muttonchops’s rifle, raised and pointed it at Adidas man and without a second of hesitation pulled the trigger.

But nothing happened.

The empty click may as well have been a thunderclap but even so she would have had trouble distinguishing it from the sound of her own heart thumping in her ears. She fumbled over the rifle, realizing she was in no way familiar with the particular make or model. And now was not the time to acquaint herself.

Sensing the downward spiral of her actions, Catherine watched as Adidas Man climbed to his feet and began searching wildly around him for the gun that had been knocked from his grasp upon meeting pavement.

“I’m gonna fuckin’ gut you bitch!” he hissed, the menace in his voice completely effective.

Catherine whirled back around and yanked Abby to her feet. “Run,” she yelled. “Run and hide!” Abby nodded blankly through tear-filled eyes as she tore off into the darkest section of the park.

But Muttonchops still had some life in him and lurched out with his good hand, clasping Abby firmly around the ankle and upending her back onto the sidewalk.

“Mommy!” a terrified and distant voice screamed.

Tamara.

“I’m coming, baby!” Catherine shouted, meaning every word of it. “I’m coming!”

With another powerful kick, Catherine obliterated Muttonchops’s elbow and followed it by dropping all one hundred twenty-three pounds of her frame onto the damaged joint via precision placement of her left foot.

Muttonchops howled ferociously, immediately releasing Abby. Catherine didn’t have time to bark orders or issue instructions and placed Abby’s outcome in the hands of Fate, hoping the girl would have the instinctual common sense to run with all God gave her. It had already been far too long since Tamara had disappeared into the thicket over the shoulder of Stocky Man and she couldn’t waste another precious second.

Still clutching the rifle, Catherine surged forward into the trees. She took a brief glance backward for a status report on Adidas Man and discovered him getting back to his feet, having backed out of a messy shrub and holding a dark object in his hand.

He’d found his gun.

She accelerated around a once-sculpted hedge and searched maniacally for Tamara. But the darkness and the commotion confused her sense of direction.

“Tamara!” she screamed.

“Mommy!” Tamara replied, her voice extremely close and terrified sounding.

Catherine whirled and peered through the pitch black into a cluster of young birch trees. She stepped forward looking, listening, trying to glean any clue as to her daughter’s whereabouts.

“I’m coming for you, bitch!” Adidas Man’s threatening words echoed out from the other side of the hedge, the pounding of his footsteps drawing nearer.

Spinning back around, Catherine continued her search for Tamara. She was nearby. She could feel it. But the goddamned darkness had become the enemy now.

“Tamara, where are you?” Catherine screamed. “Call to me honey! Tell me where—”

Catherine neither heard nor saw Stocky Man approach from her left flank, but she certainly felt the force of his open palm as it rammed into her lower jaw, dropping her like a sack of flour.

Through the spinning haze, Catherine could make out what looked like two blurry sailboats bobbing lifelessly in a black sea. Odd that there should be boats here in the park, she mused. Especially when there was no water. But the kaleidoscopic mess that served as her vision cleared and the residue from the punch vanished slowly as she realized she was staring at Stocky Man’s Nike high-tops. A pair of shiny new Adidas skidded to a halt beside them.

It didn’t take much clarity to realize that her frontal assault had been a colossal failure. For all of its forced, option-less zeal, the result had been far less than satisfactory.

But the defeat had accomplished one thing. And when she felt the dainty hands of Tamara grab her shoulders she found some solace in her daughter’s temporary safety and the disturbing if accurate notion that at least they could die together.

“Mommy, mommy” she cried. “Mommy, get up!”

Adidas Man walked forward and pulled Tamara away, thrusting her towards Stocky Man who snatched her and held her uncomfortably close. Adidas Man knelt down in front of Catherine and put the barrel of his pistol firmly and painfully against her temple.

“You just made the biggest mistake of your short life,” he said, his words sounding muddled and distant.

Standing back up, Adidas Man handed his pistol to Stocky Man who promptly jammed it into his waistline. Adidas Man then began to unclasp his belt.

“If it makes you feel any better,” he taunted, the brass hasp of his belt clinking forebodingly as he loosened it, “you’re the prettiest one I’ve fucked yet.”

Stocky Man chortled like a fifth grade schoolboy as Adidas Man dropped his pants.

Catherine fought maddeningly to retrieve her wits, but the whirring sound in her brain wouldn’t decelerate. Her sight was passable but shaky and she constantly felt the need to close her eyes tightly as if this gesture would help to reset and stabilize her vision. The numbness in her body was dissipating, the temporary paralysis allowing her to move her eyes only far enough to see just above Adidas Man’s knees. And when his jeans fell into a pile at his feet revealing hairy, pale legs, Catherine knew she couldn’t wait on her body to right itself.

“Mommy, please get up!” Tamara screamed, tears gushing from her eyes. “Mom—”

“Shut the fuck up,” Stocky Man blurted as he slammed a hand over her mouth.

“You see that?” Adidas Man started. “Your daughter is upsetting Mattias. What kind of manners did you teach your kids anyway?”

This time both Adidas Man and Mattias laughed like two Goodtime Charlies ruminating about the good ole days over ale down at the corner pub.

Catherine moved her right arm, tried to shift it underneath her body. She pushed up with all of her strength, managing to raise her chest off the long dead park lawn by a couple of inches. No, she would not go down without a fight. Sliding her left arm over for support she worked on straightening it and driving herself upright.

But all of the strength she had left in her body couldn’t overcome the countering effect of one Adidas tennis shoe placed squarely in the small of her back. And as it forced her back down to the earth, Catherine allowed her eyes to close and the world to fade away. This was it.

I’m sorry, Warren. I did my best.

“I’m going to enjoy this,” Adidas Man said. “Who knows, maybe your daughter will learn something.” He laughed again and Catherine could hear the skin-on-skin smack of what sounded like a high-five being exchanged.

“So how do you—”

Crack.

An immediate thud sounded directly in front of Catherine. She popped open her eyes, not entirely sure what she would find.

Filling her frame of vision was a body lying on the ground mere feet from her. Taking notice of the bare white ass and scrunch of denim around the ankles, Catherine quickly deduced it had to have been Adidas Man.

She pushed herself up, this time meeting no resistance. As she reached a sitting position she was immediately smacked in the chest with a weeping, emotionally wrecked little girl as she flung her arms tightly around Catherine’s neck. In a moment of panic and bizarre confusion, Catherine wondered how Tamara had managed to escape from the clutches of Mattias. But as she looked over and saw him standing motionless with both hands in the air, she assumed the assault rifle pointed at his head by the person in the black ski mask had to have something to do with it.

Slowly and shakily she got to her feet. In the queerest sensation, she felt no threat from the person with the rifle and when three more black-clothed figures donning ski masks appeared out of the darkness, each with a rifle of their own, Catherine experienced an overwhelming wash of relief course through her body.

Two of the figures moved past Mattias and stepped rapidly towards what Catherine could only assume was the location of the downed and crippled Muttonchops.

Crack. Crack.

Catherine jerked her head savagely at the noise, much louder this time, fully aware now that the sound she was hearing were rifle shots.

Clutching Tamara snugly, Catherine peered over her shoulder at Adidas Man who had yet to move. She saw the flap of bloodied scalp lying like a discarded yarmulke over his cheek and ear and discovered in an instant why.

Jesus Christ, she thought.

“Josh!” she yelled, bursting into a sudden surge of speed that spooked the Person in Black holding the gun to Mattias. Catherine clung to Tamara and ran in the direction of the shot. What if Josh woke up? He wouldn’t know who was who and could very likely misinterpret the People in Black as similar criminals bent on terrorizing innocents.

Josh was still unconscious and as Catherine knelt down to examine him heard footsteps approaching from out of the darkness. The People in Black all turned and trained their weapons into the shadows as Abby materialized.

“Don’t shoot! Don’t shoot!” Catherine shouted. “She’s my daughter!”

The People in Black lowered their rifles as Abby slammed into Catherine, hugging her and Tamara fiercely and crying uncontrollably. Catherine held them close, looking beyond them at the faceless body of Muttonchops as he lay sprawled on the cement, two People in Black standing over him, their rifles still smoking.

“It’s okay, sweetheart,” Catherine said, tears spilling from her own eyes. “Everybody’s okay. We’re okay.”

Catherine glanced up at the People in Black just as one of them knelt down beside Josh and inspected his head wound. And in a move that surprised her, the person reached for his mask and pulled it over his head revealing a grizzled man in his fifties with welcoming, kind eyes.

“I think he’ll be all right,” the Grizzled Man said as he pulled a cloth from an ammo bag and applied it to Josh’s temple. “Probably gonna need some stitches, though. You all okay?”

“Yeah. I think so,” Catherine managed to croak out.

Another person in black strode purposefully up to the group and stared down at Grizzled Man’s activities over Josh.

“He gonna be all right?” a rough, but distinctively female voice said.

“He’ll live. They’re okay. And I’m hungry.”

The Woman in Black then took two steps toward Catherine and pulled her own mask back exposing a rugged looking woman in her mid-forties. “Ma’am, will you come with me? You’re safe now. Your kids can stay here with Charlie.”

“That’s me,” Charlie the Grizzled Man said, indicating himself with a wave of his arm.

Under any normal circumstances, Catherine would have never even considered leaving her children in the care of strangers with guns let alone those who had just killed people. But their miraculous arrival, which had undoubtedly saved her and her family, instilled in her a level of trust never before attained even with some of the folks she used to call friends. Besides, what was normal these days anyway?

“Uh, okay,” Catherine said, turning to Abby. “I’ll be right back. Just stay with your sister. Everything’s fine.”

“Mom, don’t leave,” Abby pleaded. “Please, just stay here.”

“Yeah, mommy, don’t go,” Tamara said, eyes already welling.

“Are those Skechers?” Charlie asked Abby, his soothing, whiskey soaked voice usurping the conversation.

Abby turned and looked at Charlie then down at her own feet. “Yes,” she finally said, wiping her tear stained face.

“What are they? Dream Street series?”

“Yeah,” Abby confirmed, turning just a bit to face him.

“My daughter had a pair of those and loved ‘em. Where’d you find ‘em in turquoise?”

“They were a limited edition run. My mom and I found them at an outlet store.”

“That so,” Charlie said, turning his attention to Tamara. “And you, little miss. If I’m not mistaken those look like Merrells.”

Tamara’s eyes brightened at Charlie’s accuracy. “These weren’t the ones I really wanted. But they were all out of the cinnamon.”

Charlie’s eyes darted briefly to Catherine just long enough for her to catch the flutter-like wink of his right eye.

“That’s too bad,” he continued with Tamara. “But I think sage suits you better anyway.”

“How’d you know they were sage?” Tamara said, turning more to him, her back now completely facing Catherine.

“Oh, I know lots of useless stuff. Shoes just happen to be one of my most useless. You ever tried DC Kids? Or the new line of Kitsons?”

“No,” the girls said in unison.

“Aw, they’re really neat. I’ll have to show you a few. What’re some of your favorites...?”

The girls began to answer simultaneously, their words overlapping one another in growing enthusiasm as the woman, picking up on Charlie’s provision of an exit, grabbed Catherine by the elbow and escorted her in the other direction.

Catherine looked at the woman. “Look, I don’t even know how to begin to thank you for what you’ve done. We owe you our lives.”

“It’s all right. Really. The way things are nowadays, we’ve all gotta look out for one another,” the woman said.

“You couldn’t be more right. I’m Catherine.”

“Janet,” the woman said shaking Catherine’s extended hand.

“What happened here?” Catherine asked.

Janet whipped her head suddenly in Catherine’s direction, a look of utter confusion mixed with mild disgust scrawled on her face. “What happened?”

Catherine immediately regretted this question and wished desperately for a time machine to go back and redo the previous ten seconds. It was extremely premature to be fishing for answers. And the thought of having to explain how she and her kids had been so fortunate as to not be present on the day the world collapsed had never occurred to her.

Janet looked Catherine up one side and down the other, silently assessing her. “We’ll talk later. Right now, we have something to attend to. Or rather, someone.”

Catherine scrunched her face at this and as she rounded a disheveled clump of brush realized with heart sinking dread that, after Muttonchops, she’d heard no more shots.

Mattias was on his knees now, one of the People in Black standing directly behind him with the barrel of his rifle jammed so hard into the nape of his neck it forced his head forward in a contorted manner.

Janet stopped Catherine and looked down on the man as he craned his head up to meet their condemning gaze.

“I guess this means the wedding’s off,” Mattias giggled, his gapped, stained teeth visible for the first time.

Janet said nothing as she withdrew a nine-millimeter SIG-Sauer from a holster, drew back the slide and let it snap dramatically back into place. Without her eyes ever leaving Mattias’s twisted gaze, she handed the gun to Catherine and stepped back.

Catherine couldn’t have been more surprised if she’d just been given a jar of pickles. “What the hell am I supposed to do with this?” she said, shocked.

“Make it right,” Janet said coldly, matter-of-factly.

Catherine held the gun firmly, seating it in her palm. The weight felt good and she imagined the recoil was tolerable. She looked at Mattias who glared back at her with nothing short of contempt. It made her want to put an end to his miserable life all the more with his smug, insidious sneering. To shove the barrel into the greasy, sweat-soaked ridges of his brow and pull the damn trigger. And after all was said and done he’d see who had contempt for whom. But as much as she wanted to be the angel of vengeance for her daughter and vanquish the vile cockroach of a man kneeling before her, the irrepressible moral dilemma of the moment arose in her like a Phoenix from the ashes: She wasn’t a killer.

Catherine took a step backward and returned the weapon to Janet. “I can’t.”

Janet took the pistol in her right hand and clutched it by her side. “If you’re gonna live in this world, you better learn.”

“Ooooh, sugar mama don’t have the cajones,” Mattias said tauntingly, turning his attention to Janet. “But we got us a new player in the game. What’s your name, sweetheart? You need some help figuring out that heavy gun? I can show you a thing—”

Stocky Man’s brains blew out the back of his skull onto the pavement in a Jackson Pollack-like splash. His body crumpled and fell onto its side in a lifeless pile. His feet twitched lightly as his head bled out into a crimson puddle.

Catherine stared in horror at the man she had wished dead no more than five minutes ago, feeling no particular sense of gratification at it having come true. She turned from the forever-dead Mattias and looked over at Janet, the gun hanging limply at her side, tiny wisps of smoke escaping from the barrel.

Janet tucked the firearm back into her holster then spat on the ground near Mattias’s body. “The name’s Janet, asshole.”

8

The Heroes of Bayview

It took six stitches to sew up Josh’s head. The man doing the detail, Dr. Elliot Shavers, a thirty-three year old veterinarian, was upfront about his relative inexperience with human patients. But since there were no doctors of the medical variety to be found, he had qualified as ranking surgeon.

Catherine watched him perform the procedure and was impressed both with his quick and precise stitching skills as well as Josh’s ability to undergo said treatment without a drop of topical anesthesia. The stitches would be able to be removed in a couple of weeks and as Catherine ran her fingers a hair’s breadth away from them in her post-op inspection, still found difficulty in accepting how everything had turned out.

Lying back on a cot blanketed with a nylon sleeping bag, Josh swallowed a couple of Tylenol with a glass of water. He lifted his head and winced, making short work of the Gelcaps with a swig of water before returning to the cot.

“How you doing, kiddo?” Catherine said to him as she brushed his sweaty hair from his forehead.

“All right, all things considered.”

“You can say that again. How’s your head?”

“The stitches are okay. It’s the frickin’ throbbing in my temple that’s killing me.” Josh clenched his fists. “Damn, I wished I would’ve seen that guy coming. I would’ve—”

“You would’ve what?” Catherine intercepted. “I’ll tell you. You would’ve been beat to hell, then probably...” She swallowed what felt like a golf ball. “Probably the best thing that could’ve happened to you was getting an unwelcome nap.”

“Yeah, whatever,” he said with a smirk. “I guess the good news is that we made contact. These people should be able to help, don’t you think?”

“One could only hope so,” Catherine said with a tiny smile. “Listen, I’m going to go check on your sisters. I think Tamara is working on her third ice cream cone and I’ll bet at this point Charlie needs some rescuing. You just try and get some rest, okay?”

“All right,” Josh agreed as he turned and stared at the ceiling. Catherine got to her feet when Josh said, “Pretty amazing what they’ve done here, don’t you think?”

Catherine glanced over her surroundings and couldn’t help but agree. “Pretty amazing,” she said.

But amazing didn’t do it justice.

It was spectacular.

Walking back from the attack, Catherine got a first look at her temporary new home in the predawn darkness, having been told that they had “just made it back in the knick of time.” Making it back from what she was unsure, and the opportunity to follow this statement with the obvious question had eluded her.

She’d wanted to laugh at one point and worked hard to suppress a giggle when she saw the edifice come into view. George A. Romero would’ve been proud, she thought to herself. As she and her family entered the heavily fortified front entrance of Bayview Mall, she became tickled at the notion of life imitating art—a pop cultural institution inspired and re-envisioned by pop culture.

But whereas Romero’s particular premise had involved only a ragtag group of survivors left to contend with the idea of life amid mass consumerism, the scene before Catherine suggested a much more dire and desperate plea for survival. One that wanted to cling to the tenets of what it meant to be a civilized human being back before those unwritten social mores were sent packing.

The main headquarters had been situated in a dramatically reorganized and redeveloped Sears department store. To Catherine, it seemed a stroke of genius. Entire departments had been moved and reallocated to accommodate for a small population. The sporting goods and exercise equipment section had been completely removed and in its place were as many cots, sleeping bags and tents as the store could provide.

In the appliances section, useless and resource wasting devices such as dishwashers, washers and dryers had been shoved into an out of the way corner. But in their space, refrigerators had been lined side by side in varying models, each plugged into an orange extension cord which snaked along the back of the unit and into the ceiling, disappearing into what Catherine could only assume was a room full of generators running from somewhere.

Adjacent to the fridges were makeshift wash stations comprised of several brands of camping kitchens, Coleman being the predominant winner. Some appeared to be equipped with pressurized faucets while others had to rely on suspended or shelved water jugs operated via stopcock. The wastewater for each sink was directed by hose into a large drum not unlike the ones found on Four Star Retreat. Portable workbenches had been assembled and placed beside the sinks along with an array of cutlery and cooking utensils. Shelving had also been erected and served as a storage area for pots and pans, dishware, glasses and mugs.

Rounding out what Catherine would eventually learn was called “Hell’s Kitchen” were propane camping stoves arranged in a small semi-circle. Frying pans, boiler pots and even teakettles hung from wire racks fastened to each stove.

The efficiency and organization was on par with military execution. And for a bunch of scared, struggling civilians that said a ton. Catherine marveled at how so much had been accomplished in so short a time. Never underestimate the will of man, she thought. He can be a stubborn breed.

She weaved her way through the cluster of patio furniture and picnic benches that now served as the dining and commons area. And if there were any question as to its purpose, a hand painted sign which read “Boston Common: We Got Good Eats!” was suspended over the centermost table.

She could see Tamara and Abby sitting at a glass-topped patio table, the umbrella to it erected in a mocking gesture to what seemed a mostly nocturnal lifestyle—another in the list of a thousand questions she had for Janet. Charlie sat with them, one foot on the table as he pointed out some interesting tidbit on his left boot.

Heading towards them, Catherine managed an escape from the maze of tables and found herself at their perimeter, standing directly in front of what would be considered by most people a fully stocked grocery store. Shelves were filled with food of all types and all storage mediums—boxed, canned, freeze-dried, bottled or bagged—and, amazingly, very little space went unused.

Catherine walked past the mini-mart and nodded amiably to an armed man who seemed to be positioned there solely to guard the stores.

She wound her way to Abby and Tamara who were clearly in much better spirits. And Catherine was glad for it. Tamara waved enthusiastically at her mother as she approached. Reaching the table she sat beside them.

“Charlie, I hereby relieve you of duty and nominate you for the Congressional Medal of Honor,” Catherine said.

“Now don’t you go wasting another second thinking about what happened tonight,” Charlie said with a wave of his hand. “I’m just glad we was able to get to you all in time.”

“I was actually talking about you spending time with my daughters.”

Charlie gawked at Catherine like a deer in headlights, then erupted in a contagious belly laugh. “Well, they been tough, but I managed to get by all right. Now don’t forget,” he said, turning to Tamara and Abby, “tomorrow we’re gonna see about getting you all some of those DCs. I know a great store near here.” Charlie smiled and rose to his feet just as Janet sauntered up to the table.

“He’s not boring you all to death over here, is he?” Janet said with a grin.

The entire table snapped their heads up at Janet’s arrival. Catherine almost didn’t recognize the woman in front of her as the same person who had not so long ago ended the life of Mattias with a single bullet between the eyes. The color black had always had an ominous psychological effect and seeing Janet in blue jeans and a simple t-shirt seemed to place her back on equal ground.

“Hey, now, what’s that supposed to mean?” Charlie quipped jovially.

“Quite the opposite,” Catherine replied. “I think he may have even been initiated into the sisterhood by now.”

“He knows a ton about shoes,” Tamara began.

“Yeah,” Abby continued, “and his daughter has a pair of Vans like mine, mom. Only hers were imported from Europe and have gold trimming along the...what did you call it, Charlie?

“The throat, darlin’.”

“Yeah, the throat. They sound so cool. She’s got great taste in fashion. I bet we’d really get along.”

Catherine watched as Janet and Charlie exchanged brief, but knowing glances. Charlie wasn’t smiling.

“Well, I better get to my rounds,” he said adjusting his belt line. “You ladies have yourselves a good day’s sleep.” He turned to Tamara and Abby and said, “And I’ll see you two gals later.”

“Bye, Charlie,” Tamara and Abby spoke in unison.

“We got real lucky when he joined us,” Janet remarked as she watched him exit the store.

“Well, I can tell you he’s made quite an impression over here,” Catherine said, indicating Tamara and Abby with a bob of her head. Janet nodded and smiled cordially and in her lukewarm response Catherine could perceive the desire for an invitation to join them. “Would you like to sit down?”

“Yeah, thanks,” Janet replied as she pulled out a green, wrought iron chair from the table and sat with a huff.

With Janet now at eye level, Catherine was able to scrutinize her more thoroughly. She was, Catherine felt ashamed to admit, not a particularly attractive woman. Her features were fairly plain with small eyes seemingly void of eyelashes and a bony nose all set in a large, rectangular face. Her square chin only emphasized her thin, chapped lips and it was clear that at some point in her life she’d had a bout with a severe form of acne. While her hair appeared clean it was cut into a most utilitarian style, the bangs trimmed unevenly over her eyebrows, the back falling just to the top of her shoulders in a quasi-mullet. In another life, Janet might have been referred to as butch.

“You know, if you’re interested,” Janet said to Tamara and Abby, “the entire toy and game section is virtually untouched.”

Tamara’s eyes lit up like a jack-o-lantern on Halloween, turning to Catherine in an already pleading expression of hope.

“Can I?” Tamara begged.

“Sure, kiddo,” Catherine consented. “Abby, you mind going with her?”

“Uh, no I guess not,” Abby replied unenthusiastically.

Janet leaned over conspiratorially toward Abby. “Two aisles over from the toys are all the MP3 players and other electronics we relocated from the Main Street Market. See if you can find something you like.”

Now Abby’s eyes popped wide, so much so Catherine thought her eyebrows might actually touch her hairline. Abby turned her attention to Catherine waiting for the go-ahead. Janet, sensing approval was required, deferred authority back to Catherine in the event she had somehow stomped on the maternal order of things. “If that’s okay with you, of course.”

Catherine smiled lightly. “That’s fine. Just try and stay where I can see you, okay?”

“All right, mom,” Abby said.

“Okay, mommy,” Tamara blurted, her fanny already out of the chair and moving. Catherine watched her daughters run through the store, excited and playful, and couldn’t decide in that moment how she felt about their sudden burst of happiness given all that had transpired. Her mother had always told her that kids were resilient. Catherine only hoped resiliency wasn’t a breeding ground for indifference.

“You’ve got great kids,” Janet commented. “They’re very brave. You all are.”

“I’m not sure how much bravery factors in to pleading for your life, but thank you.” Catherine picked at her cuticles. “Janet, can I ask you something?”

“Of course.”

“Those men...what language were they speaking? I didn’t recognize it. It almost sounded made up.”

Janet pulled a hair from off her tongue. “Probably was. Been hearing a lot more of it lately, too. People throwing together simple, yet coded languages that don’t really exist. Those boys tonight? Sounded like an overly complicated form of pig Latin, you ask me. Some folks feel it’s a way to sort out us from them.”

Catherine squinted at this answer. “Them?”

Janet tried to disguise her stunned expression at Catherine’s response. She quickly changed topics as she continued to size up Catherine.

“I’m sorry I had to disappear on all of you so soon after getting back here. I’ve got quite a few things to attend to around here, as you can probably imagine.”

Catherine again surveyed the Sears store and held out her hands in a gesture of incredulousness. “I can’t even imagine what...I mean, where did everyone...” She laughed exasperatingly. “I’m sorry. I’ve just got a million and one questions and I don’t have a clue where to begin.”

“Well, why don’t we start with this one then,” Janet said purposefully. “Where’d you all come from?”

Catherine’s overwhelmed smile dissolved on her face as she realized this was no idle chitchat. Janet needed answers and given her apparent rank in this new city, it had been incumbent upon her to debrief all new arrivals. This was smart and necessary, Catherine thought. She just wished she hadn’t been blindsided by the query and had had more time to formulate a response to this inevitable question.

“I’ve been running patrols for the past month,” Janet continued, “and the number of folks I’ve been coming across have been small and getting smaller. But then there you all are. A family with young children wandering about in the night. And I’ve just got to know how that can be.”

Catherine looked down at her hands as they clasped one another. “I guess that does deserve some sort of explanation.” She lifted her head and met Janet’s gaze. “We, uh...we were on a sailing trip,” she said convincingly.

“A sailing trip?”

“We set out just a bit over two months ago. It was supposed to be our summer vacation. We were going to port up and down the coast and just enjoy our time together. Josh leaves for college next year—at least he was going to—and so this was our last chance to really all be together before things changed.”

“So you’ve been at sea for two months?” Janet asked, sounding generally impressed.

“More or less, yes.”

“Just you and your kids?”

“Yes.”

“Where’s your husband? I mean...I’m assuming you’re married.”

“I am, but...” Catherine paused intentionally, hoping to provide some drama to her story. She hated to start off this way with Janet, but thought the truth might not only be difficult to swallow, but also result in resentment among her rescuers. “I don’t know where he is.”

“What do you mean? He wasn’t with you on the boat?” Janet prodded.

“No. We were supposed to all leave together, but his work pulled him away at the last minute. He said he’d meet us later at one of the ports along our route.”

“What did he do?”

“He was an airline pilot.”

Janet leaned back, seeming to accept Catherine’s story as truth. Catherine even noticed what appeared to be sympathy forming in the wrinkles of her craggy features.

“One minute we’re all ready for the vacation of a lifetime,” Catherine continued, “the next he’s getting pulled into a four city leg because of pilot shortages.”

Janet looked down at her feet. “Man, that sucks. I’m sorry.”

“Thanks.” Catherine sat up, then leaned forward on her arms. She stared Janet square in the eye. “Look, you need to help me out here. I’ve been away a long time. I’ve got three kids who are missing their father and upon returning to land I find a darkened city void of people and power. I know something has happened. Something terrible. But I’ve no idea what.” Catherine took a breath and began to inflate her lie further. “We started receiving strange and scary radio signals from other ships on our way to our first port the day after we embarked. Garbled messages, SOSs. Every fiber of my being told me that something was extremely wrong. And when we were met with radio silence from not one, but three of our possible port destinations I knew. I knew something had occurred. So we floated and survived until our supplies ran out. And now we’re back. And I’m as lost as I’ve ever been.”

Janet nodded subtly as if she’d just had a vicarious experience through Catherine. The pain and the loss registering on her face hung as intimately as negligee.

“I’ve got another question for you,” Janet said softly.

“Sure,” Catherine replied.

“Do you drink?”

Janet uncorked a bottle of Flying Leaf Merlot and proceeded to pour it into two plastic cups.

“I’ve never been much of a wine drinker. Always preferred beer,” she said. “But these days...I don’t know. Sipping on wine just makes everything seem a little more civilized.”

Catherine took her cup and swirled it, then quickly sniffed and tasted it. She closed her eyes and let the initial notes of the red wash over her tongue.

Janet watched Catherine enjoy her first alcohol in two months and grinned at her apparent satisfaction. “Is it good?”

“You could’ve poured me red wine vinegar and it would’ve been marvelous,” Catherine responded.

“I don’t know much about wines,” Janet confessed as she picked up the bottle and stared at the label. “But this one’s from California. Figured it couldn’t be half bad.”

“My husband was the connoisseur in our house. He’d buy it. I’d drink it. And that was about as far as my knowledge went.”

“Well, then here’s to a couple of ignoramuses,” Janet teased, holding up her glass.

“Here, here.”

Janet and Catherine sipped from their cups amid smiles. At first impression, Catherine couldn’t decide how she felt about Janet, especially in light of her seemingly gruff demeanor and cold midnight execution. But sitting with her now in Sears, her family safe, and imbibing wine, Catherine found the fiercely independent woman to be strong, capable and immensely likeable.

Janet held her cup in her lap as she leaned back in her chair. “You have questions,” she stated.

“I just need to know...what’s happened,” Catherine declared. “I need to understand how all of this came to be. How are you here? Where did everyone come from? And where is everybody else?”

Janet inhaled deeply and took another drink. “I’ll tell you what I know, which isn’t much. And if you ask around to some of the others here you’re going to get a variation of the same story. Nobody really knows what happened. They only know what they experienced and what they...” Janet played with the rim of her cup. “And what they saw.” She tossed back the rest of her wine.

“On June twentieth, I was on my way in to work over at Copatchee Correctional Facility. I am—was—a corrections officer there. But before I began another glorious day with the bastards of Copa, I stopped off to see a friend, who just so happened to work here in this mall. He used to be a guard at Copa, too, until he turned pussy and took this—oh, sorry,” Janet said, blushing slightly at her colorful language.

“You’re fine,” Catherine shrugged off. “I’ve got two teenagers. Believe me, I’ve heard worse.”

Janet smiled and continued. “Anyways, my friend Marvin took the head of mall security position here at Bayview. I’d visit him a lot before I went to work. Kind of like a calm before the storm.” Janet poured herself another glass of Merlot. “But on this particular day—the day—the storm wasn’t gonna be confined to the Copa.”

Two men in black clothing toting semi-automatic machine guns of some sort strode over to Janet. One of the men, a heavy-set fellow with a thick salt and pepper beard stood at her side until acknowledged. The other man, a muscular young lad with a curious mix of Asian and, perhaps, Mexican descent—Catherine really couldn’t be sure—remained a step behind him.

“Yeah, Steve. What can I do for you?” Janet queried.

“We were just wondering if you wanted us to run a perimeter patrol this morning.”

“What time you got?”

The Bearded Man checked his watch. “Five thirty-five.”

“Sun’ll be high in a little over an hour,” Janet said to herself. “Yeah, good call. Why don’t you round up Stensland and take him with you if he’s willing. Be back by six, though.”

“Will do.”

Catherine regarded the men as they walked off.

“Stephen Blairwood and Derrik Manson,” Janet introduced, redirecting Catherine’s attention. “Great men, but their pairing’s a bit ironic.”

“Why do you say that?”

“`Cause Steve was a postal worker and Derrik was a UPS driver,” Janet said, giggling just a little at the silliness.

Catherine beamed from ear to ear enjoying the lightheartedness of conversation with another adult—something that had been sorely missing from her life. Her eyes lingered on Derrik. Something about him in particular seemed haunted, as if there were a greater pain that transcended this time and place. She watched as he cast a long stare off to the side and in following his gaze discovered he was looking at Tamara as she danced around the toy aisles. For some reason that she couldn’t explain, this ogling, which on any other day would have been perceived as menacing, seemed, somehow, reassuring.

“So, June twentieth,” Janet exhaled reluctantly, resuming. “Here I am, me and Marv swapping previous days’ stories over Krispy Kremes and coffee in the security shack when he gets a buzz on his walkie to turn on the news. Well, he pops on CNN and they’re talking about weather. Flips over to Fox. Same thing. But when he tries MSNBC they’re showing some shit I...I ain’t never seen before.”

Catherine shifted to the edge of her seat, hanging on Janet’s every word.

“One of the local NBC choppers got a line on this guy near 16th Street walking around buckassed naked. I mean head to toe, not a stitch of clothing on him. But more peculiar than that was that it looked like he was covered in blood. Or mud or some kind of brown gunk or something. It was all in his hair and covered his whole body.”

“What was this man doing?” Catherine asked curiously.

“Don’t know. The cops had circled all around him and were yelling at him to get down. Had their guns trained on him and everything. But this guy just keeps walking, this weird look on his face. Like emotionless or disconnected. He didn’t respond to anyone and eventually the cops swarmed him and took him down.”

“That’s really strange.”

“Trust me,” Janet said. “It only gets stranger. After the cops nabbed this guy, Marv starts to flip around to see if any of the other stations are carrying the story. Maybe have some more info. He pops back over to CNN and there’s breaking news of a person being apprehended walking naked in downtown. Thinking this had to be what we just saw and that maybe they’d have a different angle on this guy, we kept watching. But when the video feed came in, I almost crapped myself.”

Catherine’s brow furrowed in anticipation of Janet’s explanation.

“It was a woman,” Janet said. “Same weird bloody gunk all over her. Same vacant expression on her face. But it was a woman. In another city.” She leaned even closer to Catherine. “Two different people with the same symptoms or whatever you want to call it walking around in two different cities.”

“What did the news say?”

“They didn’t have any idea. Thought it might be an elaborate prank, but they really didn’t know. And no sooner did they admit to this than they were cutting away to two other breaking news stories of similar goings on in a third city.”

Janet grabbed the bottle of wine, began to pour then changed her mind. “I’m a fairly rational person, Catherine, and I don’t give much credibility to weird happenings you always hear people saying they experienced. Ghosts, UFOs, Bigfoot, whatever. And these people on the news, well, I figured it had to be an elaborate hoax or something. Maybe there was a new movie coming out they were trying to promote.” Janet shook her head more to herself as she stared emptily at the table. She upended the wine bottle, deciding to pour some more wine after all.

“I don’t understand,” Catherine began. “I’m not sure I see what these naked people have to do with what happened.”

Janet drank deeply from her cup, wiping a dribble of wine from her mouth with the back of her hand. “Welcome to the club.”

“What’re you saying?” Catherine said. “That these people are somehow responsible?”

“What I’m saying is that I don’t have a frickin’ idea, all right?” Janet railed, visibly perturbed. “One minute I’m eating a glazed donut, the next I’m watching the world unspool.”

Catherine sat back uneasily.

Janet collected herself, setting the wine on the table. “Look, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to snap at you. It’s just that I’ve been living in the middle of this shit since the get-go and I know maybe just a little more than you about what’s going on.”

“It’s all right,” Catherine said calmly.

“It isn’t, but thanks for saying so.” Janet intertwined her fingers on the table and inhaled deeply. “So as Marv and I watched these stories unfold we turn back to MSNBC and the first naked guy. You know, the one the cops all circled and took down?”

“Yes,” Catherine said uncertainly.

“Well, I don’t know what the fuck happened or how the fuck it happened, but this guy, this naked fucking guy is still standing there, his hands cuffed behind his back. And every cop that had just two minutes earlier grabbed and restrained him is lying unconscious in the street.”

“What?” Catherine said as the blood drained from her face.

Janet nodded at seeing the astonishment in Catherine’s eyes.

“That’s what I’m saying. So we turn back to other stations and reports of the same thing start coming in. It’s like you touch one of these people and you end up taking a nap or something.”

“Jesus Christ,” Catherine gasped, her hand subconsciously blanketing her mouth.

“I don’t know about Jesus and God and all of that, but I can tell you this: If there is a God, he was sleeping on that day.” Janet loosened her grip on her hands. She shook her fingers in the air briskly then cracked the joints on her index fingers. “And so it all began. The longer we watched the more and more stories and reports started coming in. And not just from this country.”

Janet pushed her cup away from her, focusing her attention on her scabbed and calloused hands. She picked absently at her thumbnail. “Fifteen minutes later Marvin ordered the mall closed. And this is where I’ve been ever since.”

Catherine stared at the ground. While the truth had certainly been welcome it was in no way satisfying. Much in the same way an unreachable itch in the middle of the back prompted uncomfortable arm contortions in an effort to silence it, the gratification was less than expected when the reach fell short. And more often than not, the itch remained.

“I’m not sure what to say to all of that,” Catherine said glumly.

“Welcome to our world,” Janet replied.

“So where did all of these people come from?” Catherine asked, glancing about the ever-increasing bustle of Sears. “Are they all that remained when you closed the mall?”

“Actually, very few of these folks were here when we shut it down,” Janet said, running splayed fingers through her hair. “It was early morning that day so most of the people here were employees. There were a handful of customers, but most of the normal traffic had started venturing over to that new mall in East Ridge since it opened three months before. No, once word got out about what had been happening, most people ran for their cars hoping to get home and be with their families.”

Janet stared around the room watching various people go about their business. “I can tell you this much—it was a hell of a lot lonelier around here a few months back. You hungry?”

“Uh...no, I’m fine, thank you,” Catherine replied, raising a curious eyebrow to the sudden shift.

“Walk with me,” Janet said, hopping to her feet. Catherine rose and followed her into Hell’s Kitchen somewhat bemused.

“Most of the people you see walking around here today were found much in the same way you were,” Janet explained as she pulled a jar of peanut butter and orange marmalade from a muted blue Frigidaire. “We’d find them wandering around lost or scared. Some would even come right up to us and outright ask for help, which I found surprising considering the types of people prone to run the streets these days. Yeah, some of these folks were pretty brave.”

“Or desperate,” Catherine countered.

Janet nodded agreeably as she removed a box of Ritz crackers from the top shelf of a makeshift pantry. “Either way, that’s how we began to populate this little metropolis. Once the broadcasts died, we got what little information we could from the few remaining radio stations. When the power finally went, we knew we couldn’t just sit and wait for a miracle.”

Janet set her food items on a movable center island with a built-in wooden chopping area. Laid out side-by-side, she slathered a row of crackers with the peanut butter then followed this with bountiful globs of stringy marmalade. She squished another cracker over the top of each to form mini PB&Js. She snatched one and shoved the whole thing into her mouth.

“Want one?” Janet said, cracker crumbs spewing from her dry lips.

“You know,” Catherine began, “I didn’t think I was hungry. But now that I’m seeing it, I find that I’m rather starving.”

“That’s the spirit,” Janet said, handing a sandwich to Catherine who took it, emulating Janet with perfection as she jammed the entire cracker sandwich into her mouth.

“Wow,” Catherine said, almost indecipherably, “That’s really good.” She smiled from ear to ear exposing her peanut butter coated teeth.

“We use only the finest ingredients here at Chez Hell,” Janet quipped. Catherine laughed for the first time in months.

“Is it okay if I have one of those?” a familiar voice asked from over Catherine’s shoulder. She spun in place, working feverishly to chew the remains of her cracker.

“Josh, what are you doing up? I thought we agreed you’d try to rest,” Catherine said worriedly as she put a delicate hand to his temple.

“I can’t sleep,” Josh winced painfully. “There’s too much going on. Plus I feel a little out of place. Like I’m invading someone’s turf or something.”

Janet handed a PB&J to Josh. “That’s one of the first things new folks find hard to get used to around here. This is a community in the truest sense of the word. We all do the work. We all share in the reward. It’s a little like communism. Just without the torture and oppression.” Janet grinned as she took another cracker. “Everyone’s been where you are now. Don’t worry. The only rule we’ve ever instilled is that if you don’t like it, you can leave. But most people seem to abide by it just fine.”

“Can I ask you a question?” Josh inquired.

“Shoot,” Janet mumbled.

“How’d you get all this stuff? I mean, food, water, guns, gas...Where’d it all come from?”

“The more accurate question would be where didn’t we get it all from. Once we were aware things were bad and only getting worse we had to act, and fast. By day three we started sending out scavenging parties. There were about fifteen of us then. We’d scrounge and forage anywhere we could: markets, gun shops, convenience stores, gas stations, you name it. We even started entering homes that appeared vacant after so many days.” Janet moved to a washbasin and quickly rinsed her hands. “Believe me it was no small feat. And it became even harder as we were forced to abandon our vehicles and acquire our stores on foot.”

“Why’d you have to do that?” Catherine asked.

“It became too dangerous. The first few nights were still fairly chaotic. Lots of looting, fires. And more violence than I would’ve cared to witness. But after a few days, Darwinism kicked in and most of what roamed the streets were self-proclaimed Kings of the Sandbox. A moving vehicle in this town at night may as well have had a neon target painted on it.” Janet snatched a hand towel from a suction hook and wiped her hands. “I don’t know what it is about people that turns ‘em all crazy in times of despair, but I’d seen enough of the animal within us at my job to know there was probably no digging ourselves out of the enormous hole we were shoveling. We needed to prepare and fast.”

Catherine reached for another cracker, taking a small bite. “Janet, I’m curious about something.”

“Ask me.”

“Well, I was just wondering why everything you seem to do here, you know, your operation and whatnot, why it seems to run primarily at night. I haven’t heard you mention any daytime patrols or searches. Surely there are more people—”

“Never go outside when the sun is still up,” Janet said, deadly serious. “Are you both listening to me?” Janet gazed into the eyes of Catherine and Josh with intensity heretofore unseen. “Never.”

Josh swallowed hard, deciding in that moment that Janet frightened him. “Why is that?” he managed to ask.

“Cause bad shit goes on when it’s light,” Janet said, her tone softening only a sliver. “We’re nocturnal creatures now, kids. The faster you get used to that idea the better.”

Janet opened the door to another refrigerator and withdrew three cans of Coca-Cola. She returned to the table and set the frosty cans down, holding one out towards Catherine. Catherine took it, nodding graciously as Janet offered another to Josh who also palmed the icy refreshment saying, “Thanks”.

Janet popped the top with a loud CRACK, wherein a brief carbon dioxide hiss escaped. She drank deep then set the soda on the table, leaning forward on her forearms.

“Look, I know you guys have been through your own hell and I’m sorry I can’t be of more help. When you’ve been dealing with this as long as I have, trying to piece together the event, make sense of it, it starts to turn to mush in your head. And when you factor in the survivalist plight and the questions that arise from it on a daily basis, such as ‘where am I going to get food?’ and ‘what are the new world rules now?’ it gets wearying. And over time the ‘why’ matters less and less whereas the ‘how’ has never been more important. Were we attacked? Was it a virus? Terrorism? I just don’t know—we just don’t know.”

Janet stood upright and sipped from her Coke as Josh and Catherine opened theirs. “The only thing we know for sure is that the day is not safe. There’s somebody here who can do a far better job than me of explaining why that is.” Janet chugged the rest of her drink. “Better get your girls, Catherine. We need to go see Mr. Dennison. I think he’s got something you’ll all want to hear.”

9

Mr. Dennison

Having collected Abby and Tamara from the toy aisle, Catherine followed along with Josh as Janet led them through the Atrium, a rather beautiful glass-enclosed, sky-lit section of the mall which lay just adjacent to the entrance of Sears.

Catherine peered over the second story railing to the open floor below, which at one point served as a way-station for caffeine addicts. The tables and chairs to a Seattle’s Best remained, however the few patrons occupying the seats were a more bedraggled bunch as compared to the class of customers normally parked there.

“The confines of the mall are safe,” Janet explained, pointing and walking. “You can go anywhere you like in here as long as it’s accessible. Unused entries and exits have been securely sealed as well as many of the service and loading entrances.” Janet passed by a Sunglass Hut and indicated the industrial mesh security gate to the store, which was down and padlocked.

“Why do you close off some of the stores?” Josh asked. “There can’t be anything wrong with leaving a sunglass store open, can there?”

“It’s a valid question, Josh,” Janet began. “But if you look at the layout of this mall you’ll see it’s like a beehive of entrances, exits and maintenance corridors. While we can try our best to seal off and lock these access points, it’s no guarantee. So we decided which stores had low value and removed them from the equation.” Janet clutched the mesh fence. “If something gets through a back door, they’ll still have to contend with this.”

“Excuse me, Mrs...” Abby said.

“Oh, please, honey. There’s no ‘missus’ anything. Just call me Janet.”

“Oh, okay,” Abby confirmed, her face flushing just a bit. “I was just wondering, what exactly are you trying to keep locked out?”

Abby hit the nail on the head with this question. Catherine watched Janet ponder this, as if the truth required some padding or, perhaps, fabrication. And even though her response time was less than a couple of ticks on the second hand, it seemed an eternity to Catherine.

Janet looked down at Abby, finally replying, “Anything that’s not us.” Janet gave the fence a quick rattle, startling everyone. She turned on her heels. “Come on, Mr. Dennison will be leaving soon. We need to try and catch him before he shuts down.”

Abby leaned over to Josh and whispered, “It’s not like he’s going anywhere.” Josh smiled as he scanned the mall, observing the varying groups of people milling about aimlessly.

Rounding the end of the second floor walkway, Janet took a sharp right and descended a motionless escalator. “If memory serves, we picked a good night to go and see him. Tonight’s Charlie’s Steakery night.”

“Wait a minute,” Josh coughed out. “The cheese steak place? You still have fast food?”

“To a certain degree. Most of the chain stores were restocked the day before so there was plenty of food to go around. And keep in mind we didn’t have the numbers we have now until maybe four, five weeks ago.”

Janet reached the bottom of the escalator and made an immediate left. Everyone followed like a line of baby ducks. “Some of the food you couldn’t do much about. Things like bread and cheese and vegetables. They went bad like they always do and we tried to eat as much of that stuff as we could before it spoiled. But the deep freezer stayed cold for a while. Long enough, at least, until we were able to get some less power dependent, more manageable ones down here and get ‘em on the gen-juice.”

Janet curved around the center portion of the mall past the main entrance where Catherine and her family had first arrived. Catherine took a better look at this fortified entryway as they breezed past it and realized she had taken no notice of the elaborate pains Janet and her group had gone through to prevent light from entering the mall.

The windows—of which there were many—had been blackened out with heavy coatings of black paint and then boarded over with standard plywood. The entrance itself was shrouded in black bed sheets and blankets which draped over the end of a roughly ten to twenty foot long crudely constructed tunnel which jutted into the mall.

Scaffolding had been erected on either side of the tunnel somewhere between one and two stories high. Atop each were men with rifles peering through tiny slits in the plywood out into the night. The area would have been exceptionally dark were it not for the pair of work lights rigged to car batteries. Having taken this innovation for granted, Catherine had never considered how there came to be so much light in such a large space devoid of central power. Upon further inspection of the spotty washes of light emanating from around the mall in discriminating patches, Catherine discovered they all seemed to be supplied in the same way. And with this revelation came an explanation as to the large number of battery-less vehicles she encountered on her journey inland. There was, she recalled sadly, no shortage of car batteries these days.

“Who’s up for a philly?” Janet yelled to the men atop the scaffolding. Both turned at her voice.

“Hey, Janet,” a scruffy faced man in jeans and a Grateful Dead t-shirt replied. “You buying?”

“As always.”

“Then hook a brother up!”

“Make it two,” the other man in cargo shorts and a sleeveless Hawaiian shirt said.

“Two coming up,” Janet bellowed as she maintained her gait. Without losing a step, she looked over her shoulder at Tamara. “You’ve been awfully quiet back there. You a cheese steak fan?”

Tamara looked at Catherine as if for permission, Catherine providing her the “go-ahead” nod. “Yes, ma’am. I am.”

“Whoa, whoa, whoa,” Janet chuckled. “Little miss manners. I don’t know any ma’ams. Guess you’ll just have to call me Janet like everyone else. That all right?”

“Okay,” Tamara grinned as she hugged Sniffles, Catherine laying an arm around her petite shoulders.

Janet strode in the direction of Bayview’s food court, which slowly revealed itself at their approach. The news regarding “Charlie’s Steakery Night” must have been a weekly ritual. Either that or someone had advertised, Catherine thought humorously, as the collection of Bayview citizens currently munching on hoagies were the most she’d seen in one place since arriving. She placed the number somewhere around twenty-five souls, which translated to fifty eyeballs staring at her and her family as they entered the dining area.

Janet, apparently no stranger to the stinging silence and suspicious glares cast at new arrivals, marched directly through the center of the court, tossing out casual greetings to random folks like beads on Fat Tuesday.

Catherine held Tamara close as they walked, laying a guiding hand on Abby’s shoulder as she kept pace just ahead of her. And in a mix of admiration and chilling concern watched as Josh stared down several individuals who kept their gaze on him a little too long, their eyes eventually retreating to the tabletops from which they ate. Her son had indeed become a man. And this scared the living hell out of her.

Janet barreled up to the counter of Charlie’s Steakery, propping herself up on a forearm just below its darkened neon sign. The front of the restaurant was empty and on top of the grill, which on any other normal day would have been sizzling with chopped steak and onions, sat a small camp grill much like the ones found back in Hell’s Kitchen.

Janet leaned over the counter, searching for signs of life. “What’s a gal got to do to get a sub in this joint?” she said loudly, glancing back at Catherine and winking in a jovial manner.

A slender, lean man pushing fifty and wearing a colorful Paul Frank headband, which restrained his thin, graying, nape-length hair, emerged from a back room.

“I knew we should’ve closed early tonight,” the man said with a grin as he extended his hand to Janet. “How’re you this fine evening, young lady?”

Janet gripped his hand sturdily. “I’m doing just fine, Neal. How’s business?”

“Well, not as good as I hoped,” he said, playing along. “Truth be told, I’m a little worried. Seems like I may have some competition from a new Taco Bell in the neighborhood.” He nodded across the food court to a darkened and defunct Taco Bell chain. “May have to take it to the city and see if they violated any zoning restrictions before they cut in on my action.”

Janet patted the top of Neal’s hand with her free hand smiling from ear to ear. “How’re supplies holding up?”

“Surprisingly well, actually. Some of the bread’s a bit freezer burned, but what do you expect after so long? Got plenty of steak and chicken, though. And my griddle top fries have never tasted better.”

Janet whirled around in place, facing Catherine and her family. “It’s true. They take a little while, but boy are they worth it.”

“They sound wonderful,” Catherine commented.

Janet twisted back around to face Neal, holding a hand out in his direction. “Catherine, I’d like you to meet Neal. Neal Dennison.”

Catherine reached over the counter, taking Neal’s sweaty hand in hers. “Pleased to meet you.”

“And these are her children,” Janet continued. “Josh, Abby and...Tamara.” The kids all waved their hellos from behind Catherine. “Catherine and her family are new arrivals to Bayview. Just in over a few hours ago.”

“Well, welcome to our humble community,” Neal said. “I think you’ll find we’re as agreeable a bunch as you’re likely to find these days. Don’t let all these serious looks and cold shoulders discourage you. These folks are just wary, that’s all. Several of ‘em have come from other camps we hear weren’t quite as warm and fuzzy as we are here.”

“Other camps?” Catherine asked, surprised. “There are more places like this?”

“Sure, there are,” Janet answered. “You didn’t think we were the only one, did you?”

“Actually, I did.”

“Oh, no, no, no. No, you’ve got Apache Camp, Trinity City over on the south side, Dead Town, New Shanghai. There are others we’ve heard. Just don’t know the names.”

“Mommy, New Shanghai. It’s like in that newspaper you found!” Tamara blurted out excitedly.

Janet’s eyes darted back and forth from Catherine to Tamara, her eyes narrowing, her brow arching inquisitively.

“What newspaper?”

Catherine glanced at Tamara in a brief, but stern manner. The newspaper had been something she’d wanted to keep to herself for the time being. She hadn’t given much thought as to who or when she would reveal the contents of the paper. She only knew that it was still early in the getting-to-know-you game with Janet and her crew. Until she could get a better sense of the people with whom she would now, apparently, be living she had hoped to keep it secret. But Tamara had outed her. And for the life of her, Catherine couldn’t think of a good reason to lie.

“We found this,” she said reaching into her back pocket and pulling out the folded, ink stained newsprint. “I’m sorry to say the crew who had it...didn’t make it.”

Abby shot a look of horror over at Josh, her suspicions confirmed. Josh met her eyes only for a moment, nodding subtly.

Janet took the paper and unfolded it. She scrutinized it meticulously, flipping the paper over several times, struggling to make sense of the garbled mess on the page. “New Shanghai,” she said at last. “And you found this at sea?”

“Yes. On a boat.”

Janet looked to Neal who said, “We’d heard they might try something. Bunch of brave SOBs you ask me.”

“I didn’t think they were serious, though,” Janet contemplated.

Josh stepped forward. “Serious about what?”

Janet folded up the paper and handed it back to Catherine. “We heard rumors some folks at New Shanghai were going to attempt a transoceanic voyage. See how things fared on the other side of the world.” Janet locked eyes with Catherine. “How many of them were there?”

“Two. Maybe three,” Catherine responded. “It was...it was a little hard to tell.”

Catherine’s eyes watered at the memory of that sad and repugnant day. Janet caught sight of her emotional recollection, bowing her head in acknowledgement. And with a sudden hand slap to the counter, straightened with purpose.

“Right, then,” she began, “I need some cheese steaks and fries all around and a couple to go.”

Neal hopped into his role as line cook, eagerly tromping over to a Haier chest deep freezer and withdrawing frozen bags of steak meat and pre-cut French fries. He brought the food back to the camping cooker and immediately set to preparations.

“Oh, and Neal,” Janet said.

“Whatcha need, Janet,” he replied amiably.

“I need you to tell them the story.”

Neal turned suddenly, dropping a bag of steaks.

Catherine couldn’t remember the last time she’d tasted anything so magnificent. And if the empty plates resting in front of her children were any indication, assumed the feeling was mutually shared. The steak was dry, the bun rife with freezer rot and the few slivers of cheese virtually tasteless. But if asked if she would like another, would respond with an enthusiastic “yes”.

Neal agreed to tell of what he saw, but only after everyone had finished eating. His story, he proclaimed, was not one for dinner conversation. The plates now empty, he pulled a chair up to the group, resting his hands in his lap in a simple, relaxed posture.

“So, how was everything?” he asked.

The table erupted in a bevy of platitudes, everyone praising Neal for his fine culinary skills. Tamara was especially thankful, having engulfed two huge servings of “griddle fries” and angled for yet a third until Catherine put the kibosh on her gluttony.

Neal accepted his accolades graciously, glancing over at Janet. He eyed her curiously as if he were waiting for some sort of cue.

“It’s your show, Neal,” she said, nodding.

Neal looked over the table and moved his hands from his lap to the tabletop. “All right, then,” he began. “Janet told me what she already told you so I’ll spare you the redundancy. But what I’m about to tell you, the things she hasn’t said, well...”

“It’s all right, Neal. Just lay it out,” Janet said supportively.

Neal sucked in a cloud of air and blew it out in a preparatory manner. “You all just need to understand that it’s going to sound crazy. I mean from head to toe insane. But it’s what I saw. There ain’t no mistaking it.”

“Neal, whatever you have to say,” Catherine said, “whatever you have to tell us, we’ll believe it. We’ve seen and experienced some things these past few months I thought I’d only ever read about. We’re not going to think you’re crazy.”

“Thank you, Catherine,” Neal said, bowing his head gratefully. “Time will tell.” He smiled thinly then leaned onto his forearms.

“On the day it started, I was making a delivery. I used to work for a small bakery—Nana’s Bread Shop it was called—and every morning myself and another young gal would set about making deliveries to various restaurants and coffee shops we’d contracted with. It was about seven-thirty. I know this because I was running late that day and still needed to gas up the van. I’d already made a couple of stops and was pushing the limits of my tank, but eventually had to pull over to fuel up. I wished to God I’d done it the night before.”

Everyone stared at Neal, their eyes growing wider by the second as they waited in anticipation for him to continue.

“I pulled off the highway,” he began again, “and rolled into a BP just off Belair. Now it wasn’t uncommon for traffic to be heavy along that road. Especially at seven-thirty in the AM. So occasional horns and tire squeals were par for the course. But as I’m filling the van, I hear this loud crash. The unmistakable sounds of an accident. I came around the front of the van to see what had happened and there in the road was a cherry red Nissan four-door, its front end smashed into a concrete barrier and telephone pole.”

“What’d you do?” Tamara said innocently, eliciting a wan smile from Janet.

Neal glanced at her twitchily, his lips finding the shape of a grin, but only for a moment. “Well, I did what I figured most decent people would do. I went over to see if the driver was okay and if there was anything I could do to help. There were a few of us that had the same idea. Two other men and a really tall woman. And as we’re all making our way toward the car, it...the car just...” Neal eyed the table, measuring the reactions. Everyone gawked at him in what could have been confused for suspended animation. Only Janet looked down.

“The car just sort of...exploded from the inside.”

“What do you mean?” Josh inquired.

“I don’t know exactly,” Neal said shaking his head slightly. “There was a loud pop inside the car. And at the same time it jerked really hard like it had just been hit. But there were no other cars near it at this point and the direction of the movement looked as if it had come from underneath. Or from the inside. A second later, I knew exactly where it came from.

“Right after we hear this pop there’s this deafening metallic punching sound. Like a hammer on metal. Just over and over. And I look at the car...” Neal smiled to himself, shaking his head, seeming to ready himself for the impending onslaught of verbal denouncements. He raised his head and stared Catherine directly in the eye. “I look at the car and the roof is popping like one of those Jiffy Pop foiled popcorn pans, like something is trying to bash its way out from the inside. Glass is shattering and the car’s rocking all over the place. And that metallic sound just got louder and louder until...”

Neal straightened himself, adopting a “don’t care” posture. His face became stern with resolve, his features steeled against potential ridicule. “The roof just blew off. Maybe fifteen feet in the air. And that’s when I saw it.”

The entire table sat with bated breath. Not even a finger so much as moved.

“The thing might’ve been ten feet tall,” Neal said, his voice quivering. “I really couldn’t say. But it was big. And was nothing I’d ever seen before in my life. It crawled from the car and just stood in the road and I could see that it had legs and arms but the joints were different than ours. Like they went the other direction or something and there were more of them than we have.” Neal searched the faces of his audience and found them to be captured. There would be no mockery today.

“I looked around to the other people and I could only imagine what my reaction must’ve been based on what I saw on their faces. This...thing had a small head and a big barrel chest and its skin was weird. Like a scaly leather or something. But it was covered all over in this red mucky stuff.”

“Where was the driver in all this?” Josh asked.

“I honestly don’t know,” Neal said. “Once that thing crawled out there wasn’t anybody in the car far as I could see. Just this monster oozing red slime or something.”

Neal looked at Tamara and saw her hands digging into the soft pelt of Sniffles. He shot a look over to Catherine. “Catherine, you sure you want me to keep going what with the little one and all? This story’s only gonna get worse and, truth be told, I’m not sure it would get anything less than an R rating from the MPAA.”

Catherine placed an arm around Tamara as the girl snuggled up against her mother. “I appreciate your concern, Neal. Truly. But after tonight, I’m not sure there’s much left that can scare this child.” Catherine kissed Tamara softly on the head. “If what you’re telling us is what’s happening out there then we need to know. All of us.”

“Fair enough,” Neal confirmed with a nod. “So this thing is standing in the road and that’s all it’s doing. Standing. It doesn’t make a sound, try to run or fly or whatever it does. It just stands there. And I’m looking around to the other folks who are just as stunned as I am. And it was like this Old West standoff, all of us just standing around looking at each other waiting for something to happen. And then something did.”

He adjusted his position in his chair, sliding himself closer to the edge. “I’m not even sure how to describe the sound, but it was like a wet, sickening combination of bones cracking and vomiting. I’m sorry to be so graphic, but that’s about as accurate as I can get. And before anyone had any idea as to what was happening, this ten-foot tall whatever-you-call-it explodes from its chest. I mean it just bursts outward. All this bloody gunk and guts spewing onto the car and the pavement in front of it.”

“Holy shit,” Josh said, garnering a disapproving look from Catherine.

“You can say that again. And I think I did say that. Along with a whole string of other obscenities as I hightailed it back to my van and hid.”

“What happened to the thing?” Abby asked. “Did it die?”

“Not only did it not die. It was still standing,” Neal answered, sounding amazed himself, as if this were the first time he had heard the story. His eyes wandered to a remote portion of the table void of watchful faces, seeming to drift into a hypnotic state as the recollection solidified in his mind. “And as I’m standing there, as I live and breathe, this thing reaches into its own chest and pulls out...”

Neal paused, but from Catherine’s perspective it didn’t seem like his hesitation came about as a result of trying to avoid telling a truth that may be difficult to swallow. No, this man was actually questioning himself. Could he really have seen what he claims?

Neal pulled himself from his trance and sat back. “It pulled out a man.”

“What?” Abby and Josh virtually yelled in unison.

“It was completely naked and soaked in some more of that red muck.” Catherine shot a look to Janet that contained equal parts understanding and horror. Neal continued numbly. “This thing reached in, pulled out this person and set him in the road. And soon as it did this, the thing fell over sideways, crumpling to the ground and then evaporated like it had never even been there in the first place.”

“Wait a minute,” Catherine said sharply. “What do you mean it ‘evaporated’?”

“I mean it hit the ground and seconds later it was a vapor cloud. When it cleared there was no evidence that that thing even existed. No evidence except for that...man.”

“Sublimated,” Josh said.

“What’s that, Josh?” Catherine asked.

Josh glanced around the table and found that all eyes were on him now. “It’s called sublimation. When a solid goes directly to gas. Like dry ice. It’s called sublimation.”

Neal exhaled, relieved to have finished the story. “Well, whatever you call it that’s what happened. This ten foot or so giant just vanished in front of us.”

“What happened to the man?” Tamara asked, still nestled into Catherine’s chest.

“I have no idea,” Neal said, wiping beads of sweat from his brow. “When I saw him open his eyes—and trust me, it was a him—I didn’t want to be anywhere near him. I ran to my van and drove as fast as I could. Busted through a fence near an access road behind the gas station and drove. And when I heard the reports on the radio of similar sightings, I knew something bad was going down. I just got right the hell out of there. The road eventually spit me out a few blocks away from here. Figured it was as good a place as any to hole up. Home was too far away and I wasn’t about to get back on the road.”

The table fell silent for a moment, everyone reflecting on the events Neal just relayed.

Janet kept her eyes on Catherine. “Now you know what we know,” she said. “This is what we’re dealing with.”

Catherine stared emptily at the top of Tamara’s head. “So these...people, these naked people covered in the red muck, what do they do?”

“That’s the mystery of it,” Janet began. “We’ve got a handful of reports from some of our people here that they don’t really do anything. They just kind of wander. They don’t seem to be aggressive or hostile, just...”

“Just what?” Josh queried, leaning around his sister to get a better look at Janet.

Janet shifted her gaze to Josh. “You just don’t want to let one of those things touch you. We hear stories of people being touched by some of these New Humans as they’re called—and I’m talking just a touch of the hand on skin—and folks lose consciousness. I’ve seen it myself.”

“Like the police video you saw,” Catherine said.

Janet nodded.

“What happens when they wake up?” Abby asked.

“That’s the bitch of it. We don’t have a clue. We got no TV broadcasts. No radio. The only bits of information we get are from people we bring in to the fold here or dirtbags we come across in the streets. And their testimony is far from reliable. Some say the people wake up just fine. Others say they never saw the person again after they woke up and walked off.”

Janet stood and twisted at the waist. Her back cracked in several places. “The one bit of information that’s been consistent, though, is the night.”

“The night?” Catherine asked with a raised eyebrow.

“No one’s seen or talked to anyone who’s seen one of those New Humans walking around at night. It’s like they need daylight or something to survive or maybe they just disappear at the end of the day. Sublimate like those things Neal saw. Who the hell knows? All we do know is that there’s no light at night and as long as the earth keeps rotating around the sun and the moon holds its course then we at least have some part of the day to claim as our own.”

“Hey, Janet?” Josh asked.

“Talk to me,” she replied, setting a boot on the edge of her chair and readjusting the laces.

“Well, you say that as long as ‘there’s no light at night’ we should be okay?”

“That’s the theory,” Janet claimed with a tug of her laces.

“And there’s no power, right? I mean, electricity has been gone for a while. There’s no central source?”

Janet lowered her boot, looked at Josh. “For the better part of eight weeks now. The only juice people get are from running gennies like us. What’re you asking, Josh?”

“Yes, Josh,” Catherine interjected, “what are you asking?”

Josh brushed a lock of hair out of his eyes. “I was just wondering that if that’s all true, then what was that bright glow we saw earlier tonight?”

Janet began to raise her other foot, then stopped in midair, slowly lowering it back to the ground. “What bright glow?” she said, her face growing suddenly dour.

“Just before you guys showed up and saved our ass, there was this really bright light on the horizon. But I couldn’t see where it was coming from.”

Catherine nodded now, Josh’s recollection jumpstarting her own memory back to a previous time in the evening she would have been content to forget. “He’s right. I remember. It was a yellowish light. Kind of hazy. It just sort of came on. A few minutes later it was gone.”

Janet reached behind her and pulled a walkie-talkie from her belt no one was aware she even had. “Which direction was it coming from?” she asked, her eyes racing back and forth between Catherine and Josh.

Catherine thought on it a moment. “It was south. Maybe even southeast of here.”

Neal looked up sharply at Janet. “That’s Apache Camp,” he said.

Janet peeled off from the group as she spoke into her walkie. “Eagle to Eagle Eye One, come in.”

A garbled and static soaked voice replied almost instantly. “This is Eagle Eye One, come in Eagle.” Janet walked away from the group, standing near a trashcan as she continued her conversation.

“What’s this mean?” Catherine said to Neal as he rose to his feet.

“It means,” he began, “that as long as I’ve been here and we’ve been running patrols, nobody’s seen a light at night. Not even so much as a firefly.”

“I find that hard to believe, Neal,” Catherine started. “Surely there are other people who’ve gotten a hold of generators like you. Who are running power to lights, appliances and whatnot?”

“Sure there are. And the smart ones will have taken the same pains we did in making sure no one knows about it. This is one of those rare times when advertising is not in your best interest.”

A loud clanging suddenly rang out from somewhere inside the mall, piercing the relative silence like a jackhammer on a steel plate. The sound, uneven and unmelodious, could have been anything from a stockpot hit with a serving spoon to trashcan lids banged together.

Tamara jumped at the noise, burrowing into her mother’s chest. Abby instinctively inched closer to Josh who gaped about worriedly, his hands palm down on the table and ready to spring into action.

“Relax, everyone. Relax,” Neal assured. “It’s just the warning bell.”

“Warning for what?” Catherine questioned, holding Tamara close.

“It’s almost daylight.”

There were more people now, even more than had previously gathered at the food court. The warning “chimes” had elicited a Pavlovian-like response in the survivors, drawing them out from whatever nooks and abandoned stores they’d occupied themselves with for the night. They sauntered into the Sears store, no one in any particular hurry; conversations were held casually like fans leaving an afternoon baseball game.

It felt peculiar to have just arrived while simultaneously serving as the bearer of bad news with the witnessing of the light. It cast a negative cloud over her and her children and this perception was not imagined. The watchful faces of the people streaming in like cattle validated her fear as every scowl or frown seemed to lend credence to their current existence as pariahs.

“Is this gonna be home now?” Tamara asked absently as she pretended to make Sniffles dance along the edge of the cot beside Catherine.

“For now, baby,” Catherine affirmed. “For now.”

Josh glared up at the people who moved past his family from his position on the floor, returning in equal measure the leers and looks of distrust. He’d been able to deflect away most gawkers’ stares by offering up a fierce determination in his eyes, reducing their ogling explorations to the tops of their shoelaces. But the steadfastness was suddenly rendered immobile when a kind and inquisitive face suddenly entered his field of vision.

“Josh?” A young girl with a sandy brown ponytail said. “Josh Hayesly?”

Josh narrowed his eyes as if squinting would help him recognize the person before him. “Yeah. How do you know who I am?”

“I go to your school,” the girl replied. “Well, went to your school anyway. I’m Shelby.”

Josh only eyed her curiously, the name ringing no bells.

“Shelby Cook,” she said more like a question than a statement. “You were actually in my history lecture hall third period. With Mrs. Blindle?”

“You were?” Josh said blankly.

Catherine, who’d witness this painful exchange, finally leaned over and whacked Josh playfully on the shoulder. “Oh, for Heaven’s sake, Josh. The girl is saying hello to you. Geez Louise.” Catherine stood and offered her hand. “Hi, Shelby. I’m Josh’s mom, Catherine.”

“Nice to meet you,” Shelby said, shaking Catherine’s hand.

Catherine turned and pulled Tamara gently to her feet. “And this is one of my daughters, Tamara.”

“Hello,” Tamara said with a smile.

“Hi”, Shelby replied, holding out her hand for the little girl to shake, which she did.

“You apparently already know the King of Manners over here.” Shelby laughed out loud, covering her mouth with her hand in an attempt to stifle it. “Are you by yourself here, sweetie?” Catherine asked. “Is there anyone with you? Any family?”

Shelby nodded as Josh climbed to his feet. “Yes, my mom is here.” She turned and looked into the throng of entering folks. She searched the crowd unsuccessfully. “Somewhere around here,” she grinned.

“How did you get here?” Josh said sheepishly.

“By car,” Shelby said, deadpanning.

Josh’s forehead creased in confusion. “No, I mean...how did you...not how did you get here, but how—”

“How did I end up here, you mean?” Shelby winked coyly at Catherine who decided in that instant that Shelby was good people.

“Yeah, how did you end—”

“Pure luck and timing. And nothing else,” Shelby said.

“How do you mean?” Catherine asked.

“My mom was taking me to see the doctor, you know, that morning. We only stopped here to get bagels and coffee and then we were gonna be on our way. But as soon as we got here people started leaving in droves. It didn’t take us long to find out what was happening and once we did thought it best to stay put and see how everything panned out. I’m sure you can guess how the story ends.”

Catherine and Josh both nodded at this, their eyes falling to the floor as if allowing a moment of silence to pass in reverence.

“So how did you end up here?” Shelby asked. “I heard you just came in today. Where’ve you been all this time?”

Catherine exchanged subtle glances with Josh. “That’s a long story, honey.”

At the entrance, Catherine spotted Janet as she made her way in, the walkie still planted firmly beside her mouth as she walked. Catherine turned back to Josh and Tamara. “Listen you guys, I need to go speak to Janet. Either of you know where your sister is?”

“I think she’s in the bathroom,” Tamara answered.

“Okay. Sweetie, will you do me a favor and go get her and bring her back here? Then I want everyone to stay put until I get back.”

“Where’re we gonna go?” Josh said brusquely.

“You know what I mean, wise guy.”

“It’s no problem, mom. I’ll get Abby,” Tamara said.

“Thanks kiddo. I’ll be right back.”

Catherine spun on her heels and headed for Janet. She’d taken only a few steps before she was hit with a sudden realization: Tamara had used the word “mom” for the first time.

Janet holstered her walkie just as Catherine emerged from the crush and approached her, already speaking before Catherine could get a word out. “Well, whatever you saw was missed by our boys on the roof. No one reported any signs of light but that’s not to say it didn’t happen. We picked you all up a pretty good clip from here and if your claim of south is accurate that could put the source near ten miles away. Easy to miss when you’re not looking for it.” Janet checked her watch then cursed silently. “It’s too late to send a scout out now. The sun will be up in twenty minutes.”

Janet glanced out the entrance and up at the glass enclosed atrium, the sky beyond already gradating from cobalt blue to purplish-pink. She turned to a plump woman with an acne problem standing beside the Sears entrance like a sentinel. “Go ahead and ring that five minute call, Cynthia.” The woman nodded then picked up an aluminum pasta pot and a serving spoon. She held it over her head and whacked the underside for what seemed like an eternity, the metallic clangs reverberating in Catherine’s ears long after Cynthia had ceased.

“Listen,” Catherine began after the banging stopped. “I need to talk to you, but you seem really busy right now, so when you get a free moment I’d like to ask—”

“Now’s as good a time as any, Catherine,” Janet interrupted, side-stepping incoming Sears residents. “I don’t mean to be rude, but free time and social hours have become somewhat of a luxury these days. What can I do for you?”

“Well, I uh...I need to talk to you about transportation.”

“Transportation?” Janet said, generally confounded. “Are you already thinking about leaving? Are our homey touches not to your liking?” Janet forced a thin smile, but its transparency couldn’t conceal the agitation beneath.

“No, of course not. It’s great here. Really.”

“Then where do you need to go?”

Catherine forced herself to maintain eye contact despite her overwhelming desire to lie on the ground and curl into a ball. “I need to see if my husband’s alive.”

Janet’s scrutiny softened a bit, the legitimacy of Catherine’s words resonating with her and visibly registering in her posture.

“I realize it’s a long shot, but I need to know. Now, I know you have fuel and there seem to be plenty of available cars around. I was just wondering if I could get some help from you on this. Again.” Catherine smiled lightly at this final word.

“Look, Catherine,” Janet said, her tone suddenly more empathetic, “I understand you feel the need to fill that void of uncertainty. Trust me, I do. But what you’re talking about... well, it’s not only a long shot, it’s damn risky.”

Catherine nodded agreeably. “It is. But I’ll never forgive myself if I don’t at least try to find out.” She desperately wished for Janet’s attempts at dissuasion to cease before she was compelled to embellish on her lie any further. It already sickened her to have to deceive the woman who’d plucked her from Death’s door, and to continue seemed akin to applying torture to a corpse.

Janet put her hands on her hips and stared at the ground. “I hear you, Catherine. I don’t agree. But I hear you. We’ll figure out something tomorrow.” She shifted her head slightly, looking off to Catherine’s side. “And what about you little miss? You eager to head back home as well?”

Tamara materialized at Catherine’s side. “We’re going home?” she said keenly, turning to look up at Catherine. “Are we going to get the key?”

The world suddenly shifted around Catherine. A brief tremor of revelation wobbled her knees and caused her eyes to tear involuntarily. Mustering every ounce of calm-and-collected she could, Catherine ignored Tamara’s last question hoping the weight of her sentence would evaporate into the air much in the way the spoken words did.

“What are you doing here?” she diverted, her face feeling flush. “I thought I asked you to find Abby.”

“I tried,” Tamara said, preoccupying herself with Sniffles. “But I didn’t see her in the bathroom.”

“Check back by customer service on the first floor,” Janet said to her, but keeping her eyes trained on Catherine. “There’re bathrooms there too.”

“If you have trouble come back and get me, okay?” Catherine said.

“All right,” Tamara agreed. She turned and skipped away, holding Sniffles in front of her as he air-skipped along with her.

Catherine could feel Janet’s gaze boring into her before she even looked up. Tamara’s massive slip of the tongue was the precise reason why she and Warren had refrained from sharing any pertinent information with their children. This was all it took. An innocent and unconscious lapse in judgment and all the cards had been laid on the table. When Catherine had finally confided to her kids aboard the boat that she’d forgotten the key—that precious, life-preserving key—she’d never considered a scenario in which that information could come back to haunt her. But now, with Janet’s eyes searing into her skull, Catherine had the option of either providing an explanation as to what Tamara meant or ignoring it altogether and hoping Janet would allow the words of a ten year old to drift off into the ether. She preferred the latter, but chose the former.

“I can’t tell you how relieved that little girl is going to be if we find that key,” Catherine offered.

“What kind of key are we talking about here, Catherine?” Janet said suspiciously, her tone accusatory.

The hamster in Catherine’s brain took to the exercise wheel as yet another lie began to formulate. “For the duration of our trip we’ve been without her diary key,” she offered. “You know that little tiny key that usually hangs by a string beside the lock?”

“I guess so.”

“Well, for whatever reason, Tamara removed it. I guess she wanted to be the only one who knew where it was. But when we left on our trip she forgot to pack it! So this poor girl’s been writing on notebook paper and saving the pages in a handmade folder ever since because her diary’s been locked up the entire time.”

“Why not just jimmy the lock?”

“Oh, my no. She wouldn’t hear of that. She wouldn’t want to risk damaging it for when she got the key back later. I thought about trying it myself when she wasn’t around but I didn’t want to—”

As if summoned by pure will, Steve Blairwood suddenly appeared in the entryway. He scouted Janet and double-timed a beeline directly for her.

“Something’s happened at Apache Camp,” he blurted out before Janet had a chance to make herself aware of his presence.

“What?” she said, all interest in Catherine gone for the moment. “What are you talking about? How do you know?”

“We’re not really sure to what extent, but something’s gone down.” Steve adjusted his rifle strap. “We couldn’t tell anything at night, but once daylight starting creeping in...”

“What, Steve? Jesus, spit it out,” Janet said, exasperated.

“We’ve got columns of smoke. We couldn’t make them out against the night sky, but once the sun broke the horizon...Judging by their location it sure looks like it’s in the vicinity of Apache.”

Janet stared through Steve, her brain a whirling dervish of possibilities. “Jesus Christ Almighty,” she muttered at last. She whipped her head around to meet Catherine. “Are you absolutely sure you didn’t see anything? Hear anything?”

“No, nothing,” Catherine stammered. “It’s like I said. The light just came on for a minute. Dim, but it was there. Then it was gone.”

Janet nodded silently to herself as she walked away from Catherine and Steve, chewing laboriously on her thumbnail. She checked her watch again, then, without warning, strode for the entrance, calling over her shoulder to Steve, “Show me.”

Steve trotted up alongside her, immediately jumping on his own walkie. Janet leaned over to Cynthia and muttered something inaudible, but the meaning was clear.

Shut it down.

Cynthia wasted no time as she gathered her “alarm” paraphernalia and tucked them just inside the entryway. The last of the stragglers hotfooted it into the store lest Cynthia’s expediency leave them stranded to fend for themselves in the mall proper.

Reaching up with a boat hook, Cynthia ensnared a fluid mesh security gate from overhead and yanked it downward. Two other people—one man, one woman—emerged from the crowd to assist, fastening heavy duty padlocks to custom installed lock plates along either wall as well as where the gate met the floor. The two assistants moved in tandem, slipping the curved bolts into place, first through the gate then the mounts. They snapped the locks shut, yanking on them with quick jerks to assure their secured status.

Catherine wound her way back to Josh who, to her pleasant surprise, was still talking to Shelby. She sat down on the cot and faced the entrance, staring in awe at the military-like precision with which the residents of Bayview moved. The fence secured, the individuals apparently charged with “shut down” procedure began to assemble a crude, but effective system of plywood sheets in front of the fence, utilizing cordless drills.

Shelby glanced at Catherine and noticed her mixture of incredulity and trepidation at the unnerving sight before her.

“It feels weird, doesn’t it?” Shelby said.

“What’s that?” Catherine replied, her eyes still on the gate crew.

“That feeling of being sealed inside. Kind of like a coffin.” Catherine looked up and met Shelby’s gaze. “When they first got their system worked out,” Shelby continued, “it took them forty-five minutes to completely barricade the entrance. Now they can do it in under seven. It’s pretty amazing.”

“Amazing,” Catherine responded dryly. “So what do the people outside the fence do? People like Janet. The guards on the roof. How do they get back in?”

“They usually pull watch duty through the day,” Shelby said. “Patrol the grounds. Make sure everything’s kosher. So I guess, to answer your question, the long and short of it would be, they don’t.”

Tamara felt a little silly asking her mother for the location of the bathroom. She’d been in a mall plenty of times and had, on numerous occasions, made use of the facilities. And although she’d never actually been to Bayview, had to assume they were all designed in more or less the same way.

Discovering the “Customer Service” sign, Tamara immediately noticed the distinctive and universal symbols for “man” and “woman” etched onto a bronze placard mounted to the wall just below it. There were surprisingly few people utilizing the bathrooms given the multitude that had just entered the store. The low numbers, Tamara reasoned, would probably exist for only minutes more as the massive influx of people would most certainly set to the task of readying themselves for bed. She had better hurry, she thought.

Two women holding a conversation over their favorite desert at the Cheesecake Factory emerged from the restroom as Tamara approached. The older woman, a Latina somewhere in her fifties with poker straight silver hair wrapped into a ponytail, smiled at Tamara as she passed. Tamara returned the cordial gesture effortlessly, pushing open the heavy door. She walked past the baby changing station and rounded the corner into a sizeable wash area.

Abby was at one of the five sinks, leaning over on her hands, her head slightly bowed. Tamara took no notice.

“Mom wants you,” Tamara said, matter-of-factly.

Abby turned her head with effort. “All right. Be right there.”

Tamara eyed her sister curiously. “Are you all right?”

It took most of what little energy Abby had left to conjure the disingenuous smile she forged onto her face. “I’m fine. Just washing up.”

“Okay,” Tamara said. “We’re in the same place as before.” Her mission complete, she turned and started to leave then stopped suddenly, whipping back around as if what she was about to say held great importance. “Oh, yeah. And Josh found a friend! Some girl from school.”

“Wow,” Abby said listlessly. “That’s cool.”

“Yeah. She seems really nice.”

“Great. I’ll be right there,” Abby said in an attempt to close the conversation and hasten Tamara’s exit.

“Okay,” Tamara responded, bounding away with Sniffles held over her head.

Abby returned to the sink and stared into the basin. A thin string of drool oozed from her mouth as she spat emphatically. She raised her head and looked at herself in the mirror, stared into her own watery, bloodshot eyes. Slowly, she shook her head from side to side as if this gesture could will an outcome. And with a pleading expression, mouthed a single word to herself.

Please.

10

Alvin from Apache

Catherine couldn’t sleep. And this didn’t surprise her one bit. Despite her leaden eyelids and the relative comfort of the aluminum frame cot on which she lay, her brain still spun in her head at an optimal one hundred ten percent. So much had happened in the last twenty-four hours, so much transpired, that the process of sorting it all out had really only begun once the lights in the store had been dimmed for sleeping.

Peering through the soft black, she could just make out her children; Josh lay flat on his back with his mouth open, Abby had curled into a ball on her side and Tamara lay sprawled into a seemingly uncomfortable, contorted position. And had she not done this since she was a toddler, would certainly have invited great alarm.

It pleased Catherine immensely to find her family so receptive to sleep. The cherry on top would be that they make it through the night and be spared the terror dreams that had plagued most of them since they embarked so long ago. And judging by the rested way in which each seemed to slumber, she thought this a likely outcome.

There were two snorers contributing to Catherine’s insomnia. One person kept a steady rhythm, the sawing inhalations spaced evenly with equal amounts of quiet before the grating noise would repeat. The other offender was more erratic, the snorts and guttural grinds coming in fits and starts. Taken as a whole the duo sounded like some breathy, cacophonous performance, the steady snorer keeping a rhythm while the erratic snorer provided syncopated beats and freestyle interpretations.

Catherine smiled silently to herself. Over time, she supposed, one could get used to the intrusive noise. Hell, over time, one could get used to anything. She had already proven that. And besides, how much worse off could she and her family be? There were an infinite number of ways and if loud snorers were all she had to contend with for the remainder of her days, she would gladly sleep in a room full of them if it meant her family could be safe.

But she knew this would not be the case. No, there was some strange stuff, indeed, happening in the world right now. Stuff she couldn’t even begin to comprehend. And if she let her mind wander into that mystifying territory she would never see a minute of shuteye. It frightened her too much.

Catherine rolled onto her side and stared into the darkened room. She could hear whispers coming from somewhere and noticed a person on the far side of the sleeping area rise and walk off. Probably a bathroom visit, she thought.

She focused her attention on Josh, who lay on the cot beside her. Even in the murk of darkness she could still distinguish him—the narrow forehead, the long, strong nose and pointed chin, the endlessly tousled hair. Seeing him speak with Shelby stirred in Catherine such a fire of pride it was all she could do to contain herself. Her son, who by his own admission was not a particularly popular boy in school, had crushed Catherine’s spirit when his obvious withdrawal from all things resembling life had commenced. He’d taken no interest in sports, barely passed his classes, kept few friends and had more or less quarantined himself to his room to live vicariously through computer games and lurk among internet social sites. But the most disconcerting side effect of this self-imposed exile was his complete inability to engage with members of the opposite sex.

But that was a different time. And he was a different boy. His awkwardness would, no doubt, be a stumbling block, but his confidence had grown by leaps and bounds. And this encouraged her. Even with the world on the brink she held out hope for him. He was her little boy. He always would be. And someday she hoped he would know love even a fraction as strong as the love a mother had for her son.

Voices suddenly sounded from somewhere. They grew in intensity and volume until they transformed into an all out commotion. Catherine sat up on her cot, watching others do the same when a sharp banging came from the barricaded entry. The mesh fence smacked into the plywood, the sound reverberating throughout the store.

People woke now, murmurings rippling through the crowd as an undeniable atmosphere of fear permeated the store.

“Open the gate!” a voice yelled from outside, accompanied by more banging on the fence. “It’s Janet. Open the goddamned gate!”

Even through the darkness Catherine could make out Cynthia’s rotund form as she scuttled over to the plywood barricades and began unlatching the padlocks. A pair of work lights clicked on. Then another. People rose from their cots, full scale panic etched on their faces as several individuals charged to Cynthia’s side and assisted with the lock removal.

A single sheet of wood was struck down from the gate. The intense outside light from the atrium flooded into the store and drew protective hands to eyes storewide.

A series of figures shuffled to the opening as the mesh fence was finally raised. One of the figures hung limply and was hurried into the store via the aide of two others.

Janet was the last to enter.

“It’s okay, everyone,” she hollered into the room. “Everything’s all right. Just relax.” She found Cynthia again, said something to her then jogged over to where the other men had situated themselves. Cynthia began the rapid reinstallation of the security gate as more lights popped on from around the room.

Josh sat up amid moderate chatter and an illuminated Sears. He rubbed his face vigorously. “What’s going on?” he said to Catherine.

“I’m not sure,” she replied. “But I think they brought somebody in. It looked like he might be hurt.”

“Oh, yeah?”

“Who’s hurt?” Abby said, rising groggily from her fetal position.

“We don’t know,” Josh answered. “Somebody up there.” He nodded in the direction of the ruckus.

Catherine stared along with Abby. There was a small congregation of folks arranged in a loose circle. Catherine could only assume that Janet and the men who’d just arrived lay at the epicenter.

“Think they found some more new people like us?” Josh proposed.

“It’s possible,” Catherine said. “Although I’m not sure what their policy is on rescues during daylight hours. I got the distinct impression daytime was unsafe.”

“Yeah, I guess,” Josh agreed.

Catherine glanced down at Tamara still unconscious in her sleeping bag. The girl could sleep through a tornado in a room full of church bells. And Catherine couldn’t be more grateful for it.

She looked back over at the assemblage and discovered with a minor jolt that all eyes were suddenly staring in her direction. Staring at her, in fact. Janet stood apart from the group, speaking authoritatively and aimed a pointed finger at Catherine. Heads turned and eyes scrutinized. Catherine swallowed what felt like an entire hard-boiled egg.

Janet broke from the group, marching in a straight line directly for Catherine.

“Uh oh,” Josh teased. “Looks like you did something to piss of the principal. I wonder if you’ll get suspended.”

“Hardy har,” Catherine said, her eyes locking with Janet’s purposeful stare as she approached. But as Janet neared, Catherine detected an expression on her sweaty face void of any malicious intent or ill will. No, what Catherine perceived was concern. And maybe, just maybe, a tinge of fear.

“Catherine,” Janet said, huffing slightly. “Would you come with me, please?”

The man’s name was Alvin DeTroix. And from the looks of things, he’d had one hell of a night. His clothing was still intact and appeared relatively new, it hanging loosely from the man’s lean frame. His body seemed to be free of injury and Catherine noticed that there wasn’t so much as a blemish on the man’s clean-shaven face. By all indications he projected the ideal of perfect health. But it was his eyes. Deep set and haunted as they stared into space, the empty gaze told the tale of a man who had seen more than his spirit could bear.

“They’re gone,” he mumbled dryly. “They’re all gone.”

“Let’s take it easy, Alvin,” Janet said, turning to a young man shouldering a rifle. “Get him some water, would you?” The young man nodded and trotted away. Janet placed a blanket over Alvin’s shoulders.

“I’m not cold,” he muttered.

“But you’re extremely dehydrated and you’re soaking wet.” Janet said. “Hypothermia’s still a risk.”

“You should’ve been a mother, you know that?” Alvin kidded.

“Oh, I’m a mother all right. Just of a different variety.”

This elicited a puff of low-grade laughter from the group, even forcing Alvin’s cracked lips to curve into a spare smile and reveal the yellowed teeth behind them.

The young man with the rifle returned with the water, handing it instantly to Janet. Janet cracked the lid and passed it to Alvin who drank deeply. Janet grabbed the bottle, restraining the flow of water into his mouth.

“Take it easy, Alvin. Small sips.”

He blinked agreeably and took several pulls from the bottle before setting it in front of him. Janet pulled up a chair and sat directly across from him.

“Now, I want you to tell her what you just told me.” Janet hooked her thumb at Catherine who felt as if a spotlight had suddenly been turned on her.

Alvin bowed his head and stared blankly in front of him. “They came at night.”

Janet snapped her head up at Catherine as if this revelation should have had some impact. But Catherine returned the stare with eyes that indicated she required an explanation.

“Alvin’s from over at Apache Camp,” Janet started. “About a hundred fifty or so people holed up in a Costco. Your next question might be ‘why was it called Apache Camp?’ And for an accurate reply I would direct you to the Native American gentleman who established the colony there. But from the sounds of Alvin’s story it doesn’t sound like you’ll get that answer any time soon.”

Alvin tensed and clenched his fists. He reached for his water and took a longer drink.

Catherine looked from Janet to Alvin struggling to comprehend what any of this had to do with her. It was certainly tragic whatever had happened to the souls of Apache Camp, but how did she fit into the big picture? Why had Janet plucked her from the crowd as if she could provide any further bearing on the situation?

“So you see,” Janet said, “that’s why we really need you to try and remember.”

Catherine narrowed her eyes, her head sinking just a hair as the impact of Janet’s words bounced off her like a rubber ball to a wall, the meaning and implication completely alien.

“I’m sorry, Janet. I don’t mean to be dense,” Catherine said. “But I really have no idea what you’re talking about.”

Janet stood suddenly, knocking over her chair inadvertently and startling Catherine.

“Don’t you see what’s going on here?” Janet said, her irritation no longer disguised.

“I guess I don’t,” Catherine said defiantly.

“They attacked at night. Wanna guess how they did it?”

“I don’t know...I thought those things needed light to—”

“Very good,” Janet spat condescendingly. “Bingo. You’re not as dumb as you look after all.”

Catherine’s eyes began to water in intimidation. Janet’s rant had shocked her, both in its insulting manner and its seemingly unprovoked suddenness. She recognized this behavior had probably been born out of stress, uncertainty and fear at Alvin’s arrival. But she’d be damned if she would let a single tear roll down her cheek in front of everyone, especially Janet.

“Look,” Catherine said trying to remain calm, “I know this is a stressful moment, but I don’t know what you want from me.”

“I want you to help us save this community the way we saved you, you stupid bitch!”

It may as well have been a smack in the face. Catherine’s face flushed a rosy pink as Janet turned away from her, cursing inaudibly to herself. It was clear that whatever connection or friendship Catherine thought she and Janet shared was merely a mirage. Under times of intense stress, the true nature of a person always revealed itself. And Janet was a textbook case.

Alvin reached up and laid a reassuring hand on Janet’s pulsing forearm as she tried to calm herself. He looked up at Catherine with eyes that no longer exhibited glazed-over devastation, but now registered a deep sense of compassion.

“What’s your name?” he asked.

“Catherine. Catherine Hayesly.”

“Don’t let this one give you any grief,” he said, indicating Janet with a nod of his head. “She may bark loud, but she’s as gentle as a Saint Bernard with newborn pups.” Janet pushed away Alvin’s arm semi-seriously, but Alvin’s hand found its place again.

Catherine grinned just a touch. “I’m sorry to hear about your people, it’s just that...I really don’t understand what’s happened.”

“What’s happened is that the night no longer belongs to us,” Alvin said soberly. “There’s nowhere to hide anymore. No one is safe.” Alvin sat upright then reclined back, his splayed legs and slumped posture indicating a man both physically and spiritually beaten.

“They snuck up on us tonight. In the dark and without warning. Dozens of them. Maybe a hundred.” Alvin ran the palm of his hand over his hair. “We saw the lights. Off in the distance. And we could hear the motors. We just thought they were night stragglers, you know? Just some more misplaced people looking for a home. But the lights...the lights were so bright. Maybe we should’ve known. And when the vehicle or machine or whatever it was pulled into the parking lot led by all of those...things, we knew our time had come. There was no escaping.” Alvin grabbed the nape of his neck with his hand, cradling his elbow with his other arm. “Jesus, there were so many of them.”

Catherine knelt in front of Alvin and placed a hand on his knee. Janet turned back around and faced Alvin as well. Catherine could feel the poking glances from Janet like taps on the shoulder, subtly trying to gain attention.

Alvin leaned forward. “They just attacked. Charged in from everywhere. But, but it wasn’t violent. Not the way it could’ve been. These things just grabbed people, touched them on the shoulder or the arm and they fell over sideways. Like they’d just been hit with a tranquilizer dart. And I saw some of them fall as well. Those things. If they left the vicinity of the light they would collapse. Wither and lay motionless. But they didn’t seem to care. Like they were kamikaze or something. And when everyone panicked and started fleeing the store trying to escape I knew Apache Camp was finished. It was probably the worst thing we could’ve done.”

“Tell me about the lights, Alvin,” Janet said, her composure regained. “What did you see?”

“Truth be told, not much. It was just so bright. Like this mobile column of light. Or a small building or something.” Alvin straightened. “It was definitely constructed, whatever it was. And like I said, I could hear motors. Loud ones. Like the ones semis use. However they did it, it was impressive and effective. And it fucked us all.”

“But why attack at night?” Janet queried to no one in particular. “Why go through the hassle of transporting this building of light or whatever it is? Why not just attack during the day?”

“Because they’ve evolved,” Catherine said flatly. “From the sounds of things they’ve not only mastered some mechanical and electrical ingenuity, but also some mental acuity as well. I think on some level they knew their grandiose and sudden arrival would spark panic in the people of Apache. Alvin is probably right. If these things truly need light to survive then the safest place anyone could’ve stayed was inside the store. But fear overrode common sense, I think. As it would have for any of us.” Janet’s scowl of discontent softened a skosh at Catherine’s words, her eyebrows arcing into receptive curves. “The question that I have is, why now?”

Janet turned away from the group, her ratty thumb finding her mouth. She spun back around and looked at Catherine. “Is there anything, Catherine? Anything at all?” she said peaceably.

“There was nothing, Janet. Only a swath of light on the horizon,” Catherine said with a steady voice. “No people. No sounds. Knowing what we know now, I’d have to say that what we witnessed was a test. A quick flick of the ‘on’ switch.”

A young pseudo-soldier dressed head to toe in black stepped forward, his hands clenched firmly on his machine gun. “How can that be?” he said aggressively, turning heads in his direction. “If they’re running tests, how the fuck are they able to survive before it’s turned on and after it’s turned off? They’d be in the dark.”

Janet directed her eyes to Catherine, as did Alvin and the remainder of the group. In this moment, Catherine became painfully aware of the fact that she had now been designated the Person With the Answers.

“I’m not really sure,” she said. “But my feeling is that if they’re able to construct a movable building of light, they had most likely built smaller versions of the same thing to sustain them while they worked.” Catherine’s eyes darted over the group. “Look, everyone, these are just theories. You all have far more experience dealing with these...New Humans as you call them, than I have. I’m only speculating.”

“But sometimes it takes a pair of fresh eyes to see the forest for the trees,” Alvin commented. “And as far as I’m concerned, all bets are off on what we think we know.”

Janet stared emptily into space. “All right, look everyone,” she said as she faced the group, their faces fraught with worry. “Let’s finish out the day and talk about this tonight when we’ve all had a chance to process everything. We’ll come up with a plan of action. Meanwhile, Alvin? Better get some rest because we’re gonna be looking to you for information. Everyone else, just finish out your shift. Now more than ever we can’t afford to let our—”

The walkie on Janet’s belt cracked with static.

“Eagle Two to Eagle Eye, come back,” a husky sounding male voice said.

Janet reached behind her and freed the walkie from its holster. She palmed the radio and jammed it to her ear like a telephone. “Eagle Eye to Eagle Two, go ahead.”

“Hey, uh, Janet...you better get up here,” the voice said ominously. “I think you’re gonna want to see this.”

Janet and Derrik belly crawled along the gravelly rooftop toward Steve, who lay prone at the roof’s edge. His eyes were jammed into a pair of binoculars, peering cautiously over the side.

“Whaddya got, Steve?” Janet said reaching him and huffing powerfully, small clouds of dust blooming from the dirty rooftop with each breath.

“I don’t like it, Janet,” Steve said wrenching the binoculars from his face and handing them over. “Not one fucking bit.”

Janet took the binoculars and scooted closer to the ledge. She craned her head up over the berm and carefully placed the binoculars to her eyes.

“At two o’clock. Beside the cart return,” Steve whispered.

Janet angled around, her view from the binoculars passing over asphalt and abandoned vehicles. She twisted the focus ring discreetly and adjusted the lens spacing to better suit her eyes when she suddenly froze.

“Shit,” she said.

“Yeah, that’s kind of what I thought.”

“How long have they been there?”

“Fifteen minutes now. They haven’t spoken near as I could tell and they haven’t moved an inch. They’re just standing there. Staring.”

Janet pulled her in elbows in an attempt to stabilize her arms. She pushed gently with her feet, scooting herself closer to the ledge. She glared through the lenses steadily despite the rise of twitchy butterfly activity in her belly.

There were two of them, a young girl and an elderly man. The girl could’ve been anywhere from fifteen to twenty-two. Her facial features leaned toward an older gal, what with her deep-set eyes and dye-blonde hair. She had a tiny frame and wore a petite lavender summer dress. Janet imagined that in a different life she would have been very popular with the boys.

The man was easily pushing seventy. His face was a roadmap of wrinkles and lines. His hands appeared to be twisted into arthritic pretzels, but he stood amazingly erect despite the apparent affliction to his limbs. He wore a simple white t-shirt that was stained with something dark and had on a pair of filthy painter’s khakis. His thin, wispy hair blew slightly in the early morning breeze.

Janet rolled over onto her back and faced Steve. “Did they come together?”

Steve nodded. “Yeah, they just sort of strolled into the parking lot then, for whatever reason, just stopped.” Steve peered quickly back over the ledge. “I’d seen a few here and there wander over this way. But never this. Fucking gives me the creeps.”

“Want me to take ‘em?” Derrik offered a little too enthusiastically.

“Relax, killer,” Janet said. “We don’t know how many of them may be close by. Gunshots might draw attention.”

“So what do we do about it?” Steve asked.

“Nothing. For right now at least.” Janet took another look into the parking lot. “Let them stare if they want. They can’t harm us from there and they’re certainly not going to learn anything.”

“You think they know we’re all in here?” Derrik said.

Janet twisted and lay back, staring up at the blue sky. She exhaled wearily. “Man, I fucking miss daylight,” she commented. “Just to walk on green grass, see and hear the rattle of leaves. Blue sky and white and purple clouds floating overhead. Maybe a gentle breeze blowing. Be nice to actually experience that again.”

Derrik shot a look over to Steve, who responded with a shrug of his shoulders. Janet peeked back at the two individuals in the parking lot.

“Come on, Derrik.” She said with effort. “We’ve got a lot of preparations to make.” Janet rolled back onto her stomach. “And a whole lot of bad news to break.”

The decision had not been an easy one to make and proved even more difficult to accept.

When Janet broke the news to the citizens of Bayview that their home for the past two and a half months would and should be abandoned, she was met with a virtually universal ire. The initial furor over her announcement had come perilously close to sparking a riot, to the point that Janet’s loyalists—i.e., the ones with the guns—had to stand watch as Janet presented her theory regarding the revelation of the two New Humans and all that it implied.

She told of Alvin’s experience and the costly toll the residents of Apache Camp had suffered as a result of their poor decision-making. Slowly, she weaned a sizeable majority over to her logic with her common sense approach and equal reluctance in leaving a place into which she had put so much heart and soul. It had, quite frankly, become home.

Catherine’s words echoed in Janet’s mind. They’ve evolved, she had said. And with that simple yet profound explanation had planted the seed of uncertainty with regard to the New Humans. Anything was possible. And they should be prepared for that.

The declaration of abandonment was unable to be unanimously supported. A small faction of mall residents had flat out refused to leave; and their decision to remain had been backed by Janet. She wasn’t the president, after all. Not even a dictator. It wasn’t her place to tell people what to do. If certain folks opted to stay behind despite the evidence, which leaned towards an inevitable raid, then that was their decision. She was only the messenger. But to her the message was loud and clear. She only hoped that as the reality of the escape neared, the few who had chosen to remain would be compelled out of sheer peer pressure to join them. But she had said her piece.

This was thirty-six minutes ago.

Every minute since had been a loosely organized form of chaos. With her final utterance of “I wish luck to us all”, Janet had initiated a frenzy as the residents of Bayview launched into action, gathering and packing, preparing for nightfall and the subsequent attempt at evacuation.

Janet laid out her plan, meeting little dissent from those who supported her. Her consensus was that action be taken immediately, the contention being that every minute passed was another minute in which the New Humans could further evolve. To her, “wait and see” was not an option.

The plan was relatively simple and, she felt, smart if not enormously dangerous. Those who were willing would vacate the mall on foot in groups of ten spaced several minutes apart. Each group would take an alternate route through the city, rendezvousing at a newly selected location. Janet had it on pretty good authority that the city university’s football stadium, a formidable structure by college standards, had remained vacant. The vast network of locker rooms, meeting rooms, reception areas and bath facilities could prove to be a worthy successor to the glossy and plus-sized Bayview. Security would be easier with fewer entry points and the more confined space would leave little room for surprise. If the information regarding its vacancy was accurate then the wayward souls of Bayview could be tucking themselves in in their new home within a matter of hours. But she doubted anyone would really be able to sleep on this day.

The strategy was fundamentally sound. There weren’t many options and Janet had done an admirable job in formulating a workable plan given the circumstances. And as Catherine stuffed the few items she had unpacked back into her knapsack, she thought it a shame that she and her family would not be joining the rest of the group. She had a feeling her decision would be frowned upon by her children, but her greater dread lay in explaining the move to Janet.

Josh, Abby and Tamara had already gathered their items together. They sat patiently on the edge of Catherine’s cot as people moved to and fro in a flurry of activity. Josh stared guiltily as individuals shuffled about.

“I feel like we should be doing something,” he said, looking over at Catherine. “What time is the first group heading out?”

“I think she said she wanted to get moving around ten. Just after the sun had completely set.” Catherine searched the room and found Janet. “But that doesn’t concern us.”

Josh snapped his head at Catherine. “What do you mean ‘that doesn’t concern us’?”

Catherine inhaled and prepared for the onslaught. “I mean it’s not our problem. Because we’re not going with them.”

Josh hopped to his feet. Abby sat upright, she and Tamara locking on their mother.

“What the hell’re you talking about? Of course we’re going,” Josh railed.

“No, we’re not,” Catherine said sternly. “Now, make sure you all have everything together and stay here. I’m just going to talk to Janet. I’ll be right back.”

Catherine rose from the cot and took two steps before the wrath that was Josh came unleashed.

“This is such bullshit!” he yelled. “The whole entire reason for coming ashore—your brilliant idea, I might add—was to come into contact with people who could help. Well, guess what? We found them. They’re right here all around us. And now you want to leave? Un-fucking-believable.”

Catherine stormed up to Josh, placing her face directly in his. “Let’s get one thing straight. I don’t give a good goddamn if the whole world’s on fire and we’re the last ones alive, I’m your mother and you will respect that. Now, I’m sorry you don’t agree with my decision but this isn’t a democracy. You’re my son and I expect you to honor that. And me.”

Josh’s glare fell to the floor, his scowl etched firmly on his face. Catherine peeled away from him slowly, burning her stare into him in a purely alpha male—or female—display of dominance. Her eyes flitted over the sea of people bustling about in the vicinity when she spotted Shelby midway across the room. The girl tried valiantly to pretend she had not noticed the altercation between Catherine and Josh, but the discomfort on her face and the forced avoidance of eye contact told the tale. Catherine looked back to her son and realized in that instant where the genesis of his outburst lay. And despite the harsh feelings he had for her at the moment, still couldn’t keep herself from smiling.

“Stay here,” Catherine said again to her children as she about-faced and jostled her way through the crowd.

Janet was reviewing a small stack of papers as Catherine approached. And as if sensing her arrival, set the sheets aside and, again, preempted Catherine’s speech.

“How’re you all coming along?” Janet asked uncomfortably.

“We’ve got our things together,” Catherine replied. “We’re ready to go.”

“Good, good.” The tension emanating from Janet was palpable. She shifted uneasily. “Look, Catherine. About what I said...”

“Forget it. You don’t owe me any apologies. You’re doing the best you can.”

Janet didn’t know if she should treat this last statement as a compliment or a dig. On any other day she might’ve questioned as to the intent, but found that today she was too busy to give a shit.

“I just came over here to let you know that we won’t be joining you tonight. We need to be on our way. I have to get home.”

Janet’s awkward demeanor suddenly evaporated. She straightened in defiance and took a step toward Catherine. “Tell me you’re fucking kidding, Catherine.”

Catherine swallowed. “I wish I was. Believe me, I’m not thrilled about it either. But I have to see if—”

“If your husband’s alive. Right. That’s what you said.” Janet’s delivery stung like an accusation, the verbal welt lingering long after she’d spoken.

“All I’m asking from you,” Catherine continued, “is to just point me in the direction of your fuel supply. You’ll never be able to carry it all and all I’m asking for are a few gallons. Just enough to get me there.”

“To drive a car to your house,” Janet said.

“Yes.”

“To check on your husband.” Janet had used the infamous air-quotations on this last word, but they may as well have been ice picks through Catherine’s self-confidence. “I know you’re not telling me everything, Catherine. You’re hiding something but for the life of me I can’t seem to figure out what or why.”

Catherine used every facial muscle she could to control the involuntary spasms of deception that hijacked her lower lip.

“What are you really doing?” Janet continued. “What is it you’re after? Wouldn’t be a key, now, would it? Like the one your daughter mentioned? Now what could you possibly need a key for in this day and age? I wonder.”

Catherine felt like someone had taken a two-by-four to her chest. Struggling to control her breath and accelerating heart rate, she spoke softly through perspiring lips. “Janet, from the bottom of my heart, I thank you and your people for saving our lives. You’ll never know the gratitude I’ll always carry with me.” Catherine corrected her posture and gained a couple of inches in stature. “But what I do and where I go with my family is none of your goddamned business.”

Janet’s facial recoil had been exactly what Catherine had envisioned. She may not have guarded killers and convicts in her previous day-to-day existence, but she could be as fierce as a snake when it came to the protection and preservation of her family.

“Fine, Catherine,” Janet said condescendingly. “Do whatever the hell you want. But hear this: you will in no way jeopardize this evacuation. Do you understand? I’ve got eleven groups going tonight and their safety comes first. After they’re all away you and your children can drive to Timbuktu for all I care. Fuel’s in the auto center across the parking lot. Take what you want.”

“Thank you,” Catherine said simply. Any other words, she felt, would only exacerbate the situation.

“It’s fine,” Janet uttered coldly. “Just be ready to leave at ten-thirty. You’ll be in the last group. Once we’re away, you’re on your own. Come any later than that and you’ll be locked in with the remaining residents. After that you’ll have to take up exit strategies with them. We clear?”

“We’re clear.”

“See you later tonight,” Janet said indifferently as she turned away and continued her planning.

Catherine truly wished it didn’t have to be this way. It was contrary to her nature to intentionally deceive and it only made matters worse when the person you were deceiving knew they were being deceived. But this is the way it had to be, hadn’t it? This is what Warren had instilled in her from day one. Trust no one. Look out only for the family. He had explained in great detail the trickle down effect of life-saving knowledge when it was shared and learned under extreme duress. The system could not be sustained, he argued, if everyone became privy to the same set of information. For some to win, some had to lose. It was classic Darwinism.

Strolling back through the crowd toward her children, Catherine wondered what the difference was between a murderer and one who allowed murder to happen willingly.

11

The Great Escape

The ninth group had gotten away without incident. Janet peered through binoculars and spied the quick double flash of a flashlight, the pre-arranged signal for successful withdrawal.

“Okay, everyone, get ready,” she said to the members of the tenth group as they clustered near the small, northwestern exit of the mall. Utilized in its heyday primarily by employees, the oft-overlooked entrance was a perfect, unassuming choice to conduct the night maneuvers.

“And remember, keep talking to a minimum. Just put your heads down, move fast and follow the map. And be alert. The NHs aren’t the only ones we have to contend with out there.” Catherine and Janet exchanged brief but knowing glances.

“You ready, Dusty?” Janet said to a clean-cut young man with a thick head of hair wrapped into a ponytail who stood at the front of the line.

“Let’s do it,” he replied, not particularly convincing.

Janet checked her watch, beeping on a chronometer. “All right, good luck. Go. Go!” she whispered harshly.

One by one, the penultimate group filed past, food, water and whatever other supplies they could manage strapped to their backs. Janet ushered each person out the door with a supportive hand to his or her shoulder. The final member of group ten away, Janet pulled the entrance door closed, peering through a slit on the glass where black paint had been etched away. She turned around to face the members of the last group. Her group.

“Let’s gear up,” she said stoically.

The final evacuees shuffled up to the exit. The group consisted of Catherine and her children as well as Janet. Also in line were Shelby and her mother, Madeline, an earthy woman with long, wavy silver and gray hair. They had been assigned to group eleven, due in no small part to Shelby’s pleading and her insistence that she would feel more secure if she could be reassigned with someone she knew. The reasoning had been paper thin. And it had not been lost on either Catherine or Madeline that a certain sort of affection had developed between their children. The request, much to Shelby’s dismay, had turned out to be irrelevant, however, upon discovering Josh and his family had plans of their own.

Rounding out the list was Alvin, Oliver Stensland, a sturdy man with an unceasing Southern drawl, and Derrik Manson, dressed to the nines in pseudo black ops attire. From his clothing, to his cache of weapons to his elaborately executed face paint, Catherine thought he looked like he could have just stepped off a Guns & Ammo photo shoot.

Janet peered through the slot. The remnants of group ten were slowly dissolving into the night and out of sight. Once she had the flashlight signal it would be her turn and the beginning of a new, albeit undesired, adventure.

Catherine turned to her children. She was already clutching Tamara’s hand. “Okay, you guys. This is it. Just stay together. The garage is just across the parking lot.” Her children nodded at her numbly, Josh still frowning as he and Shelby exchanged woeful glances.

The butterfly dance that was taking place in Catherine’s stomach was so active she thought she might actually vomit from it. Every fiber of her being wanted to remain with Janet and the residents of Bayview if for no other reason than the relative safety and communal atmosphere it provided. But it had also brought peace of mind and relative happiness to her children and losing that, she thought, was the most painful side effect of leaving.

Janet tensed as she stared through the glass. “Okay, there’s the signal.” She turned and faced the group. “It’s our turn ladies and gents. We ready?” The group gave a collective nod as Janet reached out a hand toward Cynthia who had been silently presiding over the evacuation.

“Cynthia,” Janet began, “I wish to hell you and the rest of your people were coming with us. But I respect your decision to stay. You know where we’ll be if anything should happen.”

Cynthia smiled as she nodded, a lone tear streaking her cheek. She took Janet’s hand and kissed it. Janet gave her hand a final squeeze before turning to Catherine.

“You know where you’re going?” she said.

“Far side of the lot to the garage. Fuel’s in the barrels along the back wall.” Catherine answered.

Janet nodded agreeably. “You got plenty of cars to choose from out there. We left batteries in the ones marked with an “X” on the windshield just in case. Keys should be in them. Get to the highway as fast as you can and do your damndest to stay off side streets and roads through potentially populated areas.”

“Okay.”

Janet held out her hand. “Good luck with whatever it is you’re doing.”

Catherine grasped it firmly. “Thank you. For everything.”

She clung to Janet’s hand, wondering in that moment if she had the courage to divulge the truth about the key and all that it meant. She desperately wanted to share its secret, but the words of her husband continually floated in her subconscious: Trust no one.

Catherine released Janet’s hand with a final dip of her head. “Good luck to you.”

“Thanks,” Janet said simply as she pulled the hood of her sweatshirt over her head. She placed her sweaty hands on the aluminum crossbar of the exit. “All right,” she said to the nine people gathered behind her. “Let’s go.”

Group eleven charged into the night. The cool evening air was brisk and assaulted the lungs with each breath. Sneakers and boots thumped on the asphalt in muted, discordant clomps as the final evacuees of Bayview stormed off toward their new home.

Janet scoured the horizon relentlessly. She was pleased that all had gone so smoothly thus far, and with the last group away held out hope for a successful transition to stadium life. It wasn’t what she wanted, but it was the best decision. Of that, she was sure.

Catherine clamped on to Tamara’s wrist as she ran, vowing literally and figuratively to never let go of her youngest daughter again. She knew this was her overprotective, maternal drive coming into play, but she really didn’t care. The events over the past few days had taught her a thing or two about life and its ability to change direction on a dime.

Josh and Shelby ran side by side just behind Abby who struggled to keep pace. Madeline became aware of Abby’s deficiency and slung a supportive arm around the young girl’s elbow, helping her along and receiving a nod of gratitude from Catherine.

Josh felt a peculiar sensation in his loins. An odd time, he thought, given the circumstances. This stirring he had known from time to time when viewing his friend, Don McKellar’s dirty magazines. He had often wondered what it would be like to be with a girl in that way, but had abandoned any such notions long ago. Now, as a painful throbbing surged in his crotch, Josh became acutely aware of the fact that Shelby had seized his hand as they ran. Her hand felt small and soft under his calloused fingers. And with each passing step, Josh mourned the eventual separation from her.

Derrik took up the rear, running and backpedaling in equal measure to assure a safe retreat. He hated that word. Retreat. He wished there could be a way to take the fight directly to whatever it was that had changed everyone’s lives so dramatically. But how do you fight an enemy when you don’t know who or where the enemy is?

Alvin and Oliver jogged just ahead of Derrik. Oliver panted profusely, sucking wind as if there would soon be a shortage. Alvin regarded him peripherally and wondered if the man would make the journey to their final destination.

Janet caught a quick, double-pulse of light near what appeared to be the corner of Madison and Chesney Avenue. Group ten had proceeded as directed and Dusty had done an admirable job in leading his squad, even providing unnecessary signals of their progress. Janet hoped these flashes wouldn’t serve as alerts to unsavory characters, but it had been twenty-two minutes since the first group departed and nary a gunshot was heard or a rogue light spotted. All things being equal, she felt fairly positive about their chances.

Then the unthinkable happened.

It was in the vicinity of Madison and Trident. Group two and group five would both pass near the intersection if strict adherence to the map had been observed. Janet prayed with every ounce of spirituality she had that they had gotten lost long before reaching it.

The wash of light had been stunning. A veritable sphere of whitish-yellow that shimmered incandescently. And when it suddenly materialized somewhere on the other side of the business district its appearance was powerful enough to physically draw gasps. Light bounced off the remaining window glass in the mid-size skyscrapers and a swath of luminescence struck skyward evaporating into the heavens.

Janet and her group stopped in their tracks.

“What the hell is that?” Oliver asked ignorantly.

“What the hell do you think it is?” snapped Janet.

Tamara burrowed into her mother’s belly, burying her head into the flap of Catherine’s jacket. “Mommy, I’m scared.”

“I know, baby. I am, too.” Catherine encircled Tamara then put an arm around Abby, pulling her near.

Alvin stepped up beside Janet wearing the look of a man who had seen this before. “It’s them.”

Then the screams began.

The distant cries echoed throughout the empty city in deadened pleas for mercy. And as quickly as they had begun, they ceased, leaving a stifling silence in their wake.

Janet stared into the darkness at nothing in particular with wide, bulging eyes. Madeline started to cry. Shelby let go of Josh’s hand to comfort her mother.

“We’ll...we’ll reroute,” Janet said finally through shaky breath. “Let’s just keep moving. We don’t want to be stuck out in the open.” She started into a trot. The group hesitantly followed her, their heads turning and searching in all directions as they resumed a steady pace.

Catherine grabbed Abby’s hand, holding it in her left while she maintained a grip on Tamara’s in her right. The fear rising in her was overwhelming. More than anything, all she wanted to do was cry. Cry away the unbelievable reality in which she found herself. Cry for the childhood that had been robbed from her children. Cry for the other groups of the evacuation and the fates that had befallen them. But mostly she just wanted to cry at the unfairness of it all. Could the juxtaposition of her two lives really be this stark—the dutiful, vacation-happy mom in a troubled marriage one day, smash-cut up against a terrified single parent running for her life in a desolate parking lot? It seemed too surreal to even consider.

Then, as if an affirmation had been issued by the Fates, a second column of light suddenly snapped on—this one much closer. Janet screeched to a stop as did the entire group.

“Shit,” she uttered, real fear seeping into her voice.

“That’s only two blocks away,” Alvin said. “At best.”

The second cloud of light cast sharp silhouettes of the nearest buildings, the radiance emanating outward in an arc and dissipating into the black night. The edges of the buildings appeared as if tinged with neon, their defining surfaces reflecting the intensity of the luminous source and reducing the imposing structures to mere two-dimensional cutouts.

Again, screams of fear and pain echoed throughout the city. Tamara covered her ears. Oliver made the Sign of the Cross.

Janet stared in horror at the two masses of bulbous light and, for the first time, realized they were moving. She turned quickly and faced the group.

“Look,” she began with quivering lips, “we’re gonna have to abort. We’ll have to double back and find another way around.”

“But people will be expecting us,” Madeline said, tears welling in her eyes. “We can’t just abandon them.”

“I don’t like it anymore than you do,” Janet said, fighting the temptation to cry. “But do you hear those screams? We can’t help them. And we’d be doing ourselves no favors if we tried.”

“We should just head back to the mall,” Alvin said excitedly. “Get back inside and regroup.”

A loud, piercing scream sounded from the direction of the second light source. The group spun in unison, their gazes fixated on the shimmering mist of light. Then all fell silent.

Oliver turned to his fellow evacuees. “I think that’s a bad idea, Alvin. I think Janet is right. We need to double-back and take a different route even if it means it’ll take us twice as long. We’ve committed to this. We should just finish it.”

“That’s pretty ballsy coming from someone who can barely make it across the parking lot,” Alvin said.

“Hey, fuck you, Alvin.”

Alvin turned pleadingly to the group. “Look, everyone. We tried, okay? We tried and it didn’t work. We’ll figure something out. But now’s not the time to do it, standing out here in the middle of this parking lot. Remember, I’ve seen what they can do. Let’s just get back inside and come up with another plan.”

“And what if they’ve found a way to get inside,” Janet asked. “Have you thought of that?”

“That’s highly unlikely, Janet, and you know it.”

“Take a look, Alvin.” Janet twisted around throwing out an arm toward the two foggy auroras drifting through the city. “Two nights ago I would’ve thought that to be highly unlikely and yet here we fucking are. Now, I’m not the boss of any of you. You all want to go back inside, be my guest. I won’t try to stop you. But I’m heading on. The last place in the world I’d want to be right now is back in that mall.”

“For what it’s worth,” Catherine jumped in, “I think Janet’s right. These things have proven they can take it to us now. They’re inventive and seem to possess incredible ingenuity. I really do think it would be a mistake to go back inside. Continuing on seems to be the best option.”

“Damn straight,” Oliver belted.

“But having said all that, we need to say goodbye to you all now.” Heads snapped uniformly in Catherine’s direction.

“What’re you talking about, ‘need to say goodbye’?” Alvin said. “Where are you going?”

“I know it seems sudden to some of you, but we have to find out if my husband’s still—”

“Oh, please,” Janet interjected sarcastically. “Don’t tell me you’re still clinging to the ‘husband’ story. Just say it, Catherine. You’re going to get a key. It’s not that hard. I can help you if you want.”

Catherine glared at Janet with searing intensity. “Fine,” she said. “I’m going to get a key. Best of luck to all of you. Now if you’ll excuse us.” She put an arm around Abby and led her and Tamara away from the group. “Come on, Josh. We’ve gotta move.” Josh stared at Shelby for one final moment then pried himself away.

“Wait a minute, wait a minute,” Alvin said in a loud whisper, stepping forward. “A key to what?”

“Oh, now that we don’t know,” Janet continued, her acerbic tone dripping with cynicism. “But it must be a real big secret otherwise Catherine wouldn’t have had to lie about it to all of us.”

Every fiber of Catherine’s being wanted to turn and respond, to defend herself against Janet’s accusation and salvage her reputation. But this would only serve to feed her vanity and she knew it. She would never see any of these people again and engaging in any debate over her intentions would only chew up precious time she couldn’t afford to lose. Wrapping her arms around her girls, she continued forward.

“No, no,” Janet spat, “You go on. Don’t let us keep you. Heaven forbid anything should interfere with Catherine’s grand fucking plan. But I guess that’s how life flows these days, isn’t it, Catherine?”

Catherine wiped a tear from her face. Josh peered back over his shoulder in anticipation of a bum rush.

“One minute you’re getting your ass saved,” Janet railed, “the next you’re shitting on your saviors. Think of only yourself. That’s a great philosophy, Catherine. Maybe I should employ a philosophy like that. Hell, maybe I should’ve employed that philosophy the night your daughters were getting raped.”

Catherine stopped dead in her tracks. The borderline irritation with Janet had now boiled over into full-blown hatred. Disparaging remarks regarding her and her decisions she could handle. But when the focus of the acrimony had been directed at her children, well, that was something she just would not tolerate.

Catherine pivoted one hundred eighty degrees, leaving her children and charging directly for Janet. “Listen to me, you bitch, and listen good,” she said loudly. “I don’t care if you flew down from Heaven on wings lent by God himself to help us. You say one more fucking word about my children, any of them, and so help me God—”

“You’ll what,” Janet said, walking forward to meet Catherine as she approached. “I really want to know—”

“Look!” Alvin shouted from a few paces back. He pointed into the city and the general location of the light sources with a trembling finger.

But both lights were gone.

Catherine and Janet set aside their squabble, both turning to see.

“What does that mean?” Madeline said shakily.

“Are they done?” Shelby added. “Did they go home?”

“They’re never done,” Janet said as she turned her gaze from the blackened skyline to Catherine. “And neither are we.”

Catherine desperately wanted to reply. Wanted to get in Janet’s face and let her know, once and for all, that she was no pushover PTA-attending, minivan-driving, soccer mom. And perhaps she would have had she not been distracted by something more pressing.

She felt it in her feet first. A dull, trembling sensation that was barely discernable. Then came the sound—a low rumble, virtually inaudible even in the vacuum of a dead and soundless city. Catherine lifted her head and stared in the direction of the mall.

Janet rotated slowly away from Catherine and followed her gaze, her grave expression a validation that she, too, had heard the faint noise.

The balance of the group spun in place. Large, watery eyes peered into the darkness. Boots and sneakers back stepped uneasily. Fingers found the triggers of their corresponding weapons.

“What’s that noise?” Josh said nervously, saying aloud what everyone else was thinking.

“It’s coming from the other side of the mall,” Oliver said. “It sounds like it’s moving.”

Catherine instinctively moved Tamara behind her. “Ever heard that before?” she said to Janet.

“No,” Janet replied simply, frozen in place.

The low grumble increased both in volume and pitch then abruptly shifted in frequency, falling to a lower register on the tonic scale. But the volume continued to intensify.

Alvin’s face suddenly dropped. “I know what that is,” he said, walking forward. “That sound. I know it. That drop in tone was a gear shift.” He swallowed dryly. “It’s a motor.”

As soon as the words left his mouth, Catherine knew he was right. Something was coming. And it was motorized.

Janet took a step backwards. “I think we should get moving. Now.”

“I think you may be right,” Oliver chimed.

The motor sound suddenly jumped in amplification, reverberating off the mall complex walls and vibrating throughout the parking lot.

“Jesus Christ,” Oliver said, “It’s on the other side of the goddamned mall. Let’s get the hell out of here.”

Madeline broke into sobs. “What are we doing still standing here? Let’s go. Let’s go!” Shelby grabbed her mother’s hands and began leading her away from the sound. Others followed, breaking into a jog as they peeked back over their shoulders.

“Come on,” Janet said, rediscovering her leadership. She grabbed Derrik by the shoulder and pulled him from his fighting stance. “There’s a federal building two blocks away. It’s got a basement. If we can just make it there we should be—”

“Oh, God!” Oliver cried out.

The group shuffled instinctively to a stop, turning on Oliver’s exclamation to witness the ghostly machine barreling towards Bayview Mall.

The whine of the motor revved higher, the semi-truck it powered accelerating in a direct line toward the mall. Behind the wheel of the rig was a lone figure. Bathed in the same whitish-yellow light, the cab of the truck glowed like a beacon in the still, black night.

“It’s heading for the main entrance,” Oliver said. He glanced back at Janet. “It’s gonna ram it.”

The truck whined menacingly as it approached, gaining speed and closing fast. It veered slightly, angling for the main northeast entrance when its shift in trajectory revealed an even more horrific sight directly behind it.

Another truck.

But this one was different. Something about its shape, Catherine thought. It didn’t look like any big rig she had ever seen. She couldn’t make out a clear outline of the vehicle, but could see enough to know that it was enormous.

“Okay, let’s move! Go. Go!” Janet yelled as she snagged Oliver and Alvin by their shirtsleeves and flung them away from the mall. Madeline and Shelby, along with Josh, were already running as Janet closed in on Catherine who staggered forward clumsily as she directed Abby and Tamara.

Suddenly, a deafening crash pierced the night. Janet and Catherine stopped momentarily, wrenching around to see, curiosity getting the better of them like so many rubberneckers alongside a car accident.

Grey-black smoke billowed from somewhere near the front of the mall. Faint orange light flickered sporadically. The second truck, much to Janet and Catherine’s surprise, actually began to slow. And as it neared, the massive shape slowly revealed itself, the glow of dancing fire reflecting off the metal framework encasing the rig.

“Jesus Christ Almighty,” Janet managed to say.

Then the lights came on.

As if snapped on by a single switch, a sea of misshapen and oddly arrayed lights illuminated the northeast entrance in a brilliant swath of dim white.

Catherine stared in stunned disbelief. The logic center in her brain had shut down. Rather than running as fast as she could in the opposite direction and propelling her daughters away from this nightmare, she merely stood, fixated on the invasion that was taking place before her eyes. She marveled at the Light Truck—for that, indeed, was clearly its purpose—and the massive array of what she could only assume was scaffolding that had been assembled haphazardly over the whole of the rig. Constructed and mounted along the side of the container, the intricate meshwork extended well above the top and continued another fifteen to twenty feet as it arched out away from the vehicle on either side in a concave manner. Affixed sporadically to this steel web were dozens, maybe hundreds of lights in various shapes, sizes and intensity. It was as if a light store had been raided and every last available lamp had been employed.

Catherine felt a tug on her arm and looked down to find Tamara yanking on her sleeve ferociously, the purest form of fear etched onto her face. Catherine whipped her head around in a frenzy, saw the remains of the group already hotfooting it into the darkness. Abby stopped, pausing only briefly to yell back at her mother.

“Mom, come on! We’ve gotta go!”

Janet read the shock in Catherine’s face. She grabbed her free hand and attempted to turn her. But when she saw Catherine’s gaping eyes bulge even wider, she twisted back around and stared toward the mall.

The back doors to the Light Truck were thrown open, more intense light from inside spilling out into the parking lot. Then, as if challenging the notion that things couldn’t get any worse, a stream of New Humans spilled from the opening and charged directly for the mall. Led by several ATVs similarly equipped with more of the same metal framing and slipshod lighting attachments—albeit scaled down—the New Humans scurried purposefully forward.

Janet grabbed Catherine and spun her unwillingly, dragging her by the hand as she ran from the invading New Humans. Tamara was bawling freely now, clinging to Catherine who slowly returned to the living and began taking steps of her own volition.

Gunshots sounded. Semi-aughts and machinegun bursts rang out from inside the mall. And for the third time that night, group eleven endured the screams of besieged friends.

Janet did all she could to keep from weeping. Now was not the time to be weak. There would be plenty of time for tears later. Still firmly grasping Catherine’s hand and running full tilt, she snuck a final look back at what she had called home for so many weeks. The fire had grown in size, the flames licking up beyond the roofline. Smoke rose in sooty clouds, chokingly thick.

She had immediately regretted turning and taking in the devastating images. They would sear into her brain. The screams, the destruction, the fear would all be permanent residents in her recollection of that place. But had she not glanced one last time she would have missed the most disturbing sight of all. And as she screamed with all the might of a warrior, she prayed that the cluster of New Humans standing adjacent to the truck and staring in her direction were too far away to hear. Too far away to understand what it was she and her fellow evacuees were about to try next.

With an outstretched arm, Janet pointed across the parking lot toward the auto center and shrieked, “Get to the garage!”

Shoving Catherine and Tamara through the auto center entrance, Janet discovered the rest of the group waiting impatiently and huffing profusely.

“What’re we doing here, Janet?” Alvin stammered fearfully. “We gotta get the fuck out of here.”

“I know, I know,” Janet said, not stopping as she proceeded from the entrance toward the garage employee access doors behind the service counter.

“Do you think they’re dead?” Madeline cried. “Oh, Jesus, I think they’re all dead.” Shelby hugged her mother, tears spilling from her own eyes. Josh laid a hand on her shoulder.

“If they’re not, they probably wish they were,” Oliver said, panting hard. “Christ, tell me this isn’t happening. This can’t be happening.”

Janet rounded the service desk and pulled a set of keys clipped to a simple chain from around her neck. Ripping the chain free, she strode up to the doors and worked one of the keys into the lock.

Catherine checked on Tamara and Abby, pulling each of her daughters close. She watched Janet with urgent fascination.

“I don’t know why I didn’t think about this sooner,” Janet said as she jiggled the key and snapped the lock open. She pushed the door inward with a hearty thrust. “When there were just a handful of us, we stored it here not knowing what the future would hold. But as more and more people showed up, I honestly never gave it a second thought.” Janet sped through the doors and into the garage.

Nervous eyes darted about inquisitively as the remnants of Bayview converged on the door, forming a panicked conga line and filtering through.

Alvin, taking up the rear behind Derrik, peered through the grimy waiting area glass out into the parking lot. His eyes grew as wide as tea plates at the sight.

A formidable group of New Humans stood in a loosely formed line beside the Light Truck like a twisted, scarier version of the Rockettes. All were glaring ominously in the direction of the auto center.

Alvin mumbled tensely, shuffling through the service door. “Janet, we gotta go right now,” he shouted, his voice echoing slightly in the darkened service bay. “The NHs know we’re here. They’re gathering numbers outside the mall as we speak.”

A flashlight popped on two bays over silencing Alvin. Janet’s unmistakable silhouette clutched the light as she scrambled alongside an enormous, yellowish object, the spot only briefly illuminating fragments in quick, erratic movements. She fast-walked over to a cache of steel barrels and hurriedly yanked a durable, coiled tube from the top of one.

“Everybody get on,” Janet said forcefully as she stormed over to the boxy shape and jammed the hose into a waist high cavity. She ran back over to the barrel and began working the lever arm of a pump in jerky up and down motions.

Catherine clung to her daughters, stumbling around in the shadowy garage along with everyone else. But as her eyes adjusted to the dark it became clear to her what Janet was doing. And what she was doing it to. With a sudden shift the flashlight beam splashed across the exterior of the object and in that brief passing glance left little question as to its identity.

A school bus.

On occasion Catherine had heard Abby use more disparaging remarks such as “the short bus” or “tard car” to refer to the appended length of the specialized vehicle before her, but doubted that Abby gave a lick as to its effect on social status this night.

Janet paused from pumping and crooked her head into the empty bay where everyone stood like a herd of deer. “What the hell are you all waiting for? Get on!”

As if waiting for permission the group simultaneously burst into movement, everyone feeling their way forward onto the bus. Derrik grabbed the sizeable side view mirror and pulled himself up onto the tire. He gaped through the row of dingy windows in the garage bay door.

On the other side and coming on strong was a mass of New Humans. They charged forward, keeping close proximity to the lone ATV that led the way and provided the only source of light.

Derrik hopped down. “We gotta leave, Janet. This minute.” He drew back the cocking knob on his Uzi.

“I’m on it!” Janet hollered as the last of the group piled on the bus. She yanked the fuel line from the gas tank and capped the hole. “Somebody start the engine!” she yelled as she threw the still dripping tube off to the side and raced for the door.

Oliver hopped into the drivers seat and found the keys already in the ignition. He gave them a twist, the bus’s engine turning over effortlessly despite its lengthy dormancy.

Janet leapt onto the first step and looked to Derrik who maintained position by the garage door. “Come on, Derrik. Let’s move!”

“Somebody’s got to open the door, Janet,” he said, eerily calm, from atop a shop chair where he peered through the garage window. “Keep the door open. I’ll hop on once the bus is through.” Derrik could read Janet’s grave expression even through the cheerless, oily garage. “Don’t worry,” he offered. “I’m not going anywhere yet.”

Janet knew there was no time to argue. Derrik was right. The garage door needed to be manually hoisted and held until the bus cleared the opening. Janet hopped up alongside Oliver.

“You know how to drive this thing?” she said.

“Believe it or not, I used to bus kids to school in a different life,” he responded, sweat dripping nervously from his brow. “Isn’t that convenient?”

“You’ll do fine.” Janet shined the flashlight into the bus and took a headcount. All accounted for, she faced forward and stared through the dusty windshield.

The New Humans were rapidly approaching. The other ATV had joined the advance allowing the mob to spread out forbiddingly between the two as they ran toward the garage. But behind them was cause for even more concern—the Light Truck was moving.

Janet shined the flashlight in her own face, saying and making the sign for “okay” with her thumb and middle finger. She turned the light on Derrick who gave a thumb’s up, his hand already on the hoisting chain.

“Get ready,” Janet said to Oliver. She aimed the light back at herself and with a final deep breath, pointed at Derrik.

Derrik yanked on the chain, pulling hand over hand as he let his weapon dangle uselessly by his side. The door cleared the height of the bus. Derrik nodded exaggeratedly toward Janet then turned and watched in mounting horror as the New Humans converged within a hundred meters of the garage.

Janet gripped Oliver’s shoulder. “Step on it,” she said.

Oliver depressed the clutch, took the shifter in his hand and directed it toward first gear.

But it wouldn’t engage.

“Let’s go, Oliver,” Janet said in despair.

“I’m trying,” he cried. “It won’t go into gear!” Oliver rammed the shifter repeatedly toward first, but the lever only bounced back unsuccessfully.

“Move the goddamned bus!” Derrik screamed, the muscles in his arms starting to quiver.

Oliver clutched the shifter with both hands and leaned on it with all his might to no avail. He gazed over the dashboard, perspiration running in rivulets down his forehead. The New Humans were close enough that he could distinguish faces.

“Let’s go!” Madeline wailed. “They’re coming!”

“Get this fucking bus going, Oliver! I mean it!” Janet hollered. She placed her hands on top of Oliver’s, both working the shifter unsuccessfully. Janet glanced out the window, her pupils actually dilating from the proximity of the approaching light source.

Derrik looked up at Janet panic-stricken. A fear she’d never seen before in his face was now on full display. “Janet!” he screamed. He loosed his right hand from the chain to reach for his gun. But the door slipped. Derrik abandoned the rifle and reached back up for the chain.

Janet looked around like a lost child on a playground. She staggered back and watched helplessly as Oliver wrestled with the shifter.

“Put the bus in reverse,” Josh said to Oliver loudly, sliding up behind him suddenly.

“What?” Oliver responded breathily. “What the hell is—”

“You need to free up the gear. Align it,” Josh rattled off. “Reverse for a foot then put it in first. Do it!”

Oliver fumbled for the clutch. He depressed it and slid the shifter effortlessly into reverse. Derrik watched unbelievably as the bus rolled away from him.

“What the fuck’re you doing? The other way!” he exclaimed with a vicious nod of his head toward the parking lot.

Oliver stomped on the brakes, everyone jerking with the suddenness. He curled his hand around the shifter knob, depressed the clutch again and pushed forward.

The lever slid into first like a hot knife through butter.

“Holy shit!” Oliver howled fervently.

“Go, go, go!” Janet screamed.

Derrik stared in mounting dread as the New Humans charged within striking distance. Their advancing footsteps sounded above the grating whir of the ATV motors, the Light Truck close enough now that it cast shadows of the ATVs themselves. Derrik, unable to hold on to the garage door any longer, let the chain free and reached for his machine gun. The door raced for the floor. Derrik aimed.

But the bus that pulled in front of him blocked his view.

Derrik looked up in stunned amazement as Janet reached out a hand to him from the open door. “Get in here, you crazy fool!” Derrik gripped her palm as the garage door smashed into the roof of the bus.

Janet turned to Oliver. “Oliver, get us the hell out of here!” Janet quickly levered the bus door shut as Derrik cleared the threshold.

“With pleasure,” he began. Then, “Oh, shit!”

A New Human launched himself onto the hood of the bus, crashing into the windshield. The ATVs sped to opposing positions on either side of the bay door, drenching the garage in off-white light.

Oliver popped the clutch and smashed his foot on the accelerator. Two more New Humans scaled the front of the bus as it surged forward. Screams sounded from the seated few and sparks flew from the roof of the bus as the garage door ground along the metal surface.

More New Humans clamored along the sides of the bus as it accelerated, their dirty hands scraping at the windows and door. There were too many and Oliver had no choice but to run through them, the bus bumping and rocking over their bodies as they fell like dominoes.

Janet looked through the windshield, her face flooding with light. “Oliver?”

“I see it,” Oliver sputtered, his hands dancing over the steering wheel as he twisted and turned the bus through the mob.

The Light Truck streamed toward them. There was no stopping it now, the driver clearly intending a collision at high velocity.

New Humans climbed on to the hood of the bus. They stared inside at group eleven with unsettling calmness. Their faces were dirty, many coated in a muddy film. They smacked the glass with open palms, desperately trying to find a way in.

The bus cleared the bay door, it crashing into the floor and trapping a handful of New Humans inside. Oliver shifted to second flawlessly as the Light Truck zeroed in on the bus, mere seconds from impact.

Oliver glared determinedly at the Light Truck. “Hold on everyone!” he yelled. Then he spun the wheel rapidly in its direction.

“Oliver, what the hell’re you—”

Janet’s speech was cut short as she and Derrik were flung viciously into the folding bus door, two of the bus’s wheels leaving the pavement in the turn.

The Light Truck, not anticipating this maneuver, swerved to one side just enough to allow the vehicles to pass within a couple of feet of each other. The cabin filled with an intense ethereal glow as the Light Truck sped past.

Catherine whirled in her seat in time to see the truck attempt to brake, its wheels locking and skidding on the asphalt. Acrid smoke spewed from the tires, but the momentum was too much. The Light Truck plowed over hordes of New Humans, smashing into one of the ATVs. It continued its trajectory into the garage, the impact so great the back tires left the road.

The remaining New Humans ran after the bus, stopping at the periphery of light given off by the now immobile Light Truck. They stood in a semi-circle staring blankly after the bus as it sped away.

Shelby raised a finger and pointed toward the windshield. “Oh, my God,” she said, her hand reaching for her mouth.

Janet spun back around and took notice—as did everyone else—of the New Humans clinging to the hood and writhing in agonizing pain, their source of light fading into the night with each passing second. Their faces contorted unbelievably, their eyes rolling into the backs of their heads. A pair fell, bouncing off the tire well. Three remained, their hands still able to grasp their respective handle holds despite the violence that wracked their bodies. Smoke began to seep from their skin, low, unearthly moans rising out of the agony.

Janet and Derrik exchanged glances. Derrik nodded. Janet turned to Catherine as he readied his weapon. “You may want to cover your daughters’ eyes.”

Catherine looked from Derrik to the New Humans. “Lay down,” she said to Abby across the aisle. “And cover your ears.”

Abby, for perhaps the first time in a long time, didn’t argue. She curled into a ball, jammed her hands to her ears and slammed her eyes shut.

Catherine reclined with Tamara, holding her own hands over the girl’s tender ears. “Close your eyes, baby,” she whispered softly.

And as the bus door cranked open and muzzle flashes filled the cab, Catherine watched the reflection of the mall burn in the passenger windows.

Part II: Revelations

12

Truths & Consequences

It smelled of must. Wet, rotting hay and the lingering scent of manure. A thin odor of paint hung in the air, its normal recoil-inducing effect serving as a freshening alternative to the stale sweetness.

Josh cracked his eyes. He turned his head and looked out the window. Sunlight seeped through the cracks of a barn door in powerful shafts, the bright spears of light cutting through the dusty air. He regarded this briefly when he felt a stirring beside him.

Looking over he discovered Shelby asleep on his shoulder. A thin string of drool oozed from her mouth, dripping onto Josh’s shirt. As if suddenly aware she was being watched, her eyes popped open.

“Huh?” she barked dreamily, sitting up and wiping her mouth.

“It’s okay,” Josh said, attempting to calm her. “You were just sleeping.”

“Where are we?”

Josh peered out the window again. “Looks like a barn or something. I think it’s morning.” He stared, again, at the beams of light.

Light. Daytime.

“Shit,” Josh muttered. “Mom,” he whispered harshly, turning to face a sleeping Catherine who cradled both Abby and Tamara. “Mom, wake up. It’s day—”

“Take it easy, Josh,” a voice from the front said softly. Josh whipped his head around to find Janet in the front seat, her back against the windows and her feet propped up. “We’re all right.”

Catherine sat up, Tamara and Abby waking at her movement. “Josh?” she said groggily and rubbing her eyes. “What is it?”

She squinted into the dusty barn where the bus was situated. She eyed the slivers of light passing through the rotting barn door, then looked to Janet.

“It’s okay, Catherine,” Janet said. “No one knows we’re here.”

Janet’s voice roused Madeline and Alvin, Oliver having sat up with a stretch at the sound of Catherine’s voice.

“So what’s for breakfast?” Oliver said jovially, drawing random smiles.

A knock sounded from the barn door. Everyone yelped as they hopped to their feet.

“Relax,” Janet said. But the words soon lost their intent of assurance when Janet withdrew her nine-millimeter and crept stealthily to the sizeable barn doors. She withdrew a shovel from in between the handles of the splintery wood. Pointing her gun at the center of the doorway with her right hand she reaching for the handle with the left. Yanking it open, she thrust the weapon in the widening crack.

Derrik strolled in, weapon in hand as he pushed past Janet’s weapon without a second’s hesitation.

Janet peered past him and stared out into farm country. The sun had just started its ascent, creeping over the horizon. A small house—a two-story with a wrap-around porch and peeling white paint—lay adjacent to the barn along the western edge of an unplanted field. The pastures of land before her lay eerily quiet, a thin veil of mist hovering over the soil. There were no vehicles. No livestock. No sound. No life.

She inhaled deeply, the fresh country air a welcome change from the squalid air of Bayview. Contented that Derrik was alone, Janet pulled the door shut with a grinding creak.

“The house is clean,” Derrik said. “There’s not much left. Plenty of blankets, sheets, some first aid, batteries. But as far as food, somebody beat us to it.”

Janet glared at the floor. “Hmm. Damn.”

Inside the barn, the others had exited the bus. They stood in scattered groups, yawning and stretching, staring bleary-eyed at the floor. All looked up at Janet and Derrik’s approach.

“What does that mean?” Madeline asked, surprisingly calm.

“It means,” Janet began, “that other than what we have strapped to our backs, food could be a problem.”

“But most of what’s in our packs isn’t food,” Oliver said. “I mean, shit, other than some canned goods, I’m carrying mostly kitchen supplies. Pots, pans, utensils.”

“And all I’m holding is mostly pharmaceuticals,” Alvin added. “I’ve got some boxes of rice and pasta, but most everything else is pain relievers and first aid.”

Janet scratched her cheek as she paced.

“So, are we saying that we don’t have any food?” Madeline asked, panic escalating in her voice.

Catherine stepped forward into the discussion, her arms around Tamara and Abby, who, sweating lightly, winced squeamishly as the conversation continued.

“When we organized the evacuation, we grouped people by physical ability and the items we had to carry,” Janet said as she sat on an overturned bucket. “Group one through three was assigned water. Groups four through nine were assigned primarily food. Since most of what we had was dried, canned and jarred goods—heavy items when you combine them together—physical ability was, again, needed. Ten and eleven were assigned lighter items. Meds, cooking supplies, etcetera.”

Abby stepped away from Catherine. She folded her arms over her stomach. Catherine looked down at her. “You okay, sweetie?” Abby nodded unconvincingly.

“So you left the dregs to all us weaklings, that it?” Oliver said, kidding.

“That’s not true and you know it,” Janet countered. “It’s just the way the numbers worked out in the end.”

“So then what are we looking at?” Alvin queried the group. “Between all of our packs, what’ve we got? How many days’ worth?”

Janet rose, shoving her hands in her pockets. “Do the math, Alvin. We got ten people here. Four of whom weren’t even supposed to be standing with us today.” Catherine wanted to avert her eyes, but maintained her composure. “So that leaves six packs,” Janet continued, “and most of them are loaded with miscellaneous odds and ends. Batteries, radios, soaps and the like.”

Abby’s skin took on an alabaster pallor. She began to shiver as her hands tightened on her stomach. But no one noticed.

“As far as fuel goes, we should be okay for a while,” Janet continued. “Back when we first anticipated having to use the bus, we stowed two drums in the rear and kept them full. Figured in an emergency, staying mobile would be the most important thing. We could always scavenge for food, grabbing what we could before we hightailed out of wherever we found ourselves. But now...today...”

Janet shook her head in a moment of absurd realization. She walked over to Madeline, her feet crunching on bits of dried hay. “To answer your question—how much food do we have? Let’s just say I’d plan on being hungry.”

Abby turned and sprinted around the far side of the bus. Catherine, stunned at her sudden departure, trotted after her. The remaining group gazed at each other, their faces screwed in looks of confusion.

Catherine rounded the bus and found Abby, doubled over and retching violently. Her back arched in nauseated spasms as she emptied the contents of her stomach onto a rotted pile of apple cores and decayed oats.

Catherine moved to her side and laid a hand on her back. “Honey, what’s wrong? What is it?”

Abby recoiled, shuffling away. “Don’t touch me, mom. Please,” she said, open-jawed. Saliva streamed from her mouth onto the ground. She spat in overemphasized bursts of air.

“Abby what’s wrong?”

“Nothing, okay? I just feel like shit that’s all.”

“Is it like when you were on the boat? Maybe you’re still adjusting to land?”

Abby shrugged, hands on knees.

“I wish you would have said something. This is an awfully long time for you to be sick. For anyone. How could you still be so ill after all this...”

The barn whirled around Catherine as realization burrowed into her brain. The air suddenly seemed depleted of oxygen, as if someone had clamped down on her jugular, the haze of unconsciousness soon to overtake her. She scrambled to find a seat before she fell over, but couldn’t manage it in time. She slumped to the floor gracelessly, looked at Abby with hurt-filled eyes.

“Please tell me this isn’t true, Abby,” Catherine said. “It can’t be true.”

Abby spat again then sat on the floor. Through watery eyes she glanced at her mother, unable to maintain contact. But it was all Catherine needed to see.

“Jesus Christ,” Catherine muttered, covering her mouth with her hands. She stared unblinking at Abby. “Jesus Christ. How long have you known?”

Abby traced shapes in the dirt with her finger. She brought her legs together and wrapped her arms around them.

“Abby?”

Abby looked up, a single tear streaming down her cheek. “Since about two weeks before we got on the boat.”

Catherine’s eyes fell shut, her head shaking back and forth in tiny movements. “Three months,” she whispered to herself. Catherine thought of all that had transpired in the past three months. All of the stress, the trauma. All of the food Abby wasn’t eating. What kind of a toll had this taken? What effect would it all have on the...

Catherine couldn’t bring herself to say the word even in her head. She rubbed her face and pulled back her hair. “Who was it?” she said. “Who’s the father?”

“Taylor Meens,” Abby whispered.

Taylor. Catherine had known at first glance the fifteen year-old skate rat was bad news. And it wasn’t in the generalized, stereotyped way skateboarders his age were used to being labeled. She could deal with the funky, mismatched ensembles, the two-tone hair and even the eye and nose piercings. These were just trends, she knew. No, it was in the way he treated her daughter. As if he were doing her a favor by associating himself with her. But cliques and social circles always won out over reason, especially when they involved impressionable teenage girls. And Abby was the dictionary definition.

Catherine labored to her feet and paced. Abby watched her slyly, averting eye contact when she thought Catherine might look down upon her with a condemning gaze.

Josh and Tamara appeared at the front of the bus along with Janet. “Mom, everything cool?” Josh said, watching Abby.

Catherine peeked over at Abby then turned to Josh. “Everything’s fine. Could you do me a favor and dig some water out of my pack for your sister?”

“Uh, yeah. Sure,” Josh said suspiciously as he vanished back from whence he came.

“Tamara,” Catherine started, “would you be a sweetie and sit with your sister for a few minutes? I need to speak with Janet.”

“Okay,” Tamara said simply, immediately moving to Abby’s side and plopping down on the floor.

“Everything all right, Catherine?” Janet asked.

Catherine nodded, walking away from her children, and then nodded again indicating for Janet to follow. When out of earshot, Catherine turned to face Janet.

“We need to talk. All of us.”

“It’s just the craziest thing I’ve ever seen,” Oliver said. “I mean, did you get a look at their rigging? No rhyme or reason in the design. Just supports and crossbars placed willy-nilly all over the place.”

“Same with the lighting,” Alvin added. “All random and mismatched. It was like a bad Mad Max movie or something.”

Oliver took a swig from a water bottle, Madeline and Shelby listening while nibbling crackers. “Is this really what we’re up against? Portable lamps? Like a parade put on by the devil himself? It’s just...ridiculous.”

“Why is it ridiculous?” Janet said as she and Catherine appeared from the front of the bus. Everyone spun around. “They need light to survive. Darkness is their weakness. They found a way to overcome it. Why is that so weird?”

“Oh, come on, Janet,” Alvin said. “Trucks of light? It even sounds silly when I say it out loud. And I’ve actually seen these things.”

“Well, then maybe you’re not putting it in the right perspective,” Catherine commented.

Alvin narrowed his eyes, his thin eyebrows arching downward. “The right perspective?”

“Look at us,” Catherine began. “Humans. We have tons of weaknesses. But we’ve found ways to overcome them. We drown underwater. So we created a way to breathe so we could swim there. We can’t fly and fall from the sky if we try. So we invented machines that allow us to do it. We would freeze, suffocate and implode in space, but we managed to find a way to protect ourselves against those elements. Humans have found a way to adapt to a number of places we were never intended to be. We’ve found ways to exist there and preserve our lives while we do it. Why should it be any different for these New Humans?”

“You make a valid point, Catherine” Oliver said. “But in all honesty, that’s what creeps me out the most: that we may be too alike. For example, do they eat food? Because if they do we’re not only partially fucked, we’re royally fucked.” Oliver turned to Shelby apologetically. “Sorry.”

Shelby smiled. Catherine walked closer. “Well, that’s something I wanted to talk to you all about.” The group perked up at this. “It seems that there’s been some...recent developments that have caused me to reconsider my course of action.”

Everyone stared at each other uncomprehendingly. Derrik, who had up until this point remained a silent observer near the barn doors, meandered into the group, his head tilted slightly to one side as if to better capture the words exiting Catherine’s mouth.

“Course of action?” Madeline repeated.

Catherine inhaled, knew there was no turning back from the decision she’d made. Had she not been blindsided with the life altering news from Abby she would have proceeded as planned. But the sudden and unexpected revelation had thrown a monkey wrench into her and Warren’s agreed upon plot. There was no time to consider the implications. Warren would just have to respect her decision. And as he was so fond of saying, she would cross that bridge when, or if, she got there.

“As you all know, last night my family and I were going to part ways with all of you and find a way to get back to our home to check and see if my husband was still alive. This was a lie.”

Madeline and Shelby stood up slowly. Derrik walked closer. Janet glared at Catherine, anxiously awaiting her explanation and not at all surprised at her confession.

“I told you all that because I didn’t...couldn’t let you know what it was I was going to do.”

Oliver set his water down. “What is this, Catherine? What are you saying?”

Catherine looked over everyone, landing on Janet’s scrutinizing gaze last. “I know where there’s food. Lots of it.”

“What?” Alvin exclaimed. “Then what the hell are we waiting for? Let’s go and get it.”

“That’s what I’m saying,” Oliver concurred. “At best, we’ve got two days’ worth of food that’ll feed all of us. And that’s if we stretch it. Where is this food?”

“At my house,” Catherine said plainly.

“Well, then I say let’s saddle up and get moving,” Oliver proclaimed.

“Here, here,” added Alvin.

“In case no one’s noticed,” Madeline began, “it’s light outside. We’d be sitting ducks.”

Alvin and Oliver’s enthusiasm evaporated at this revelation.

“We’ve got enough food to make it through the day,” Janet said. She looked at Catherine. “Are you sure it’s still there?”

“I’m sure.”

“Then I say we just hold tight and make a break for it once nightfall hits. Drive under the cover of darkness. We’ll stick to back roads and keep the lights off.”

Resounding mumbles of agreement rippled through the small group, all satisfied with the game plan. Catherine clenched her fists tightly.

“Look, I appreciate your position. Really I do. But I need you to appreciate mine. I’ve got three children who need to eat. And now one of them, it seems, requires enough food for two.” Heads turned and gawked at one another. “And while we may have enough food to ‘get by’ until tonight, my preference is that we don’t wait. That we strike out now.”

A simultaneous huff of disbelief exploded among the others.

“You’re crazy,” Madeline accused.

“I’m not going anywhere while the sun’s up,” Alvin declared.

Catherine expected resistance to her suggestion, but it made no difference whether or not anyone agreed with her. Surprisingly, the person from whom Catherine had most anticipated a reaction remained inexplicably calm.

Janet shoved her hands in her pockets. “Why the rush, Catherine? We have enough food. We can easily make it last through the day and probably for the next couple. Why take the risk of leaving now?”

“Because there are no guarantees,” Catherine said flatly. “Two nights ago all of you were relatively comfortable back at Bayview. Life had resumed as normal a pace as it could during these times. But then all that changed. With the attack on Apache Camp and then the assault last night, the New Humans proved that nowhere was safe and everything you’d come to believe about them was wrong.”

A relative silence enveloped the group. Eyes found the floor, stared reverently as if honoring the fallen citizens.

“With last night’s attack,” she continued, “they showed a resiliency and, if you ask me, a desperation. But what they also showed me was that anything was possible. And that all bets were off. Your safety net of nighttime has been taken from you. Why continue to scurry around in the darkness? They’ve already shown they can infiltrate it. Someone eventually needs to stick their neck out and see what the true nature of these things is. Now, I’m not saying we need to be cavalier about it, but we’ve got an imperative goal. And I don’t see how waiting for the sun to set buys us any advantage. If they want to get to us they can. It’s that simple.” She locked eyes with Janet. “What’s the risk, you asked? It’s everything we think could happen but mostly all of the things we haven’t even considered.”

Tamara and Abby trudged up alongside Josh, Abby’s pasty, white arm slung over Tamara’s shoulder in a display of sibling solidarity.

Catherine walked toward them and extended out her arm in a presentation-like manner. “This is my priority. This is my only priority. Now, I don’t mean to be a cold-hearted bitch, but let me be clear: this is not a negotiation. I am leaving with my family this morning. We’re nowhere near the city so I’m betting my odds of finding a working, gassed vehicle are pretty good. And if there are none here, then we’ll walk until we find one.”

Catherine stood beside her family. Abby looked at her with tear-filled eyes. Catherine palmed her head, shoving back a lock of hair over her ear. “But mark my words, thirty minutes from now we will be a memory. I’m just hoping you all won’t let it come to that and you join us.”

“Just out of curiosity,” Janet said, taking her hands out of her pockets and crossing them defiantly over her chest. “What’s to prevent me from putting a gun to your head, taking the key and getting the food myself.”

Catherine’s pulse quickened at this statement, sweat immediately forming on her lips and brow. She glanced around the room somewhat relieved to witness similar expressions of shock on Alvin, Oliver, Madeline and Shelby’s faces.

“Fuck you, bitch,” Josh spat, valiantly stepping forward. Catherine corralled him, moving in front of her children. Derrik put his hand on his weapon.

“Well, for one,” Catherine started, desperately trying to maintain control of her quivering lip, “you don’t know where the key is or the location of the food the key unlocks. And if you think pointing a gun at me is going to get me to tell you, I’d rather you just pull the trigger. Because without that food we’re dead anyway. And without me and that key, you’ve effectively killed you and everyone else here.”

Catherine stepped away from her children. She walked directly toward Janet who let her arms fall to her side.

“But mostly what’s stopping you from putting a gun in my face is that, despite your judge-jury-and-executioner heroics regarding the men who attacked my family, you’re not a cold-blooded killer. Any fool can see that.”

Catherine stared into Janet’s eyes, her confidence becoming more inflated with each word that left her tongue. Janet cracked the wryest of smiles. She turned to Derrik. “What do you think, D?”

Derrik pushed the barrel of his weapon to the floor and uttered his first words of the discussion: “When do we leave?”

13

Home

It took two hours to reach Catherine’s neighborhood. In the frenzied retreat that followed the midnight melee of Bayview, Oliver had charged hard for the nearest freeway exit. It didn’t matter where it led. His reasoning, solid as it was, was that highways would be the most unencumbered artery and would allow the quickest means of putting distance between the bus and downtown. It was alert thinking. The only problem was that Catherine’s home lay on the other side of the city, virtually equidistant in the opposite direction from where they holed up for the night.

The ride had been an exercise in easing tensions. While initially suspecting that there would be ill will towards her stouthearted position, Catherine found the overall timbre of the bus to incline in her favor, a general sense of unease regarding Janet’s uncalled-for threats lingering in the air like a bad perfume. Janet had tried to play down her transgression by engaging in light banter with everyone as the bus moved along. But Catherine could tell there had been a shift in allegiance. And this had not been lost on Janet.

The ride, to everyone’s delight, had been largely uneventful. By sticking to the highways and moving fast, they had managed to avoid contact of any sort. Other than the ten souls packed into Jared County bus number seventeen, there had been no sign of either man or New Human.

Catherine had spiritually exhaled a sigh of relief at their incident-free progress. She knew it would have been risky the minute she proposed it, but she stood by her assertions regarding the benefits of daytime travel. So far—fingers crossed—all had gone well. But now that they had left the relative comfort of the freeway and snaked along the more exposed Summit Ridge Parkway, she could feel tension rising again.

She stood beside Oliver as he drove, scouting what used to be her old neighborhood. Other than the handfuls of abandoned vehicles scattered about, Alemonte had been spared the alarming devastation of downtown. The landscaping was a bit unruly along the boulevard center divider, the majority of hydrangeas and roses having long since perished from thirst. Weeds and grass grew out of control as did the overhanging dogwood and maple trees, their ubiquitous species lining the drive.

“Stop here,” Catherine said. Oliver slowed the bus much to the chagrin of the remaining passengers, they glancing about uneasily as the bus rolled to a stop. Janet moved up beside Catherine with a pair of binoculars.

“That’s it there,” Catherine said, pointing through the windshield. “It’s about a mile from here into the community itself. Once we pass through the main gate it’s a straight shot three blocks in.”

Janet put the binoculars to her eyes. “Good,” she said. “That’ll make for an easier escape.”

Catherine knew that last comment was meant for her, but at this point could care less about Janet’s misgivings. She was a mile from achieving her goal. She only hoped the ease with which they arrived could be maintained until they procured every last scrap of food. And, of course, the key.

Janet lowered the binoculars. “I sure hope we don’t live to regret this.” Catherine looked away. Janet patted Oliver on the shoulder. “Make it so, number one.”

Oliver released the brakes and threw the bus into first. It drove along the parkway until it reached a prominent and fancy sign, which read Alemonte, the foot high, white letters still immaculate against the sandblasted oak background.

The bus turned in front of it.

Passing under the imposing stone archway, which led into the heart of Alemonte, Catherine couldn’t help but feel a tinge of embarrassment at the excessiveness of her former community. Cobblestoned streets. Faux antique sidewalk gaslights. Even a security checkpoint requiring key card access—but this wouldn’t be necessary today.

The bus rolled through the broken entry gate of Alemonte subdivision, the tires crushing the downed barricade beneath its weight as it entered.

“Nice place,” Janet said, each word dripping with sarcasm. She leaned toward Derrik, he standing on the first step of the doorway and staring vigilantly out beyond the glass, hands wrapped around his Uzi.

The bus crept along at a snail’s pace. It puttered up Alemonte Avenue when Catherine realized she had been wrong in her initial assessment. From Summit Ridge Parkway the damage appeared minimal, but rolling through the battered neighborhood revealed a much harsher truth.

Catherine peered out at what used to be Dr. and Mrs. Allain’s beautiful and envy-inducing three-story Queen Anne style Victorian home. Complete with a grand porch and rounded tower, the moss and rust colored residence had been a stunning standard bearer for the entire community. Promises of what lay ahead. But at some point in the chaos that followed those early dark days, a fire had claimed it, gutting the majority and blanketing what little of the structure remained in a veil of carbon.

The bus idled laboriously slow as Oliver guided it along Alemonte, dodging and weaving around more abandoned cars and miscellaneous debris strewn in the road.

“Where’re we going, Catherine?” Janet said, the irritation in her voice not so cleverly disguised.

“Third street on the right. Spruce Lane,” Catherine said, Oliver nodding his understanding. She swallowed with effort, not altogether sure she wanted to learn the fate of the place she used to call home.

She turned and checked on her children, having given them zero thought since they began the approach into the subdivision. Tamara sat under the protective arm of her sister, both girls agape at the devastation before them. This was a place they had known. Had run and played with friends. Now it was a lifeless junkyard. Overrun and depleted.

Josh chewed on his lip viciously, his eyes filling with water. He looked up suddenly and caught Catherine staring at him. He quickly dabbed at his eyes with the sleeve from his T-shirt then turned back to the window, drawn to it like a fly to a bug zapper. He pointed to a two-story home. The windows facing the road were all shattered, the front door wide open. A BMW sat cockeyed, half in and half out of the garage, the garage door itself lying in a folded metal sheet beside the car.

“That’s the Samson house,” Josh said, stunned.

Catherine could only nod, for what else was there to say?

The bus turned slowly onto Spruce Lane. Catherine gripped the rail behind Oliver to keep balance, the bus straightening its course onto a wide paved road.

Catherine shut her eyes and gnawed her thumbnail.

“Which one is it, Catherine?” Oliver said delicately.

“It’s on the corner,” she said, eyes still clamped. “The stone and lavender one.” Catherine inhaled then popped her eyes open. She glared out the window and looked instinctively in the direction of her home. Her hands rushed to her mouth in a failed attempt to stifle the moan that had been lurking since arriving in Alemonte.

Josh stepped up behind her and placed a hand on her shoulder. Catherine turned away from what used to be her home and buried her head on Josh’s shoulder. Abby swiped away silent tears as well. Tamara stared numbly out the window, her face a mixture of saddened confusion and astonishment.

Oliver guided the bus into the arched driveway and applied the brakes. Fifteen feet of flagstone path away lay the front door to Catherine’s house. It was immediately apparent that at one time the property had been a lush wonderland of flowers and foliage. The pathway was lined on either side by overgrown rose bushes and the overhanging trellis was infused with unruly Clematis vine, which had most likely provided ample shade during the hot summer months. The landscaping along the façade had also been equally tended and manicured in its day. Deadened hydrangea blooms interspersed with unrecognizable boxwood shrubs were accented with bursts of color from a selection of other annual floral blooms.

Derrik was the first off the bus, moving swiftly along the path to the front door. He checked his perimeter like a trained mercenary, sliding up alongside the mahogany double doors, his back to the wall. He checked the door, finding the wood around the knob and deadbolt splintered, the door itself hanging ajar.

Derrik glanced to Janet still on the bus. He pointed to the door then pushed forward into the air with his free arm, palm out.

Janet nodded, turned to the group on the bus. “All right, everyone. Lock ‘em if you got ‘em.” Janet pulled her nine-millimeter from her waistband and drew back the slide. Alvin and Oliver readied their rifles as Catherine dug her nine-millimeter from out of her backpack. Josh readied his Henry.

Catherine briefly considered ordering her children to stay on the bus while she and the others checked the house. But the events of the past several days came screaming back at her. Who knew what they might find inside the house, but the idea of leaving her kids alone, sitting like ducks in a barrel was quashed before it even had a chance to formulate.

“Take my hand,” Catherine said to Tamara. “And Abby? Stay by your brother. No debate.” Abby nodded meekly and got to her feet.

“Everybody ready?” Janet asked of the group.

“We don’t have a gun,” Shelby said nervously, clinging by her mother’s side. “Should we just stay here?”

“I think that would be a bad idea,” Janet said matter-of-factly. “It’s bad enough we’ve got this big, bright yellow school bus sitting out here in the open. We don’t want to risk leaving anyone as an unnecessary target. Just stay close. You’ll be fine.”

Shelby and Madeline nodded apprehensively. Josh leaned in between the two women. “You can stand by me if you like.” This earned him a heartfelt smile from Shelby and a puff of relief from Madeline.

Janet cocked back the hammer on her gun, clutching it between both hands. She looked into the eight pairs of eyes that stared back at her, their faces running the gamut of emotions from adrenaline-fueled anxiety to unadulterated fear. She took a step down toward the exit.

“All right. Let’s go.”

Derrik was the first one in. Janet was hot on his heels as the two charged into the foyer of the Hayesly residence like a well-oiled machine, their guns trained in all the appropriate areas—corners, stairwells, doorways—each providing the other cover as they proceeded into a sizeable family room.

Janet waved her weapon in a “go-ahead” waggle toward Derrik. Without a moment’s hesitation he pushed into the dining room and the adjoining kitchen, his arm steady, his gaze fixed.

Janet watched him as he vanished around the end of the dining table, the outside light spilling in from the front door seemingly sucked up by the dark confines of the house. Janet back stepped to the door. She held out her arm, animatedly ushering the rest of the group holding position just outside with quick flicks of her gun hand. The group snaked in and gathered in the darkened foyer made immediately darker by the closing of the door.

Catherine squinted in the black room. A dim glow of natural light seeped in from the hallway leading to where the kitchen was located. This was not an unusual occurrence as the windows in the kitchen looked out into the backyard and the pool and were void of drapes or blinds, Catherine long ago having won her argument with Warren over the use of window coverings in an area of the house where privacy was not an issue, but the desire for natural light was.

But what intrigued Catherine was the lack of light from the sizable pane windows in the foyer and living room. While there had been heavy-duty drapes installed along the windows facing the street, the etched glass panels adjacent to the front door had no covering and should have provided some form of filtered daylight. But there was nothing.

Derrik emerged in the hallway from the kitchen. His skulking shadow elicited heightened but ineffective responses from both Oliver and Alvin as they fumbled for their weapons.

“Relax fellas,” Janet said with a hint of condescension. “It’s just Derrik.”

“We’re clear,” he said dryly, his shape melding with the darkness as he neared. “Anyone got a match?”

Catherine could see Janet’s murky silhouette search itself. A zip was heard then, moments later, a single flame popped on from the lighter Janet held. Extending it toward Derrik, the fire illuminated a propane lamp in his hands.

“Not sure how much fuel we’ve got,” Derrik said, shaking the lamp gently. “Should be enough for awhile.”

The light played off his face, highlighting his smooth features. Tamara watched Derrik wide-eyed from her position beside Catherine, and in the briefest of moments caught an emotionless wink directed her way as he located her small face in the dim light.

Janet guided the flame under the glass and toward the mantle. The lantern grew in luminosity as the mantle ignited, Derrik adjusting the propane flow. He handed the lantern to Janet who held it out into the dark living room. As the light bounced off the walls, the answer to Catherine’s question regarding the windows was revealed. Someone, or someones, had utilized the home. And judging by the amount of trash and dirty clothing strewn about, Catherine guessed it had been for a significant amount of time.

The windows had been boarded over from the inside with standard plywood sheeting. Probably the remnants of Warren’s tree house project for Tamara, Catherine pondered, which he had begun eons ago but was never able to find the time to complete. Nails and screws were riddled along the perimeter of each board in unmeasured and hurried placements. Janet stepped over to the boards, first to notice the writing on the raw wood. She held the lantern high, the light flooding the words written in both spray paint and black marker:

Tanya, Barry, Wilson Jorgensen

28 July 2009

Heading north. Danigen.

May God be with us

Janet turned, held out the lantern toward Catherine. “You know these people?”

Catherine shook her head, a stunned sense of invasiveness overcoming her. These strangers had lived in her home. Had camped here, having arrived from who knew where. Why had they chosen this house?, Catherine thought to herself uneasily. And what had become of theirs? To Catherine, it seemed there would never again be a period of complacency in her life. The constant introduction of shock and awe seemed to be a permanent fixture of daily existence, testing her will and, to some degree, her sanity.

Janet swung the lamp around and discovered the stairwell leading to the second floor.

“Derrik,” she said, “we need to clear the upstairs. Alvin, you mind accompanying?”

“Not at all,” Alvin replied, a hint of resignation in his voice.

Janet whirled back around to Catherine. “What’s the layout?”

It took Catherine a moment to register the question. The intrusive discovery still weighed heavily on her mind. But more than the distress of seeing her home in shambles, she, quite simply, couldn’t remember.

“Two bedrooms and a bath to the left,” Josh answered, coming to his mother’s aid. “Master bedroom, bath and study to the right. There’re are two closets in the hall.”

Janet handed the lantern to Derrik without a word. Taking it, he quickstepped over to the stairs and ascended them fluidly, Alvin on his six. The light evaporated at the top of the stairs into the hallway leaving the remaining survivors back in the dark.

As Derrik proceeded up the stairs and the light from the lantern danced over the living room, Catherine tried not to think about the charred patches of carpet or the greasy mini Hibachi grill she saw upended, the coal and ash spilled carelessly onto the floor. She fought the urge to investigate the two buckets full of putrid liquid located beside the entertainment center or ascertain which blankets and sheets had been selected from her linen closet that now lay soiled and crumpled in disheveled piles.

Josh’s voice broke through the darkness. “You said that guy was a UPS driver?”

Janet chuckled. “Hard to believe, I know.”

“It just puts a whole new spin on the slogan, ‘What can brown do for you?’”

The resulting laughter was a welcome diversion and as effective as a drug, the tension in the air having been lessened.

Despite Catherine’s inability to see Janet, she could sense the woman had faced her. “All right, Catherine,” she said, confirming Catherine’s suspicions. “It’s your show. Let’s get that key.”

Catherine nodded and walked toward the kitchen.

It was still there. Right above the doorjamb where Warren had hidden it so many months ago. Her fingers finding the handle, Catherine reached the extra inches required to fully grasp the miniature screwdriver. Josh helped her down from a barstool in front of the kitchen entrance, his face representative of the curious disbelief he shared with Tamara and Abby.

The light was much better in the kitchen. The sunlight filled the room comfortably, rendering flashlights and lanterns unnecessary.

Oliver moved from cupboard to cupboard, opening and closing doors in rapid succession. Perusing the last of the shelves, he flung the pantry door closed with exasperation. “Well, no surprise, but the food’s been completely cleaned out.”

“That’s okay,” Catherine said as her feet found the floor. “That’s not the food we’re here for.”

Alvin and Derrik materialized in the doorway drawing minor jolts from everyone.

“All clear,” Derrik said.

Catherine walked across the kitchen toward a breakfast nook. She ignored the scattered and dirty dishes cluttering the tabletop and knelt beside the padded bench which backed up against the wall. Producing the screwdriver, she got to work on a blank electrical wall plate located near the floor. As she aligned the tip of the screwdriver into the top screw, she couldn’t help but wince at the absurdity of it all. All that had happened, all that had traumatized her and her family over the past few days had been a direct result of neglect. Neglect in failing to remember a twenty-seven cent wall plate and the keys to salvation stored beyond it. What should have been the very first thing she collected after Warren’s life-altering phone call turned out to have not even been an echo in the back of her mind.

She cringed at all the possible outcomes that could’ve taken place. All the potential for harm that could’ve befallen her and her family. But if there was one thing she’d learned over the past days, months, it was that second-guessing and Monday morning quarterbacking served little purpose. Once her family was safely reunited with Warren, she would have plenty of time to reflect on her poor judgments. But until then, she had a job to do.

Josh stepped forward, watched his mother unscrew the tiny screws from the almond-colored plate. She set them aside carefully as if there were an intention to replace them. The plate removed, Catherine reached inside and withdrew two different keys—one a standard, flat lock key, the other a more complex spoked and rounded key.

Catherine pocketed the rounded key, then stood, moving to the sliding glass door which looked out on to a surprisingly modest backyard. A combination pool house-wet bar lay on the far side of a kidney shaped pool filled halfway with turbid, algae-green water.

“We find what we’re looking for?” Janet said impatiently.

Catherine stared through the dingy glass and fought every temptation to reminisce, to return in her mind back to the day when she would sit by that pool, margarita in hand, and watch her children swim. Warren would take up residence by the bar, usually grilling up something tasty on the nearby Charmglow, a frosty beer not too far out of reach. Tears formed and threatened to spill down Catherine’s face. She choked them back and slid the door open.

“Yeah,” she murmured. “We’re good.”

Catherine set the key down on the bar with a metallic clank. She circumnavigated the granite surface, sliding around behind it, bottles and broken glass clinking and crunching under her feet.

Everyone followed her outside without a word spoken. All eyes were on Catherine, her enigmatic journey toward the pool house garnering questionable looks as footsteps clopped mutedly on the concrete apron surrounding the pool.

Josh approached the bar and took notice of the barren liquor shelf. “Well, at least the booze didn’t go to waste,” he said jovially, earning him a playful sideways glance from his mother.

Derrik inspected the backyard uneasily, astutely aware that they were all outside again. Janet patted his shoulder in a “take it easy” gesture as she stepped up alongside Josh. She eyed Catherine as she kicked glass shards out of the way.

“Don’t keep us in suspense,” Janet said.

Catherine looked up, her face physically unable to conjure a real smile. So she forced one.

Tamara’s slender form suddenly appeared over the bar counter as she climbed onto one of the barstools still—and to Catherine, most miraculously—clutching Sniffles. Abby maintained her big sister duties, pulling up a stool alongside her little sister.

“You guys doing all right?” Catherine said.

They both nodded, Tamara replying, “We’re okay, mom.”

This brought a smile to Catherine’s lips and no small amount of comfort. Turning away from everyone, Catherine faced the bar back. An oaken monstrosity in her eyes, Warren had argued its size and breadth to justify its purpose. Anything smaller, he had claimed, would be unsuitable and obvious. Catherine had always wondered about the “obvious” part since he was the only one that ever went behind the bar and their backyard was situated in such a way that no bordering property had a line of sight into their business. She could sunbath nude and no one would be the wiser.

The top half of the cabinet was comprised of glass shelves and a mirrored back. Fluted pillars ran along either side, and unnecessary sunken lights arced along the ceiling, the better to view the cache of liquor, Catherine could only assume. Below was a mini refrigerator with matching faux wood paneling doors. At one time, it housed the bevy of mixers and chilled wines Warren always liked to keep on hand for guests.

If the knowledge of the key had been a surprise to her children, Catherine could only imagine how what she was about to do would be perceived.

She walked to the far right of the cabinet where the bar and pool house met and reached around, as if giving it a giant, one-armed bear hug. She remembered the location of the lynch pin being just out of her grasp and always had to resort to standing on her toes to fully grip it. With a strained stretch, Catherine managed to clench the pin between her fingers and wrestle it free from the containing mechanism. A groan sounded from the cabinet, as if weight had suddenly been freed.

With pin in hand, Catherine stepped back and with two fingers, pushed on the right side of the cabinet across her body to the left. The cabinet glided with ease exposing a tri-rail system behind it to which the cabinet and been mounted.

A portion of the floor slid with the bar back, the revealed section below it a matte steel surface. An outline of a door became noticeable as the cabinet and floor continued to coast along the rail, finally squeaking to a halt as the entirety of the door was in view.

“Holy shit,” Josh said, his mouth agape.

“You cursed,” Tamara said straight-faced to her brother.

Everyone crowded the bar, peering over as Catherine knelt and inserted the flat key into a small, brass lock. A handle popped up as the lock clicked with Catherine’s turn. She grabbed the handle and twisted, pulling the door open and leaning it against the wall where the cabinet used to be. A stairwell descended into the darkness. Catherine reached into the opening, feeling along the ceiling until she located the object for which she was searching. With a small pop and the fly-like buzz of electricity, a light flickered to life. Catherine stood and faced the stunned group.

“It’s about the size of a small walk-in closet. Battery powered light,” she began, intercepting everyone’s thoughts before they became actual questions. “If we form a human chain we can have everything moved out within ten minutes.”

Janet stared in complete awe, unable to hide her amazement at what she’d just witnessed. She glanced around, taking in others’ equally astonished gazes. Then she let out a laugh. But not in a run-of-the-mill, amusing anecdote sort of way. Janet laughed with her entire body, as if she’d just heard the funniest joke of her life.

The outburst startled everyone at first, but quickly spread like a virus as all joined in the jocularity. The laughter fading, Janet pushed up off her forearms, her face suddenly humor free and, Catherine thought, resentful.

She looked Catherine straight in the eyes. “What the hell did your husband do?”

It took just a little over eight minutes to move the supplies from the basement to the kitchen. With Oliver’s final haul of bottled water, the entire contents of Catherine’s emergency cache had been emptied.

The group had enjoyed breaking into the various foodstuffs from crackers to granola bars, to buffalo jerky to Fruit Loops. There was plenty of water to be had and several palettes of soda and juice to choose from. Seeing the contentment on the faces of the strangers eating in her kitchen, Catherine couldn’t help but feel a swell of pride in being able to help such destitute individuals.

Josh washed down a Ritz cracker with a 7UP. Catherine ate quietly across from him, sharing cured salami with Abby and Tamara.

“So how long has that been there?” Josh said, balls of cracker crumbs projecting from his mouth as he spoke.

“The dungeon, you mean?” Catherine replied.

“Uh, yeah.”

“Since the beginning. When the house was built.”

“And you’ve kept it full of food all this time?” Abby asked, incredulous.

Catherine let out a sigh that spoke volumes. “It wasn’t easy. That much I can tell you. But your father...” Catherine appeared ready to launch into a tangential topic, but thought better of it. “There was always an expiration date approaching, a food item to replace, up and down the stairs. And there was always the problem of trying to time it when none of you were home. It...” Catherine exhaled a cleansing breath through her nose. “I’m just glad we were able to use it.”

“That makes all of us,” Janet said, appearing over Catherine’s shoulder. “You really came through on this. I think I can safely speak for all of us when I say much obliged.”

“It’s the absolute least we could do for you all,” Catherine said earnestly. “Truly.”

“So,” Janet said, picking her teeth with the corner of a box top, “What now?”

Catherine lamented this question. Not so much for the answer she would give, but for the answer she should give. She and Warren had discussed at great length the imperativeness of discretion when it came to the rounded key. It all fell back to his theory on the trickle-down of chaos. That once anyone outside the family knew what the key protected, the information would spread to others and a primal instinct for survival would take over. And as much as she wanted to honor their agreement, she just couldn’t, in good conscience, turn her back on the folks currently filling their bellies in her home. They had now become part of the equation. Whether Warren liked it or not.

“What now?” Catherine repeated. She dug into her pocket and retrieved the round key. She held it up by the end as if displaying Excalibur. “Now, we go here.”

A look of pure bewilderment washed over Janet. She glanced in the direction of the food supply room then back. “But I thought we just got the key we came for.”

Catherine shook her head. “That was just an emergency stash. In case of minor events. Rolling brownouts. Weather. Dirty bombs. You name it. But this...” Catherine said, holding up the key then clutching it firmly in her hand. “This is what we came for. And trust me, you’ll want to see what it unlocks.”

Janet stared at Catherine’s hand then met her eyes. “I’ll ask you again: What is it your husband does, Catherine Hayesly?”

Catherine nodded, looked to the floor. “I’ll make you a deal,” Catherine began, “Let’s get this stuff on the bus and I’ll tell you all about it en route.”

Janet cracked a smile out of the corner of her mouth. “Deal.”

With little persuasion required, Janet corralled group eleven after they finished lunching and organized another human chain to pile all they had secured from the “dungeon” in the foyer. It was still daylight, roughly two o’clock. The sun was high in the sky. Janet suggested that by organizing everything by the front door, they could do a mad dash between the bus and the house, thus minimizing the amount of time they would be exposed to the neighborhood and vulnerable to a potential attack by the New Humans.

The logic had been accepted as sound and the fortitude with which everyone moved had proven to be inspirational.

The last crate of canned fruit was stacked beside an upended Chesapeake Demilune table. Breath was sucked in and spewed back out in rapid pants as everyone prepared for the final push.

Janet moved to the front door, put her hand on the brushed nickel knob. “Just remember, push hard and fast. We’ll have plenty of time to rest on the bus.”

“Easy for you to say,” Oliver said, huffing uneasily and sweating profusely. “I push any harder...and you’ll be loading me on the bus.” Nervous laughter rippled through the room.

Janet checked her watch as she turned the knob and cracked the door. “Okay,” she said, inhaling one large breath. Everyone rose to their feet, snatching up whatever lay in front of them. “Let’s get out of here.” She pulled open the door.

Tamara’s eyes lit up like a Christmas tree, the widest smile Catherine had seen in weeks growing exponentially on her face. She tore from Catherine’s grasp and sprinted for the front door.

“Mrs. Delaway!” she exclaimed.

14

Mrs. Delaway

Janet recoiled, almost falling over at the sight of the old woman standing near the doorway. And maybe that’s what had been so immediately startling about her: she didn’t stand in front of the door, only near it. Perhaps as far away as seven feet.

“Tamara!” Catherine yelled as her daughter lurched from her grip with every intention of leaping into Mrs. Delaway’s arms.

On instinct, Oliver dropped his rifle and lunged forward, ensnaring Tamara in his arm then falling to the floor with her.

“Let go!” Tamara shrieked. “Let go of me! It’s our neighbor, Mrs. Delaway.”

Catherine ran to Tamara’s side and helped her to her feet. “Stay behind me,” she said curtly.

“But mom, it’s Mrs.—”

“Do as I ask, Tamara.”

Tamara begrudgingly inched behind her mother as Catherine walked toward the door, Janet accompanying her.

The woman known as Mrs. Delaway stood dead center of the pathway, staring hollowly into the foyer. Her arms lay at her side like two ropes of link sausage, her shoulders slumped and her head protruded forward in a vulturish manner.

Janet whip-cocked her weapon, pointing the barrel directly at Mrs. Delaway. Catherine reached out and eased the weapon to the floor. She turned to the old woman.

“Mrs. Delaway?”

“Hello, dear,” Mrs. Delaway said. Her voice was raspy and unsteady, and in it lacked that intangible quality which aspired to humankind. “How are the children?”

Catherine forced herself to take a moment before she responded. Mrs. Delaway was the first familiar face Catherine had seen since fleeing this very neighborhood so long ago. And as much as she wanted to accept the woman standing mere feet away as the friendly and affectionate neighbor who had lived only three houses down, every fiber of her being rejected the plausibility of it. And as if to verify her fears, Janet nudged her arm.

“Look,” she said, nodding in the direction of Mrs. Delaway’s feet.

Catherine followed Janet’s gaze and confirmed her fears: this was not Mrs. Delaway. The “woman” indeed looked like Mrs. Delaway. It even managed to discover some of Mrs. Delaway’s clothing, right down to the shoes. But it was this observation that led Catherine and Janet to form their verdict. For right off the toes of each foot, simple inches away, really, lay the shadow of the roofline of the house. The thing purporting to be Mrs. Delaway was intentionally avoiding the shade. And the shiver that slithered along Catherine’s spine created goose bumps so prominent a blind man could have read her skin.

“Mom, can we go say hello to her now?” Tamara asked, surprisingly oblivious to the situation.

“It’s not Mrs. Delaway, honey,” Catherine replied. “It looks like her, but it’s not.”

Tamara peeked from around Catherine’s waist. She looked out at the woman smiling blankly on the walk. And as she did, the woman kneeled.

“Hello, Tamara,” it said. “Oh, I’ve missed you and your brother and sister so much. I’ve been so lonely here without you all.”

Tamara gazed up at Catherine, her eyes filling with tears, her face wrought with confusion. Catherine placed an arm around her and pulled her close.

“May I?” Janet asked, indicating her gun with a subtle nod.

Catherine eased the door closed but left it ajar, Mrs. Delaway’s hollow grin meeting her stare as the opening narrowed. She ushered Janet away from her children, leaving Tamara in the care of her sister.

“Look,” Catherine began, “I’d like nothing more than to just put that thing down and be on our way, but...”

“But, what?” Janet queried.

“But I don’t think my children—particularly, Tamara—could handle it. This woman was our neighbor. My son mowed her grass for Christ’s sake. My kids have been through a lot and I don’t want to risk further traumatizing them by having you or anyone else blow the top of its head off.”

Janet tilted her head slightly, seemingly disappointed. “So what do you propose then? That we wait until it leaves?”

“Yes.”

“You’ve gotta be fuckin’ kidding me with this shit.”

“I don’t like it any better than you. But in another hour the sun will be down far enough that the shadow from the roof will reach the driveway. If it moves with the light, we’ll have a safe passage to the bus and then we can pack up and go.”

“If,” Janet said. “If it moves with the light.” She rubbed her face vigorously. “This is about the stupidest thing I’ve ever heard.”

Alvin took a peek through a hole in the wood covering the side window. He walked over to the two women. Derrik followed behind him.

“What’s the game plan, folks?” he said. “People are getting uneasy. And I’m one of ‘em.”

“Mother Theresa, here, wants to spare her kids from the horrors of the real world and hold up for a bit,” Janet said with biting sarcasm.

Catherine threw a condemning gaze Janet’s way, but Janet’s eyes were already shut, her head shaking with disapproval.

“We should get out of here as soon as possible, Catherine.” Alvin said. “Especially in light of recent developments,” he said, pointing over his shoulder with his thumb.

“I agree wholeheartedly. But I can’t...” Catherine checked to make sure her children were out of earshot. “I won’t subject my children to an execution of the sweetest woman they’ve known. I don’t care if it isn’t really her or not. I’m not sure some of my kids will be able to make the distinction.”

“You see?” Janet spat. “Lunacy.”

Alvin looked at the floor, nodded. “An hour, you say?” he spoke, glancing over at Catherine.

“Oh, for Christ’s sake, Alvin, don’t tell me you’re eating the shit she’s spooning,” Janet railed.

“What harm can it do, Janet?” Alvin said. “That thing is clearly staying in the light. If it’d wanted to come in it would have. I’ll trade an hour of my life if it means not putting anybody through any more hell than is necessary.”

“Thank you, Alvin,” Catherine said.

Janet folded her arms and scowled.

“That being said,” Alvin continued, “if sixty minutes from now those things are still blocking our way or the shade hasn’t extended as far as we thought, then we have to move to plan B.”

Catherine bowed her head. “If after an hour we can’t safely leave, I’ll put her down myself.”

“All right, then. Agreed?” Alvin asked Janet.

“Fine,” Janet sneered. She checked her watch, setting the timer. “Sixty minutes.”

“Hey, uh, guys?” Oliver’s voice sounded from behind them. “There’s another one. It’s a guy. And he’s, uh, naked.”

Everyone flocked to the door, Catherine pulling it open, as they jostled for a view out onto the pavement.

A man, indeed nude, stood beside the Mrs. Delaway likeness. He was covered in a milky brown substance, almost oily. His posture was similar to that of Mrs. Delaway, only with more pronounced slouchiness, as if it were trying desperately to learn how a human stands. His eyes were puffy and barely open, his hair a matte of vile, crusty nastiness. And like Mrs. Delaway, his feet were planted just outside the reach of the shadow.

Catherine reached for the doorknob. Alvin grabbed her hand.

“What the hell’re you doing?” he demanded.

“I’m going to try and talk to them.”

Alvin blinked. “You’re gonna try and talk to—”

“You said it yourself,” Catherine defended. “If they were able to come in here they would’ve done it already. There’s nothing stopping them except for that shadow on the ground. Which shows we learned something about them today.”

“Learned?” Madeline said meekly from the back corner of the foyer. “What have we learned?”

“That these things not only need light, they need to be in direct contact with it. Like they feed off of it or something. We all more or less suspected it, but this proves it,” she said, indicating her front walk with a nod. “I’d like to see what else we can find out.”

“Mom, are...you sure that’s a good idea?” Abby asked, her arms encircling Tamara.

“Somebody’s got to try and learn about these things if we’re ever going to find a way to rid ourselves of them,” Catherine said. “Just stay by your brother. Both of you. Everything’ll be all right.” In stark contradiction to her words, Catherine removed the nine-millimeter from her waistband and clutched it firmly.

Alvin let go of her arm. Janet glared at her.

Catherine opened the door.

“Hello, Mrs. Delaway,” Catherine said.

Mrs. Delaway smiled, this time more sincerely. As if the synapses in her mutated brain had fired and made connections, familiarizing themselves with the parts that knew of a person named Catherine Hayesly.

“Hello, Catherine,” Mrs. Delaway said.

The sound of the thing’s voice calling Catherine by name was unnerving. It made her feel unclean and ratcheted up her desire to sink into a hot, soapy bath where she could submerge her head and not resurface for a week.

With all of her talk of attempting communication, Catherine found that now that she was face to face with these New Humans she couldn’t for the life of her think of a thing to say.

“How do you feel?” she asked, at once deeming the question absurd.

“How do I feel?” Mrs. Delaway responded. “Glorious, dear.”

Glorious. This had been Mrs. Delaway’s favorite word for describing her state of being. And it was always glorious. Catherine could scarcely remember a time when the woman wasn’t feeling glorious. She seemed to be in a perpetual state of enlightened euphoria, as if the world could do no wrong to her. Warren and her girls chalked it up to her sunny disposition. Catherine thought it might be the felony-sized amounts of pot she smoked continually.

“You’re not Mrs. Delaway,” Catherine stated. “I’m not sure if your consciousness allows you to recognize that or not yet, but mine does.”

“Well, then,” Mrs. Delaway said dryly, “Who am I then?”

“That’s the question of the century.”

The man gurgled something, tried to make words. Brown gunk oozed from his mouth in a thick rivulet.

“Do you know this...man?” Catherine asked.

“I’ve never seen him before,” she said, her eyes never wavering.

“Yet, you’re comfortable enough to stand next to him? This naked man whom you’ve never met?”

“He poses no threat to me.”

“How do you know?”

Mrs. Delaway remained mute, her gaze never faltering.

“The Mrs. Delaway I know would have run far away from anyone who looked like him. Do you still really expect me to believe that you’re her?”

“We don’t expect anything of any of you. That much we’ve learned.”

She’d used the word “we”. We. Did this imply a collective intelligence to which all New Humans were privy? Or was there a more physical meeting of the minds, a sharing of information, exchanging of ideas. Whatever the word “we” meant, one thing was undeniably clear: the human race wasn’t up against random or pocket forces—it was up against an entity.

“What do you want from us?” Catherine said, her voice cracking.

“The same thing you want from yourselves.”

“Which is?”

For the first time, Catherine saw what looked like a true sign of humanity in Mrs. Delaway’s face as she grinned.

“The leaves are already starting to change on the trees, have you noticed?”

Catherine scrunched her face, unclear what this had to do with their current conversation.

Mrs. Delaway continued: “I think fall may just arrive early this year. It’s always been my favorite time.”

The creepy smile remained on Mrs. Delaway’s lips as she spoke. Never once did her head turn or her body adjust as she engaged with Catherine. Yet what was most disturbing was that Catherine couldn’t decipher whether or not this last sentence uttered was merely a random, residual thought left over from the original Mrs. Delaway, a simple statement of anticipation plucked out of the air as it bounced around inside the brain of the monstrosity before her. But the truer belief, Catherine felt, lay in the notion that the point had been implicit, that a declaration of a bleak and dark future had been made.

Without warning, Mrs. Delaway and the man took a step back in unison. Catherine startled at the sudden movement, but glancing down realized the house shadow had encroached perilously close to the New Humans.

“Have it your way,” Catherine said, sitting on the walkway and crossing her legs. She set the gun down in front of her.

And waited.

As predicted the advancing shadow of the home eventually forced the New Humans beyond the vicinity of the pathway and bus. Under the eerily watchful eye of the Mrs. Delaway replica and the filth-covered man, group eleven managed to transfer every box, bottle and bag of food and drink from the foyer to the bus in three and a half minutes.

But to everyone’s chagrin, an unexpected wrench had been thrown, unsuspectingly, into the works—the bus had a flat tire.

It took Oliver, Alvin and Josh the better part of two hours to replace it. From unpacking the spare from the now overstuffed bus to locating the jack to unearthing the lug wrench that would make it all possible, the chore of changing a tire had never been more frustrating. But in the end they had prevailed.

The group exhaled a collective sigh of relief at the departure of the New Humans, the descending sun forcing their hand as they retreated to someplace unseen. A relative peace and sense of accomplishment swelled among the individuals on the bus. Having evaded conflict while at the same time procuring food and water had done much to lift their spirits.

Oliver cranked the engine without an invitation to do so, immediately putting it into gear and coasting out of the driveway.

Catherine glanced out the rear window and watched her house dissolve into the dusk, the orange-red glow of the bus’s brake lights only briefly illuminating the haunted shape that used to be called home. With a final, painful twist in her seat, Catherine faced forward, lacing an arm around Tamara who slept soundly at her side. Abby curled up in a single seat, a jacket for a pillow under her head. Josh and Shelby spoke quietly two seats up, their proximity to one another the kind only the mutually interested shared.

A solitary tear escaped an eye and Catherine quickly swiped it up. She would not cry for an object, she argued. It was just a house. Stone, mortar, wood. Everything of value to her was in the bus, sitting in the seats, sleeping beside her.

Catherine placed her hand on the key in her pocket, felt its shape through the thick denim overlaying it. She breathed easier, as if verifying its existence for the hundredth time would quell any future bouts of panic.

Soon, she thought.

The bus accelerated back toward the exit and the stone archway, which now loomed ominously in the dusk. Alemonte subdivision faded into the pitch, much like its memory eventually would.

15

The Key

The bus rolled on for hours, the first hint of daylight just beginning to peek over the horizon. Perhaps it was the onset of nightfall or the sheer exhaustion that consumed everyone, but sleep had never been more of a welcome friend. All thoughts and worries of potential encounters had been allayed for the time being so that a proper night’s rest could be entertained.

Oliver had valiantly volunteered to continue on behind the wheel despite the fatigue that surely plagued him. Derrik sat with him, stoically, silently, as the rest of the group on the bus sawed logs.

Everyone, that is, except for Catherine. Certain her eyes would clamp shut the moment her head rested against the seatback, Catherine was surprised to find that she was inexplicably wired. Her mind raced with all that had happened, the first true moments of silence providing her over-stimulated mind a chance to sort and ponder. To rationalize how such a thing could possibly be. How could something like this have happened? she wondered sadly. How could such an event have snuck up on the world without any notice?

Catherine felt for her key again and her heart jumped. Jumped at the realization that in a few hours time she would have the answers to all her questions. If Warren were able to follow through, all would be known.

She stroked Abby’s soft hair as she lay in her lap. Around midnight, Abby had taken to vomiting again, depositing her contents into a gallon sized freezer bag hastily retrieved from the supply cache.

Upon hearing the news regarding Abby’s pregnancy, Catherine had been furious. What mother wouldn’t be? And had life proceeded as normal, before strange creatures appeared, killing and replicating the seemingly vast majority of humanity, Catherine would still have been livid. Livid at the decision she would have been forced to choose between for the sake of her fourteen year-old daughter and her future. But now the choice was a simple one in that there was no choice. And in a bizarrely twisted take on the matter, Catherine was almost thankful for all that had occurred in the world. Thankful she would never have to be put in the situation to choose.

Abby stirred beneath her hand. She blinked her eyes a few times then cautiously sat up.

“How you doing, kiddo?” Catherine said quietly, her hand still in Abby’s hair.

Abby folded her arms instinctively over her stomach. “Okay, I guess. I just wish that...how long is this gonna keep happening?”

Catherine raised her eyebrows. “It’s different for everyone. I had friends that had morning sickness for their entire pregnancy and others that sailed through all nine months without a hitch. It just depends on the person.”

“Morning sickness,” Abby repeated. “It feels more like all-the-time sickness.”

Catherine smiled as she tucked a lock of greasy hair behind Abby’s ear. “You know, when I was pregnant with you, I could barely get out of bed in the morning.”

“Really?”

“It’s true. You were like clockwork. Somewhere between nine and ten in the morning I’d get hit with crippling nausea. Had to run to the bathroom on a number of occasions. Sometimes I didn’t make it.”

Abby grinned.

“But as the pregnancy went along, it got better. And I think it will for you, too.”

Catherine folded her hands in her lap absentmindedly. “Did Taylor know?”

Abby looked to the ground, shook her head. “I didn’t say anything because...because I wasn’t sure what I wanted to do.”

Catherine nodded.

“I just wish I could go back and do it all over again,” Abby said, tears welling. “You know? Make a different decision.”

“Your grandmother used to say that hindsight’s always twenty twenty. You know what that means?”

“No.”

“It means that if we could all have the benefit of knowing what the right thing to do all the time was then that’s all we’d ever do. But it’s the mistakes in our lives that help us to grow and learn. Become better people.”

Abby looked up at her mother. A tear streaked down her cheek.

“I think what’s really got me disappointed, Abby, is that you didn’t feel you could come to me about it. Haven’t I always told you, all of you, that you could talk to me about anything?”

“Yes, but—”

“No, Abby,” Catherine interrupted. “There are no ‘buts’. A mother’s love is unconditional. She would do anything and everything to protect her children.” Catherine placed her arm around Abby’s shoulders. “Something you’ll discover soon enough.”

“Hey, Catherine,” Oliver said in a hushed whisper from the front seat.

“What is it, Oliver?” Catherine replied, attempting to keep her voice low.

“I think we’re coming up on two thirty-three.”

Catherine pressed her face to the window and stared out at the forest that lay beyond. Trees sped by, their shadowy silhouettes just starting to catch glints of light from the rising sun.

They were here.

Catherine stood beside Oliver, one hand clasping a support rail behind his head, the other resting on her pocket and the key contained therein.

She hadn’t considered the fact that they would be arriving by school bus, a vehicle not at all suited for the pitfalls of a narrow dirt road and all the damage nature could inflict upon it. But the road was in fine shape. No massive holes to circumnavigate. No weather damage or standing water with slippery mud basins. No downed trees to remove. If Catherine was a praying woman, she might deem the conditions miraculous. But Catherine the rationalist surmised that much of the anticipated damage had been avoided because man hadn’t been here to contribute to it.

The bus approached a rocky road that connected with forest road two thirty-three at a forty-five degree angle. A wooden, hand painted sign with the words “No Trespassing” stenciled on it was staked just back from the intersection.

“This is it,” Catherine declared. She eyed the impossible turn the bus had to make. “Think you can get us back there?”

Oliver chuckled. “If you’d seen some of the driveways and country roads I had to maneuver in a bus twice this size you wouldn’t even ask.”

Barely slowing the vehicle, he swung the wheel around, seemingly overshooting the road. But when the nose of the bus straightened dead center of the new, gravelly path, Catherine couldn’t help but be impressed.

“You go, boy,” she said playfully.

“We there?” Janet said groggily from over Catherine’s shoulder. She rubbed at her eyes, scrubbing the sleep from her face.

“Just about,” Catherine said. “Another four miles along this road.”

Four miles. Catherine actually felt giddy at the sound of the number. In four miles the overlong detour through the wastelands of downtown and the saddened return home would finally meet its end. She would have all she needed to reunite with her husband and provide a substantial shelter for her and her children, safely removed from the horrors that now lurked and roamed the earth.

The bus wound its way along the narrow lane. Low hanging trees scraped at the windows, jarring everyone from their slumber.

A look of utter confusion washed over Oliver. The road ahead of him came to a halt, the final vestiges of it dissolving into mud and a carpet of pine needles before the forest claimed it. A rusty, slackened chain lay across the road. Another “No Trespassing” sign barely clung to the soil into which it had been driven, it leaning limply to one side.

“Open the door,” Catherine said to Derrik who held his position beside it. He reached for the lever and swung the door inward.

Catherine hopped out and stepped over the dangling chain. Beyond it, a heavy patch of downed tree limbs and scrub littered the area, seemingly impenetrable. Catherine disappeared into the thicket then, in a matter of moments, began to drag large chunks of forest debris from the road.

Oliver leaned over his steering wheel, his mouth agape. The inhabitants of the bus crowded around him, equally amazed at what they were seeing. For when the final branch had been cleared, a level, well-maintained gravel road revealed itself.

Catherine tossed the limb aside and looked up at the bus. The windshield was crowded with faces.

The trees removed, she climbed back onboard, resuming her position alongside Oliver. Everyone made room, shifting and moving, as if Christ himself had just boarded.

“Follow that road,” Catherine said, her voice carrying an air of obviousness to it.

Oliver drove the next half-mile virtually bump free. He steered the bus along the gravel road, the tiny rocks crunching beneath the tires until it dead-ended into a circular patch of barren forestland. A single, small tool shed lie on the fringe of the cleared area. And nothing else.

“We’re here,” Catherine said.

Necks craned, heads turned and eyes searched through the windows of the bus. Catherine could read the looks of bewilderment on everyone’s faces and knew some sort of explanation was desired to sate the collective curiosity. But in two short minutes, she thought, everything would speak for itself.

Catherine hopped off the bus and strode over to the tool shed, instantly setting to work on a combination lock that secured the door to the structure. A couple of quick spins of the dial and it was open. Working the padlock free, Catherine pulled the door ajar and extracted a janitorial push broom from inside.

She gave the onlookers from the bus a passing glance as they exited, gathering in a curious bunch in front of the bug-spattered grill. Catherine walked determinedly toward an unassuming patch of red elderberry shrub and set the broom down in front of it. A towering alder sprouted from behind the dense concentration of elderberry, miscellaneous strobiles scattered under the tree’s canopy.

Catherine hiked through calf high wild grass and snaked her way around to the backside of the tree.

The group could only watch in a clueless silence, waiting with bated breath at the next surprise Catherine would unveil. Then, as if on cue, the elderberry shrub suddenly parted. Branches bowed backward on either side, separating the bush as if a giant comb had been run right down the middle, slicking the branches off to each side.

On the backside of the tree Catherine pushed with her foot on the trunk, yanking on a pair of ropes that wrapped around it on both sides. Guided through an industrial sized, stainless steel eyelet, which was mounted into the ground, Catherine tied the rope off onto a steel cleat that had been installed at the tree’s base.

Janet leaned over to Josh as she eyed the ever-widening elderberry bush. “You got one strange family, kid.”

“Tell me about it,” he said as he watched his mother circumnavigate the splayed shrub and pick up the broom.

“Josh,” Catherine called, “Can you give me a hand?”

Josh screwed his face in confusion as he walked toward his mother. Catherine, broom in hand, began vigorously sweeping the dirt patch in the now exposed area below the elderberry. Dust, leaves and broken branches piled up at the base of the tree, Catherine taking broad strokes with the broom.

And then Josh saw it. A metal surface. And with each subsequent pass of the broom more and more was revealed until he could make out a distinct rectangular shape in the ground.

A door.

Catherine swept even faster now, adrenaline kicking in, her need to open the door overpowering her. She dropped the broom and fell to her knees. With her hands, she began swiping dirt in wide arcs until she uncovered a strip of duct tape stuck to the surface. Clearing the area of dust and dirt with several hearty blows, Catherine ripped the tape free.

A gleaming chrome lock lay underneath.

Catherine fished in her pocket for the round key. Retrieving it, she held it up for Janet to see and accompanied this with a reserved smile. Aligning the key into the circular slot, Catherine twisted counter-clockwise. A prominent click sounded, as if a sizable bolt had been released. Catherine dug out the collapsible handle to the door from an inset where it fit snugly, then pulled upward.

The door swung on a pair of concealed hinges, the weight too much for Catherine to bear. Josh rushed to her aid and pushed the heavy door in a laborious arc until it came to rest against the alder. Needing no instruction, Josh moved to the other half of the door, clamped his hands along the cold steel edge and hauled it up and open. He let the metal hatch fall with a thunderous whump, a cloud of dust kicking up as it met the ground.

“Whoa,” Josh said as he stared in at the opening. Catherine had already descended the first four steps, her body halfway into the cavity. She stopped suddenly.

“You coming?” she said to the group, jarring them from their trance-like state.

Catherine reached the bottom of the stairs and approached a solid steel door. Josh followed eagerly behind her, his sense of discovery and wonder, Catherine felt, thankfully replacing any misgivings he may have had at being deceived. And for this she was relieved.

Group eleven pattered down the stairs, their steps echoing in uneven cadences, the shadow from their mass blocking the limited light entering the stairwell.

Turning her attention to a battery-powered numeric keypad affixed to the door, Catherine tapped a six-digit code. Another, more sizable clang rang out, its sound reverberating briefly in the darkened space. She grabbed hold of a fixed handle and pulled the thick and heavy door outward.

Catherine reached into the blackness just beyond the opening and withdrew a flashlight. Popping the light on, she approached a second door, structured not unlike the first, it’s metallic sheen glistening as the light approached. Finding another keypad, Catherine again punched a series of numbers. Another clang and she was pushing on the door, it swinging inward with a faint groan.

An antiseptic smell wafted through the doorway. Odors of foodstuffs and plastic. The hint of fuel.

“Everyone wait here,” Catherine said. She entered the room, immediately disappearing around the right wall. Faint hints of structures and space reflected dim light, gave some inkling of depth and layout.

Suddenly, lights began to flicker. One by one, bulbs popped to life, electricity finding them in rapid succession as the room illuminated.

A chorus of stunned ooohs and ahhhs sounded among the group.

“Holy shit,” Josh said, his jaw hanging loosely on his face.

“You can say that again,” Janet said as she took an unconscious step forward in utter amazement. She glanced quickly at the area lying between the doors and discovered a showerhead, scrub brushes and cleansers.

The group filed in, their heads turning actively in all directions, trying to take in the breadth of everything they were seeing.

Before everyone laid an elaborately designed and executed shelter, the size of which completely belied the small and utilitarian stairwell that led to it. The room could more easily and accurately be described as a small warehouse made suitable to live. Floor to ceiling shelves filled an entire twenty-foot length of wall. Occupying the spaces were copious amounts of canned goods, sizable bins filled with beans and pastas, flour, oats and sugar, MREs and dehydrated meats and vegetables. Palettes of bottled and canned juices wrapped in sheet plastic were stacked to the gills along one end of the shelves. An enormous storage tank—much like the ones used to store propane—was situated at the other end of the shelves, the letters “H2O” stenciled to the side in black paint.

A small alcove served as the medical area. More shelves here, stocked with painkillers of every variety, antibiotics, bandages, cold and flu medication, acid reducers and nausea aids, IV units, potassium iodide. Gas masks were sealed in a glass case. Below them on a sturdy shelf, a dose rate meter. There was even a defibrillator kit mounted to the wall above a basic, but suitable, heart monitor.

Across the room were a series of five cots arranged bunk bed style in the middle of the floor. The bedrolls for all lay atop each bed frame, placed uniformly in the center.

Janet shuffled over to a tiny, makeshift kitchen area complete with a small, but adequate oak counter, washbasin and propane range. Smaller shelves lined the space above the preparation area, their once vacant surfaces now filled with metal plates and cups, silverware, a spare selection of pots and pans. The bottommost shelf was packed with bulk spices, oils and vinegars.

Catherine emerged from one of two doors located alongside one another. She shut the door quietly then just stood facing the room, watched as everyone meandered among the shelter, incredulous.

Janet sauntered over to Catherine and stood beside her. Together they watched Madeline and Shelby inspect the food shelves. Saw Oliver express interest in the hand pump that fed the humongous water tank. Cracked smiles as Tamara played kitchen with Abby.

“I gotta hand it to you, Catherine,” Janet began, “This is...”

“Extreme?” Catherine finished. “Excessive? Fortunate? If you chose any of those words I’d be inclined to agree with you. I might even add embarrassing and undeserving into the mix.”

Janet’s eyes darted toward Catherine at this, but maintained her position facing forward. “I don’t even know where to begin,” Janet said with an unintentional chortle. “For starters, how do you even have elec—”

“Hey, Catherine,” Oliver said, his voice sounding from across the room. “Is this full?” Oliver tapped the H2O tank with his knuckles.

“Yes, it is,” she replied.

“What’s this thing here?” Josh queried, standing in front of two cylindrical tanks mounted to the back wall. A series of pipes and wiring protruded from the top and bottom of each.

“It’s an oxy—”

“Mommy what kind of juice is this?” Tamara asked, standing alongside the palette of bottles and cans, which dwarfed her.

“There are all kinds, honey.”

Catherine knew there would be questions and interrogations. Knew there was a world of wonder in the room with which most people were unfamiliar. And had she not been the wife of Warren Hayesly, employee of the God-only-knew division of the Air Force, she could have safely included herself in this group as well. She could have remained blissfully unaware of what a roentgen was and how many of them she and her children could endure on a daily basis without suffering radiation sickness. Or remained ignorant as to what potassium iodide did and how to use a dose rate meter. Yes, she could have been like any one of these people.

Putting herself in their shoes, Catherine realized that she, too, would have had a plethora of questions. Would’ve wanted to know how it all worked. What everything was. So, calling for everyone’s attention, she set to explanations.

She told of Warren’s occupation—as much as she knew, anyway—and spoke of the multitude of trips she made with him preparing the shelter, despite her severe recalcitrance in doing so. She spoke of the countless journeys it took to transport all of the food and supplies and the mind-numbing tediousness in updating provisions.

She talked of the diesel generator and power inverter that worked in tandem to provide the shelter electricity. She mentioned words like photovoltaic cells and explained how they tied into the solar panel mounted at the apex of the alder just outside the shelter for the times when there was sun. Then she pointed out the enormous stash of batteries for the times when there wasn’t.

She demonstrated the manual water pump and told of the days it took to tap the well. She mentioned the difficulty in delivering the 500-gallon storage tank to the location and then the countering, relative ease of retrofitting it with the intricate filter system.

She tapped the walls and explained the necessary thickness requirements of concrete and steel to provide ample protection from fallout. And while on the topic, described how the oxygen generator would provide adequate air while they remained sequestered from the surface. She introduced new terms such as zeolite granules and soda lime and was even able to elucidate on the differences between a chemical and an electrolysis derived oxygen byproduct, the latter being the safer alternative, however hindered it was by the need for more power than the shelter could provide.

To an astounded and attentive group, Catherine pulled open the leftmost of the two interior doors. A surprisingly sufficient and spacious bathroom was revealed behind it. Catherine demonstrated the compact toilet and told of the onsite septic system to which it was connected. She twisted the faucet handles and let out a quick stream of water, pointing out that water pressure was maintained in the water tank. Hot water, she said despairingly, would be a luxury.

She led them behind the other door and into the generator room. Showed them the overhead ductwork that fed from the oxygen generator and connected to blast valves and overpressure relief valves above ground. These valves, she stated, would allow for positive pressure to remain in the shelter at all times and dramatically reduce the risk of carbon monoxide poisoning while ensuring fresh air free from fallout.

Everyone listened intently as Catherine spoke, watched as she indicated and demonstrated like a college professor. Catherine, in turn, felt a surge of undeniable pride at the reception. Never one to be mistaken for her encyclopedic depth on technical matters, she couldn’t help but feel a profound sense of ownership in the topics she discussed. As if these weren’t just things that Warren insisted she understand and repeat back, but were things she actually knew. Concepts she actually grasped and could apply to real life.

The coup de grace of the shelter’s many provisions, however, was yet to come. And as Catherine led the group to the centrally located common area—complete with sofa, chairs, table and a small tv and dvd player—she knew the final reveal would be the one that, if it hadn’t happened already, would send folks over the top.

“I know this is all a lot to digest right now,” Catherine said to everyone as she approached a small shelving unit wrapped in a blue tarpaulin. “Believe me, it was weeks before I could even get a handle on the layout of this place, let alone the individual components that would tie it all together.”

Abby spoke for the first time in a while. “So, all this time, when you and dad were going on getaways, you’ve been coming here?”

Catherine nodded apologetically.

Abby looked over the shelter again, as if this confession had suddenly provided a new dimension to the room.

“Impressive, Catherine,” Janet said. “Truly. This place is simply...amazing. You’re very lucky. But I don’t see how the ten of us can survive here for very long. I mean, it’s clear you have an ample water supply and enough food to last awhile. But it’ll eventually run out. And after it does, then what? Where will we go to scavenge?

“We didn’t come for the food,” Catherine said. “Not all of it anyway.”

“What do you mean we didn’t come for the food?” Alvin said, registering no small amount of irritation in his voice.

“I mean, we did, but that’s not really why we’re here.”

“Then why did we come here, Catherine?” Oliver asked gently.

“Yes,” Madeline added, “Why come all the way out here if not for the food?”

Catherine carefully removed the tarp from over the shelving, flinging it back and away.

“We came for this.”

“What in God’s green earth is that?” Janet said.

“Just what it looks like,” Catherine replied. “A computer.”

Janet looked unbelievingly to Alvin and Oliver. “A computer,” she repeated somewhat sarcastically. “Wonderful. Think maybe I could check my e-mail once you get it powered up? It’s been a while.” Janet chuckled a bit, everyone grunting along jovially.

Catherine pushed buttons on the tower and monitor. Lights blinked on, hard drives spun into action. She moved to some less familiar hardware, flipped on switches and adjusted knobs.

Janet watched suspiciously. “Seriously, Catherine, what are you doing?”

“Waiting for it to boot up. Once it does, I need to sign in.”

“To what?” Janet cried. “The internet? Jesus, please tell me you’re kidding and we didn’t come all the way out here for this. In case you’ve forgotten, there hasn’t been a power grid for months.”

“Well, then I guess it’s a good thing I’m not connecting to the Internet.” Catherine twisted around to meet Janet’s incredulous gaze. “I’m not as stupid as you think I am and, quite honestly, I’m getting a little tired of your shit.”

Janet’s eyebrows rose in monster arcs as Catherine whirled back around.

“But what I am doing,” Catherine continued, “is preparing to make a call of sorts.”

“A call. That’s all well and good,” Janet said somewhat reserved, “But as I’ve just told you, there isn’t any power. You may have it here but how are you planning on connecting to another phone? Everything’s dead.”

The monitor popped to life. A simple “username” and “password” dialogue box appeared onscreen. Catherine typed quickly then turned around.

“With this,” she said, pointing to a phone resting on the table. A simple AC charger snaked into the base, the cable disappearing behind the table. A light on the phone blinked green.

“Is that a Sat phone?” Josh said from behind everyone.

“It is.”

“I always wanted to get one of those,” Oliver proclaimed. “Supposed to be able to call virtually anywhere in the world with one.”

“More or less,” Catherine said, staring anxiously at the screen.

“Excuse me for asking, Catherine,” Alvin said, “but I thought Sat phones only worked on line-of-sight.”

“That’s right.”

“What’s ‘line-of-sight’ mean?” Madeline asked.

“It means the antenna from the phone needs to be unobstructed with the satellite in order to make a connection.” Alvin turned from Madeline to Catherine. “In houses, buildings or, say, bomb shelters, it’s supposed to be difficult, if not impossible, to get a signal. Which begs the question.”

Catherine smiled, eyed Alvin. “Why do I have a Sat phone in a bomb shelter? Fair question. Well, as you know, Sat phones don’t rely on earthbound infrastructure. So in the event of an all out world catastrophe, such as we have, cell phones and landlines would be rendered extinct whereas Sat phones would still remain functional since their signal is bounced off of orbiting, preferably geosynchronous, satellites, independent of earthbound power systems.

“What I’m trying to say, Alvin,” Catherine continued, “is that you’re right. You do need line-of-sight. Which is why we installed an antenna extension to the tree outside as well.” Catherine reached behind the phone and retrieved the end of a cable that vanished somewhere into the shelter wall. “With this we can achieve a good signal while remaining indoors.”

“So are we able to call dad?” Josh asked.

“Not exactly.”

“What does that mean, ‘not exactly’? And how come we didn’t have one of these on the boat? We could’ve saved a lot of time and hassle if we’d been able to call from sea.”

Catherine faced her son. “I know it seems logical. I felt the same way. But he assured me that phone calls, even Sat phone calls, would be a difficult if not impossible connection to make where he’d be. Add to that, your father was exceptionally paranoid at the thought of equipping the boat with the necessary hardware required to make such calls. Remember, the government took their security protocols seriously. Any breach at his level was considered an act of treason. He felt that if any of this machinery were discovered onboard, it would be viewed as a threat against national security.”

“Mom?” Abby said meekly from behind the group.

“Yeah, kiddo?”

“If you can’t call dad, then how do we reach him?”

Catherine forced a delicate smile. “I’ll show you”

Reaching for the phone, Catherine powered it on, connecting it to a USB cable that snaked up from the PC tower on the floor. Glancing over the keypad she thought recalling the long series of digits would escape her. But one look at the softly illuminated numbers on the phone face and the crisscrossing pattern she’d built in her mind for memorization came rushing back with visual clarity. Cupping the phone in her hands, she pushed buttons in rapid succession with both thumbs. When done, she set the phone back in it’s cradle and activated the speaker.

If there was a more important string of numerals to remember, Catherine didn’t know what they could possibly be. Much like the other information she’d been trained to retrieve at the drop of a hat, this last set of numbers had proven to be the most important. Risking Homeland Security violations and a most certain imprisonment if caught, Warren had divulged the access number to his department’s LAN, an immensely top-secret computer network. Insisting that it never be written down and committed only to memory, Catherine had spent many a sleepless night mentally regurgitating numerals instead of counting sheep.

Wherever Warren was, he had guaranteed Catherine that the facility would most assuredly be equipped with satellite capability. If she was able to dial out, the shelter could receive the signal.

A series of digital burps and high frequency pitches pulsed through the speakers in a cacophonous wave. A moment of silence followed. Then a pale blue screen blinked to life on the phone’s miniscule LCD screen.

“I think...I think we’re in,” Catherine said, astonished that all her training and memorization had yielded actual results.

She grabbed her mouse and clicked on a peculiar looking icon on her desktop, the tiny image from the LCD on her phone immediately replicating itself on the seventeen-inch monitor. A U.S. Government security warning filled the viewing area, words such as “authorized” and “violation” and “imprisonment” held prominence across the top in large white block lettering. At the bottom were two entry fields requiring another username and password set. Catherine typed rapidly, pressing “Enter” when finished.

“If I may ask, what are you doing?” Alvin said.

Catherine watched the progress on her screen, waited impatiently for the next step. “I’m accessing SIPRNet.”

Heads turned and brows creased as everyone sought knowledge in one another, but found only ignorant stares.

“I’m sorry, Catherine,” Alvin said. “Sipper what?”

“The Secret Internet Protocol Router Network. It’s what the Government uses to transmit classified information over the Internet. The same Internet we use although a much more encrypted and security laden system to access hence these gizmos here.” Catherine patted a small stack of cable-rigged hardware. Tiny LEDs blinked red and green.

“What are those?” Oliver asked.

“Encryption devices. Set to Warren’s IP address to fool the system into thinking we’re him. Without them we get shut out and blocked.”

A second screen popped up. This one requested a security clearance PIN and numeric access code. Catherine entered the five digit PIN and followed it with the sixteen-digit code Warren had made her repeat until she was able to recite it without thinking.

“We are now going to attempt access to SIPRNet,” Catherine said plainly. She swallowed hard and pressed “Enter”.

“So, what then?” Oliver said, stepping forward, “You saying you’re able to connect to a government server via wireless? How can that be possible? The security risks of that must be astronomical.”

A pale blue filled the screen, that ubiquitous hourglass icon residing in the center of it all, working. Catherine spun in her chair toward Oliver.

“The way I understand it, there is no actual server. Only different series of computers connected together via a LAN. When you access that LAN you access the information stored on all the computers connected to it. And you’re right, the risks are huge. But I don’t think there’s much in the way of law enforcement left to do anything about it.”

With a brief smile she turned back to the monitor just as the screen switched to a generic welcome page, the drab colors and barren layout existing in stark contrast to its designation. A faint gray government seal filled the background.

“Is that it?” Josh asked.

“That’s it,” Catherine confirmed as she adjusted her chair to better face the computer.

“It looks just like the Internet,” Janet said.

“In effect, it is the Internet,” Catherine explained. “Other than the localized server system, the only other real difference is the web page extension. Whereas the public uses .com or .net and the like, SIPRNet utilizes a proprietary extension system of either .smil.mil or .sgov.gov.”

Catherine typed a long and character-laden web address in the search field then clicked on an arrow graphic to the right of the address bar. “Other than that it’s virtually the same. It uses the same browsers. It’s built on HTML, can send and receive e-mails and is able to upload and download via file transfer protocol. All just like the public Net.”

The screen flickered as the destination page loaded. A simple, cobalt blue hyperlink appeared dead center onscreen set against a jet-black background. The link read “4 Star Retreat”.

“Hey, that’s the name of our boat!” Tamara said excitedly.

“That’s right, sweetie,” Catherine said, a slight quiver in her voice. She navigated the cursor over the link and let it hover for a minute, the blue shifting instantaneously to bright red. Here it all was, she thought. Illumination with a click of a button. She knew Warren would have all the answers. Would be able to explain what had decimated the world and ruined everyone’s lives. He had been right all along, even in his overzealous preparation for a day that Catherine, quite frankly, thought was a paranoid delusion more reserved for doomsday militias and fanatic cults. And yet, here she was. And on the screen, there it was.

Catherine released the mouse and wiped her sweaty palms on her dingy pants.

“You all right, mom?” Josh asked.

She turned, forced a smile. “I’m fine.”

Then she clicked on the link.

16

Answers

A freeze-frame image of Warren filled the center portion of the screen, his pixilated visage residing inside a media player as the remaining movie to which it was attached continued to download at a snail’s pace.

Catherine unconsciously moved toward the screen, stared at this man who was her husband, yet bore little resemblance to the person she had kissed goodbye as he left for work so many weeks ago.

A natural athlete, Warren had always maintained a well-toned physique despite his infrequent trips to the gym or his aversion to sports. His full head of short-cropped hair complemented his strong jaw line as if he’d been constructed in a super hero laboratory somewhere. His hazel eyes always reflected honesty and his presence left no question as to his air of confidence.

But the figure on the computer in no way resembled that man.

“Is that...is that daddy?” Abby asked, her barely veiled shock representative of what everyone else was surely thinking.

“Yes, baby,” Catherine answered, covertly smearing away a tear before anyone could see it.

“Why does he look so different?” Tamara asked as Josh laid a reassuring hand on her shoulder.

“I don’t think it’s that he looks so different,” Catherine began, “but just that you haven’t seen him in so long.”

She had lied through her teeth. Warren’s appearance was anything but familiar. His full, whisker-free face had been replaced by a gaunt, sunken-cheeked person whom Catherine barely recognized. His modest but shaggy beard suggested he hadn’t met a razor in weeks. His perfectly trimmed hair was now lengthier and appeared to be finger-combed over his pate. Bags were clearly visible under his eyes and Catherine could only imagine the stress he lived under both in his job and the uncertainty of whether or not his family had survived.

Catherine aligned the cursor over the “play” arrow below Warren’s frozen face. The download status bar was far from complete, but Catherine could wait no longer.

With a swift click, Warren’s inanimate image suddenly became alive. Shifting and adjusting in a chair he stared into the camera, his movements only emphasizing his drawn and tired features. His hand reached toward the screen, corrected something on the camera as his image became sharper, clearer. Then he sat back and took a deep breath.

“Hello, Catherine,” he said. “Josh, Abby, Tamara? I hope you’re here as well.” Warren turned his head, his voice cracking with this last sentence. Tears glistened in his eyes as he fought to maintain composure. He looked again at the camera.

“Before I begin, I just want to tell you all how much I love you. Being away from all of you for so long, not knowing...” He stopped again, cleared his throat. “Not knowing if you made it or not has been the hardest thing I’ve ever encountered in my life. I can only imagine how it’s been for you.” Warren dabbed at his eyes with his sleeves.

“If you’re watching this, and I pray to God that you are, I know you have a million and one questions. And I’m going to do my best to answer all that I can for you. But I need you to listen very carefully to what I’m about to say: Time is running out. And it’s running out in a way you probably haven’t considered.”

Warren sat more upright, the urgency in his voice reflected in his posture. “I’m recording this message on September first. I’ve left other countless messages prior to this on this site, but removed them all after what we learned, leaving only one. This recording will replace that one when I’m finished. There...” Warren hung his head then looked back up. “There’s been a development.”

Concerned looks darted back and forth among Oliver, Janet and Alvin. Catherine reached blindly behind her and took Josh’s hand, Tamara and Abby grabbing at their mother’s hand as well. Madeline wrapped her arms around Shelby as Derrik glared at the screen indifferently.

“But I’m getting ahead of myself,” Warren continued. “I’ll be as brief as I can, but you need to know what you’re dealing with if you don’t already. So let me begin.” Again, he situated himself on the chair, this time leaning forward.

“Somewhere in the end of June or the first part of July, there was an event. For two months prior, a joint pharmacological research team consisting of members from America, the EU and Japan traveled to a remote part of the Amazon in the Campinas Indian Reserve of Brazil. They were there to assess the biotechnological possibilities of harvesting aspects of an indigenous poisonous tree frog, known locally as kambô. The medicinal properties of the slime that coated its skin were said to have been used to treat everything from sickness to lethargy and the prospects of utilizing it for the treatment of strokes, among other things, appeared promising and drew the attention of the international pharmacogenomic community. But then something started happening.

“At first they thought it was human error,” he continued. “But after a few more days they realized something bizarre was occurring. In tracking certain populations of the tree frogs, the scientists noticed wild swings in numbers; for several days there would be a sizeable, accountable population, then, just days later, a dramatic decrease with no evidence of migration or corpses. The scientists were truly puzzled. Then, as days progressed, they started hearing of similar accounts from local villagers, panicked at the sudden decline of other wildlife. Birds, certain species of monkeys, rodents. At this point, the team was convinced they had an anomaly. Perhaps a virulent biological strain. It was here the CDC and the World Health Organization was called in.” Warren cleared his throat, coughed once. The movie flickered for a moment then resumed.

“But they were just as mystified. Animals they tested showed no signs of disease and by all accounts, the jungle life appeared to be normal. Then the first person went missing.” Warren crossed his arms and wiped his palms on his sleeves. “A German scientist. There was no evidence of foul play or even a reason to suspect it since the local tribe had not only welcomed the research group but also sought to invite them in. He was never seen again. Villagers told of others in their tribe who had also vanished. Until one day when a group of children told of a demônio, or monster they had seen. Said it had exploded out of a man then gave birth to the same man.” Warren stared intently into the camera.

“Fucking tree frogs?” Oliver interjected with a nervous laugh.

Warren sat back, scratched absently at his scraggly face. “As we would eventually conclude, this tiny, remote village became ground zero. But ground zero to what? And where did it come from? This was unlike anything anyone had ever seen and before they could get an accurate grasp on how to manage it, had sent entire teams ranging from doctors to microbiologists to pathologists down to investigate. Even some from the field of nanotechnology.” Warren placed his hands over his mouth. He parted them slightly as if to allow the words to escape his lips. “This confluence of investigation, it turned out, was our undoing.” He seized a bottle of water from somewhere off-camera and drank deeply. He returned it quickly to its spot then eyed the camera, seemingly trying to decide where to resume.

“So that’s the history. The genesis. Now, I’ll tell you what we know.” Warren ran a splayed hand through his hair. “Once people began disappearing, certain non-essential team members were ordered back home. But they...they didn’t realize what they were carrying. It took a few days for us to narrow it down, but once we did...” He shifted unexpectedly, gestured animatedly as he spoke.

“This is not a virus. It’s not a bio-weapon, it’s not an alien invasion or even zombies for that matter. What we, and the rest of the world, are dealing with, quite simply, is a brand new organism. A life form. One with incredible strengths and debilitating weaknesses. Now, Catherine, I need you and the kids to pay close attention to what I’m going to tell you because it could save your lives. We’ve been studying variants of this species intensively for weeks now and have gathered some valuable data that can aid in our defense against them.

“This organism, this species, under the right circumstances, would otherwise be unstoppable. They can easily contaminate a subject. A simple touch from one of these afflicted beings would constitute an infection, initiating an incubation process which can range anywhere from twenty-two to twenty-three hours, depending on the size of the individual. Tiny eggs or spores are suspended in the secretion that’s emitted by the contaminated host, it being able to penetrate the subcutaneous layers easily and begin a rapid, accelerated life cycle once it hits the bloodstream. As a side effect, it has been well documented that sleep or severe drowsiness immediately accompanies the initial infection, although there have been reports of people suffering little to no symptoms with minimal contact. But make no mistake—they are still just as infected. Do not let one of these things touch you. As of now, there is no known cure.”

Looks of anxiety passed among the group as they crowded around the computer monitor.

Warren checked his watch then resumed. “What exactly happens next in the process is still a little unclear. But if you’ve had the unfortunate instance to witness or even hear of what occurs then you know the horrific suffering a person endures when one of these things is born, and I use the word ‘born’ loosely. How it’s even possible is a study for a future time, that something so large could emerge out of something so small as a human. But the working theory is to think of them like a dried sponge just as it hits warm water. The sudden introduction to liquid—in our case oxygenated blood—causes a rapid expansion where the sponge can more than double in size. We believe a similar process is taking place at the time of birth. For when the incubation period is over...” Warren exhaled heavily and rubbed his face with his palm. “I hope for your sake you never have to see what I’ve seen. No living thing should ever have to suffer in this way. If you’ve been fortunate enough to be spared this grisly sight then I won’t fill your heads with the horrendous details. Suffice it to say, stay away from these things at all costs and under no circumstances allow them to come into contact with you. I repeat, stay away. This also includes animals.

“Now, I told you these things are exceptionally adaptable. But there’s a startling and revelatory weakness they have: Light. They absolutely must be in direct contact with it. They especially thrive on light that contains ultraviolet radiation, specifically UVA and UVB. The sun is a natural emitter of ultraviolet radiation but there is another source out there that can provide it in the form of full spectrum lighting. While they can survive on standard incandescent and fluorescent light, it’s in a highly weakened state, the preferred source being light containing UV. We’ve received stories of these things keeping themselves alive through the night by rigging these specialized lights in warehouses and homes, effectively turning them into light farms. We’ve even heard reports of them affixing lights to vehicles so they can remain mobile at night, powering them from portable generators or car batteries. They cannot survive without it.”

“Now he tells us,” Josh kidded to receptive chuckles.

Warren breathed in deeply, slowed his speech. “These things can assume the physical presence of any living thing. However, it’s our belief that they also inherit the conscious and subconscious state of the subject, meaning most animals, insects and fish will probably pose little threat since they lack a higher consciousness and exist primarily on instinct. Most of the infected in these groups will be born and die on the same day since they will most likely have no understanding of what it will take to survive. But humans, humans are a different story. While it does seem to take quite some time for full cognition to be reached after birth, once it’s achieved everything the victim knew up to the minute of impregnation—memories, education, secrets—is apparently transferred to its replica.” Warren leaned forward slightly. “You can imagine the ramifications of this.”

Warren checked his watch again. He scooted forward on his seat and clutched his hands, resting his forearms on his knees. “I mentioned earlier that I’m recording this message on September first. This is important and I pray with every ounce of faith I have that you’re able to receive it in time. But the word has come down. And the international powers that be are all in agreement.” Warren cleared his throat briefly then began speaking, his words accelerating as if to emphasize their urgency.

“We’ve tried everything we know to try and find a way to eradicate this species. From genetic manipulations in preventing the conception itself to post-infected abortions, if you will, but nothing has come even close. The incubation still continues. The only thing—the only thing,” Warren said, enunciating exaggeratedly, “that reduces them to dust is the absence of light, particularly ultraviolet rays. So it’s with this single shield of knowledge that the unanimous decision has been made.” Warren sighed heavily. Tears seemed to form in his eyes as he stared straight at the camera.

“The go-ahead has been given for a full nuclear assault—”

The room erupted in instantaneous protest.

“A nuclear attack?” Alvin shouted.

“Are they serious?” Oliver added.

Madeline hugged Shelby close as Janet stormed away from the monitor. Warren’s image continued to speak indecipherably beneath the furor.

“That’s their answer?” Janet railed. “To blow everything up? Jesus H. Christ Almighty. Why doesn’t he just tell us to shoot ourselves for fuck’s sake?”

Catherine leaned into the computer, struggled to make out Warren’s message. She wrapped an arm around Tamara as she slid close to her.

“So how are they planning to inform everyone of this?” Oliver queried rhetorically. “It’s not like they can just send an e-mail or advertise on the radio.”

“They’re not. Assholes,” Alvin spat. “There’s your government for you. Shitting on the little people as usual.”

“What are we supposed to do then, huh?” Madeline said, real fear in her voice. “Where do we go?”

“I don’t know,” Janet said. “But I sure as shit ain’t gonna sit here and wait for it to happen.”

Catherine got to her feet, her chair inadvertently toppling from underneath her and crashing to the floor, silencing everyone.

“Look,” she started, “let’s just finish listening to what Warren has to say. All right? Then we’ll figure out a strategy. Agreed?”

Scowling heads nodded their approval. Catherine pulled her chair back up to the table and sat, queuing the video back to its pre-outburst position. Warren’s image mouthed words in reverse as Catherine adjusted the slider on the media player.

Then she hit play.

“—given for a full nuclear assault, the targets for which are still being determined. This assault will not be an attack on our cities but rather an attempt...an attempt to generate a nuclear winter.”

“They’re gonna try and smoke them out,” Josh said.

“Damn right, they are,” Oliver agreed.

“As we speak, targets with little to no population densities are being selected and each country will launch inside their own borders to maintain sovereignty. With enough worldwide detonations, we can—and unfortunately must—block out the sun. These things are clever but we theorize that even they won’t be able to exist in a lasting darkness for that amount of time. And the knowledge they’ve gained from the innumerable hosts they’ve claimed doesn’t seem to have yielded any great gains in terms of technological advances such as the ability to operate a power plant. At least not yet. Which is why the need to act as soon as possible becomes all the more urgent. The only goal of this species—the only goal—is propagation. It doesn’t matter who and it doesn’t matter how. Just that its existence continues. And it will do so relentlessly until the last breath.” Warren exhaled heavily. “If you’d seen the results of the experiments we’ve run, you’d understand.”

Dead silence met the pause in Warren’s speech as all eyes remained fixed on the screen and all mouths remained closed.

“September fifteenth,” Warren choked out. “That is the final date. For them. For us. For everything. Our launch time, for the mountain/central time zone, oddly, is noon. High noon,” he repeated, as if attempting to reinforce the peculiarity. He clasped his hands together in front of him. “Catherine, there is so much more I want to tell you. And so much I want to hear from you and Josh, Abby and Tamara. But if you are watching this right now, if you are still...alive, then I’ll save those words for when we are all together again.”

Catherine’s eyes filled with tears, mimicking her husband who also welled up as he spoke.

“You are a strong, independent and determined woman. If you’ve made it this far then I have no doubt you can make it the rest of the way. Maybe I never told you enough, or even ever for that matter, but I am and have always been both honored and proud to call you my wife.”

Catherine swiped her face as tears squirted down her cheeks. Abby moved up behind her and put her arms around Catherine’s neck, Catherine immediately clutching her forearm.

“Josh, Abby, Tamara, I know this has all been exceptionally hard on all of you. It’s been hard on all of us. I’ve talked to plenty of parents here who are in the same situation as I am, where we’ve no idea as to the status of our family or their whereabouts. But we have something in our corner that those other families don’t have. And that’s your mother. Listen to her and do as she asks. Not just because she’s your mother, but because she truly is the one person I can trust to bring you all back to me.”

Abby stared at the screen, allowing a single tear to spill from her eye. Tamara nuzzled in beside Catherine, crying with both eyes.

Warren dabbed at his face with his palms, then straightened himself. “When I’m finished, do not disconnect. I’ve programmed my system to automatically detect your true IP address and transfer the coordinates of my location to your system. A folder should appear on your desktop bearing my name. Everything you’ll need to find me is in it. I wish I didn’t have to be so cloak and dagger with this information but the risks of interception are too great. Which brings me to something else. Catherine, even though we discussed notifying me of your status via e-mail once you arrived at the shelter, recent events have forced the closure of all e-mail accounts except for the topmost commanders. I’m sorry, but I just don’t have the clearance to that level of encryption. I wished to God I did.” Warren exhaled heavily. “As I said before, these things are clever and their knowledge base, so it would appear, is growing and ever reaching.”

He opened his mouth to say something else then seemed to change his mind in mid-thought. “So that’s it then,” he said finally. “I can’t wait to see you all again. I wish...” He trailed off, his mouth closing. Instead, he only smiled and nodded.

“I love you,” he managed. “See you soon.”

The screen cut to black.

The room remained silent. Everyone drifted slowly away from the computer as they processed what they had just heard.

Madeline and Shelby stood in an embrace staring blankly ahead as Oliver and Alvin wandered aimlessly and scratched at their respective facial stubble. Janet journeyed to the far side of the room, her eyes fixed on the floor. Catherine spun in her chair and hugged her daughters fiercely, each girl collapsing into their mother’s arms. Josh laid a reassuring hand on the back of his sisters as he stared over at Derrick who simply looked back, his unblemished face revealing nary an iota of emotion.

“They’re going to blow up the world?” Madeline said ruefully.

“What else can they do?” Josh said. “These things are smart and have lasted this long. They’re only going to get more resilient.”

“But the fifteenth?” stammered Oliver. “Jesus, that’s only four days away.”

“Then we better get moving,” Janet said from across the room. “So where’re we going?”

Catherine peered from over Tamara’s shoulder at Janet, the recollection that information was forthcoming shooting into her like a lightning bolt. She jolted upright, released Tamara and Abby and turned back to her computer. Grabbing the mouse she quickly navigated back to her desktop.

A single folder labeled “Warren” rested in the middle of the screen. Catherine slid the arrow icon over the top of it and clicked.

Pages of information popped onscreen: Maps, potential travel routes, “infestation” data with lists of cities and their purported populations, survival tips and even simplified tutorials on how to hotwire and operate certain types of heavy machinery from big rigs to a tank, if necessary.

But the perusal of this information would have to wait. For as eager eyes scanned the data on the monitor, a pair of shadows trailed down the outside stairwell unnoticed. And by the time Derrik whipped his head in their direction, the sound of his machine gun being cocked wrenched everyone from their hopeful pursuit of escape and plunged them back into the reality in which they lived.

Turning their heads in unison, the fear that captivated the group suddenly intensified when the utterance of five words cut through the air like a hot scalpel through butter.

“Hello, is anyone down there?”

17

Visitors

They were filthy and clearly hadn’t seen a bath let alone a wet washcloth in days. And judging by the way they tore into the MREs Catherine had tossed them, probably hadn’t met with much in the way of sustenance either.

The young man’s name was Sean McAndrews, a fairly handsome twenty-three year old who still retained a muscular physique despite the tissue loss he most assuredly suffered due to malnutrition. Sitting beside him was his girlfriend, Leanne Torril, a lithe figure in baggy clothing, her long, stringy hair pulled back in a haphazard ponytail revealing a face that was now pretty only in the simplest of ways.

At the initial sound of their voices, Derrik, Alvin and Janet had warily confronted the couple from the bottom of the stairwell at gunpoint. Scared, tired and weak to the point of shakiness, it was apparent to all involved that the pair were very likely not New Humans.

It had been Janet’s idea to invite them down. The resistance to this suggestion had been instantaneous, but Catherine backed her logic reminding everyone that New Humans not only craved ultraviolet light, but also needed it to live. And when the young couple descended the stairs, stepping out of the sunlight and into the darkened stairwell without a moment’s hesitation and despite the presence of several automatic weapons pointed in their face, it was clear they posed no threat.

Catherine’s maternal instinct kicked in at the sight of the sorry looking pair. Dirty and bedraggled, it didn’t take a doctor to diagnose the poor condition in which the two found themselves. Handing each of them an MRE of chicken and pasta and a bottle of water, Catherine watched, along with the rest of the room, in a peculiar silence as the starved youths tore into their meals. The sound of their lips smacking was the only noise to fill the air.

Sean finished his in record time, scooping up the sauce with his fingers and licking the inside of the container. He cracked the lid on his water and took three hefty gulps before setting the bottle on the floor. He looked up at Catherine.

“Thank you,” he said, his voice gravelly and dry. “All of you. Thank you for this.”

Leanne looked up and nodded profusely, her mouth stuffed with a serving of noodles.

“Glad we could help,” Catherine responded.

Sean’s eyes danced over the amply stocked shelves. “May I...I mean would it be okay if—”

“Would you like another?” Catherine interrupted, immediately crossing to the food shelves.

“Please,” Sean said. “If you can spare it.”

“Not at all. We’ve plenty,” Catherine said as she snatched two more MREs, this time beef roast with potatoes and vegetables.

Sean accepted the meals graciously then, once in possession, ripped into one with abandon.

“You should try and eat slow if possible,” Janet said, sitting a short distance away on a backward facing chair.

Sean and Leanne looked up at her.

“You don’t want to make yourselves sick. I’m assuming it’s been some time since your last meal?”

Sean visibly willed himself to chew slower, placing smaller portions in his mouth. “You could say that,” he said in between bites. “We ran out of food a long time ago. Been doing what we could to live off the land up here, but...” Sean glanced over at Leanne and smiled a little. “We’re city people. We just came up for a weekend to unplug after finals. We didn’t realize at the time...” Sean let his head drop. His eyes searched the floor. “Let’s just say neither of us expected to have to become Grizzly Adams to survive.”

“Amen to that,” Oliver said softly from a cot on which he sat.

“Where were you camping?” Catherine asked.

Leanne swallowed with effort. “Our initial site was in a park just outside of Rockway, but that was weeks ago. Maybe months.”

“Rockway?” Alvin said. “I know where that is. That’s thirty to forty miles north of here. Have you come all this way on foot?”

“I suppose so,” Sean said somewhat surprised. “Once we heard the warnings to stay out of the city, we just made the decision to stay put until our food ran low.” He scooped another handful of potatoes. “Once it started dwindling we had to go in search. We must’ve just wound our way down here.”

Alvin extended his hand. “Well, you’ve come a long way my friend. Welcome back to the world. Or what’s left of it anyway.”

Sean grinned between chews as he shook Alvin’s hand. “Thanks. It’s good to see people again.”

“Didn’t you have a car?” Josh asked bluntly.

Sean and Leanne exchanged irritated glances. “We did,” Sean said. “But on the third day after the evacuation announcement we came back to our campsite from a day of scavenging to find our gas tank siphoned. I guess we should be happy they left what little food we had. Sons of bitches.” Sean looked up quickly at everyone. “Oh, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean...”

“Oh, please,” Janet assured. “If that’s the worst you’ve got to say about it all then it’s probably going to be us who apologize to you. Trust me when I tell you that this lot could make a group of truck drivers blush with the words that come out of our mouths. And that’s when we’re being nice.”

Sean smiled wide, exposing his perfect teeth. Leanne chortled, spewing small pieces of food despite the hand placed over her mouth.

Sean shoveled two quick scoops of pot roast into his mouth then chewed, almost seeming to savor the food.

“Can I ask you all a question?” he said after swallowing.

“Shoot,” Catherine replied.

“What...what exactly happened?”

Leanne stopped chewing, as if the answer to Sean’s question held more importance then feeding herself.

“I mean, we know that we were supposed to stay out of the city,” he continued. “And that we were supposed to stay away from certain types of people, but we never learned who or why.” Sean let his hands rest in his lap. “All we had with us was a radio and when we lost the handful of signals we were able to get up here, thought it best to wait it out until...”

Catherine nodded to Sean’s trailing sentence, fully comprehending his meaning.

“What made you decide to stick your head down our stairwell?” Janet said. “Being that you knew you were supposed to stay away from people and all. Surely you must’ve thought you’d encounter someone.”

“Of course. But you get hungry enough,” Leanne started, tears forming in her eyes, “you’ll do just about anything.”

Catherine walked over to her computer desk and dragged over a chair, placing it directly in front of Sean and Leanne. She sat facing them.

“The good news is you stumbled upon the right group of people.” Catherine said. “You’ll be safe here and you’re more than welcome to stay with us.”

Leanne burst into tears, her quivering hand trying valiantly to stifle loud cries. Sean dabbed at his eyes, allowed his head to fall gratefully as he exhaled with complete emotion.

“There is, however, some bad news,” Catherine said. “You should prepare yourselves.”

Sean and Leanne sat motionless as Catherine shared in ten minutes all she had learned and experienced in the past months. She told of the tree frogs and the series of events that led to the infestation of the planet. She told of her husband and all that she and her family had been through right up to this particular moment. But most importantly she spoke of the New Humans. And if asked, couldn’t say with certainty whether or not Sean or Leanne so much as took a breath as she spoke.

When she was finished, the two could only stare ahead blankly, as if they had just witnessed a horrific car crash.

“So that’s why you made us come downstairs,” Sean posited. “To see if we would react to lack of sunlight.”

“That’s right,” Catherine said. “If you were one of those things we’d have known immediately.”

“And trust us, it’s something you’ll never want to see,” Janet added. “Just never let one of those things touch you and you’ll be okay.”

Sean set aside his empty food container.

“These New Humans,” he started, swallowing with effort, “when they infect a person, does the infected person also react to sunlight.”

“What do you mean?” Catherine asked.

Sean adjusted himself in his chair uneasily. “I mean, if a person becomes infected, in that twenty-two to twenty-three hour incubation period you mentioned, would the infected person be affected in the same way as one of the New Humans if he or she was removed from the light?”

Catherine blinked then looked at Janet. Alvin and Oliver glanced at one another then turned to Madeline then trained their eyes back on Catherine.

“Shit,” Oliver said.

“Indeed,” Catherine agreed, chewing her thumbnail absentmindedly. She looked up at Sean. “I guess the answer is, we don’t have any idea. But I have to assume that if someone is infected they would share the same traits as a New Human, even if it’s on a much smaller scale.”

Sean leaned back and exhaled a sigh of relief. He ran a hand through greasy, tousled hair.

“Why do you ask?” Janet said, suddenly curious.

“What happened to your arm,” Tamara’s thin voice asked from behind Catherine.

Sean glanced at his raised forearm where a purple and brown bruise exposed itself just below the wrist.

“Just the result of a mild altercation that’s all. It’s fine,” Sean said, offering an unconvincing smile to Tamara.

“What altercation?” Janet asked, rising to her feet. Derrik lowered his machine gun from its resting place on his shoulder into his hands.

Sean’s eyes darted back and forth between the two. “This morning,” he began. “Leanne and I found a small town a few miles up the road. Parkersville, I think.”

Catherine subconsciously rose to her feet as well. Concern filled Sean’s eyes. Fear engulfed Leanne.

“What happened in Parkersville, Sean,” Catherine said.

“Nothing really,” Sean stammered. “We were just looking for some food. You know, going through some houses and a convenience store, trying to find something.”

Sean glanced from person to person wearing a hopeful expression that seemed to plead for an end to the interrogation. But the closed mouths and gaping eyes that met his gaze wanted more.

“We didn’t see them coming,” Leanne said, taking over. “There were two of them. One man and a woman. We were coming out of a gas station when they attacked Sean.”

Catherine stepped back at this revelation. With her arms outstretched she shuffled her children backward as she stepped.

“Did they touch you?” Catherine said pointedly.

“Sean managed to get away from them. And then we ran as fast as we could—”

“She asked if any of them touched you,” Janet demanded, her hand slowly working its way toward the nine millimeter tucked into her belt.

“It...it was really fast. I saw them out of the corner of my eye as we left the store.” Perspiration broke on Sean’s face. “The man, he reached for me and got my arm, but I pulled away in an instant and then Leanne and I ran until we couldn’t see—”

“Jesus Christ,” Janet said as she pulled the gun from her belt.

Sean sprang to his feet, hands held out in a gesture of panicked protest. But Derrik had already stepped forward, the muzzle of his weapon raised and pointed at Sean’s head.

“Whoa, whoa!” Sean yelled as he found his chair again. Leanne whimpered beside him. “Look, I know what you all think, but, but I have a long-sleeved shirt on. That man, when he grabbed me he grabbed me on my shirt. Here, like this.” Sean demonstrated by wrapping his left hand around his right wrist over the top of his cuff. “It was just like that so, please...put the guns down.”

“But they could’ve touched you,” Catherine said, sadly calm.

“I don’t know, I...I guess so, but I don’t think so,” Sean tried to defend. “It was really fast. I mean his hand was on my wrist and I yanked it away, then we were gone. You understand?”

Sean’s eyes watered, moving from person to person in a silent plea for mercy.

“Yes, Sean,” Catherine said. “I understand.” She rubbed her temples wearily and glanced over at Janet who stared back. With a subtle nod, Janet raised her weapon and pointed it at Leanne.

“I’m sorry you guys. I really am,” Janet said.

Catherine edged her children away from the scene, beyond the perimeter of weapons and fear so only Janet and Derrik stood before Sean and Leanne.

“Wait a minute,” Sean stuttered. “Just wait! You...you can’t just kill us. My God, we could be all right. I mean, Jesus, they never even touched Leanne!”

“But have you touched her since?” Catherine asked.

Sean opened his mouth to speak, but froze. He looked at Leanne then back up at Catherine. “I...I don’t know.”

“Look, no one’s going to kill you,” Catherine said, earning a look from Janet. “But if what we think’s happened has, then...then you may prefer it.”

Leanne blubbered uncontrollably. “So what’re you going to do with us?”

“For now, you’ll be quarantined. At least until the incubation period passes.” Catherine looked at her watch. “What time did this happen today? And be as precise as you can. Every minute can matter.”

Sean searched the floor, blinking and visibly struggling to remember. “I don’t know for sure. Maybe eight. Eight-thirty.”

“Are you sure?” Janet added, her gun arm still extended.

Sean looked at Leanne’s wet face, into her moist eyes and met no contradiction. “I’m pretty sure.”

Catherine nodded, then held up her wrist to look at her watch. “Let’s play it safe and assume nine. If by eight o’clock tomorrow morning nothing’s happened, then I think we can safely assume you’re all right.”

“And if something has happened?” Leanne choked out.

“You don’t want to know, sweetie,” Catherine answered softly. “But for right now, let’s all go back topside and I’ll tell you what we’re gonna do.” Catherine turned her head and stared directly at Alvin. “And I’m sorry to say, that means you too, Alvin.”

Alvin snapped his head in Catherine’s direction so fast his bones cracked. He saw the seriousness in her features, his eyes dancing over the faces of the remaining group, coming to rest on Janet. He witnessed the initial shock in her eyes quickly transform to reluctant acceptance.

“Fuck you,” he spat. “Fuck you all.” He raised his rifle and pointed it toward Janet.

Derrik shifted his weight instantaneously, swinging his own rifle until it trained on Alvin’s sternum.

“Take it easy, Alvin,” Janet said eerily relaxed. “You don’t want to do anything stupid.”

“I’m not going up there with them. I’m not! There’s nothing wrong with me!”

“You shook his hand, Alvin,” Catherine explained. “You shook his hand.”

Alvin’s bulging eyes jittered in his skull as he looked about wildly, seeming to recall. He stared at Catherine through tear-filled eyes. Then he lowered his weapon.

Janet lowered hers as well, but Derrik maintained his stance, rock steady.

“Come on,” Catherine said in as maternal a voice as she could muster. “Let’s go wait this thing out.”

Rising to their feet, Sean and Leanne walked on shaky legs toward the stairs, the fear palpable in their faces and in their gait.

Alvin stood for a long moment staring into nothingness. When he snapped out of his trance he found Janet by his side, standing with a proximity that would cause most people to shudder. He smiled forcibly at her then trudged after the young couple already ascending the stairs.

18

The Life of Sean

It was six fifteen in the morning. Everyone was dog-tired, but no one could bring themselves to sleep. Least of all the three poor souls tied to stakes in the clearing.

Madeline and Shelby had graciously offered to prepare a large meal fit for a king the night before, arguing that food was often a good distraction from crappy situations. And despite everyone’s preoccupation with the enormous elephant in the room, the meal had served as a welcome distraction even, at times, bordering on festive as everyone gathered around a warm fire and stuffed themselves silly.

Catherine felt terrible as she watched Alvin, Sean and Leanne try to eat while wearing makeshift handcuffs fashioned from heavy-duty zip-ties. She knew these restraints were necessary despite her strong intuition that these were all genuinely good and decent people. But when death portended a call, she knew, deep down, a person would do anything to evade it. And that’s a risk she wasn’t willing to take.

After the dinner and late night chats that followed, the majority of the group retired to the comfort of the shelter. Only Catherine and Janet decided to stay above ground until it was all over.

They had provided the three incapacitated individuals with ample and warm sleeping gear, everything from sleeping bags to blankets and pillows to extra layers of clothing if desired.

Catherine had spent the last hour talking to Leanne in an effort to keep her awake at the girl’s request. But even though a valiant effort was made, the scared young woman finally succumbed to the crushing weight of sleep.

Sean was staring absently into the fire as the first glimpse of daybreak began to leech into the night sky behind him.

Rising from her position beside Leanne, Catherine peeked over at Alvin. Janet had stayed with him the entire time, offering him reassurances and just plain engaging him in the hopes of diverting his attention elsewhere. But deep-rooted fear was all over his face, worn like a masque during Carnivale.

Sitting herself mere feet away from Sean, Catherine outstretched her hands toward the fire. Sean regarded her for a moment then turned his gaze back to the flames.

“Aren’t you worried about catching my cooties?” he said humorlessly.

“Not really,” Catherine said.

“Those your kids down there?” Sean nodded to the stairwell.

“Yeah. They are. Tamara, she’s the smallest, Abby, every bit the teenage princess and Josh, the newly anointed man of the house.”

Sean grinned. “They seem like good kids. You must be really proud. Especially considering...”

“Yeah,” Catherine said solemnly. “I am.” She rubbed her hands together vigorously. “What about you? Any brothers and sisters?”

“One brother. Older. He’s a middle management superhero for Compaq computers tech support in Dallas. At least he was.”

“Youch. That sounds like a heck of a way to live.”

Sean nodded, his grin working into a smile. “I said the same thing. The messed up part about it is that he absolutely loves it. The monotony, the day-to-day tedium. All of it. I told him I thought it seemed boring, but he only said that what’s boring to me is dependable for him. He never did like surprises much.”

“It’s a good philosophy,” Catherine said. “If only we could all approach life with a more contented attitude like your brother.”

Sean looked over at Catherine. “Yeah.”

“Have you heard if he’s...okay?”

Sean shook his head and returned to the fire. “I haven’t seen him since the week before Leanne and I came on this camping trip from hell.” He scratched at his oily hair. “Jesus, why didn’t I bring my phone with me?”

Catherine looked to the ground, picked up a twig and tossed it into the flames. “So what’s the story with you and Leanne? She seems like a really nice girl. Told me she was studying to become a respiratory therapist.”

“That’s Leanne for you. As long as I’ve known her she’s wanted to help people. She’s always volunteering for some organization or another. Tutoring at school.” Sean peered through the fire at Leanne who slept soundly. “She’s going to be a good mother someday. I just hope she gets the chance.” He adjusted the chain wrapped around his ankle and sat forward, resting his forearms on his knees. “Seems like she could learn a lot from you.”

Catherine’s eyebrows rose in an incredulous arc. “Me? That’s very sweet of you to say, but I’d hardly win any mother-of-the-year awards.”

Sean straightened. “Now why do you say that?”

Catherine glanced in the direction of the shelter as if to verify no one was within earshot then turned back to Sean.

“Let’s just say that three months ago we had a very different family dynamic.” Sean blinked, waited for Catherine to continue. “Take Josh, for instance. At the time, he was barely speaking to anyone, let alone me. Just kind of kept to himself, either locked in his room or out somewhere with the few friends he had.

“And then there’s Abby. If there were ever a poster child for teenage angst or drama queen her picture would fit prominently in the center of it all. She’d pretty much resigned herself to the notion long ago that mom was ‘stupid’ and that she knew better than anyone what was best for her. I can’t recall a day that went by that didn’t involve a fight or altercation of some kind.” Catherine stared into the glowing orange coals. “And now I’ve come to find out she’s three months pregnant.”

Sean jerked involuntarily at this.

Catherine looked at him. “Some mothering, huh?”

“You can’t watch your kids every second of every day, Catherine. Eventually they will have to make decisions of their own. Even if they’re bad ones.”

Catherine nodded. “The only one that seemed to really need me was Tamara. But she’s only a couple years out from going solo herself. Not in the same way Abby did, mind you, but the end result would’ve been the same. She’s a bright little girl and her personality wins people over immediately. It would’ve just been a matter of time before I would’ve become irrelevant to her too.”

Sean rested back on his forearms. “But isn’t that the natural order of things? We all grow up. We move on and strike out on our own. It’s what’s supposed to happen.”

“Maybe you’re right,” Catherine said. “Or maybe I’m just clinging too strongly to a different time when I actually felt like I had more purpose.”

“Your children are here with you, Catherine. And everyone’s safe. If there was ever a time in your life where you served a greater purpose, seriously, I’d like to know what it was.”

Catherine gazed at Sean. “Thank you for that.”

“My pleasure.”

Sean continued to stare into the fire as Catherine scrutinized his young face. He was a boy really, not that much different from Josh. His face could barely support a beard, the sparse hair that grew in random clumps only emphasizing his youth. She imagined that he was probably a popular boy. His looks were certainly appealing, but it was his old-soul demeanor that had truly impressed Catherine. Even in the short amount of time she’d had to speak with him, she could tell he possessed keen insight and a willingness to listen and offer perspective. And this all while the looming potential of death approached with each passing minute of the rising sun.

“Can I ask you a question?” Sean said.

“Of course.”

“If something should happen, I mean, if it does, what exactly occurs?”

Catherine swallowed dryly. “Oh, sweetie, I’d really rather not—”

“Please,” Sean interrupted. “I need to know.”

Catherine stared into his eyes and saw the yearning that resided there. This was a boy—no, a man—who wanted to face his fear head on. Didn’t want to just hope for the best but prepare for the worst. And with that, Catherine’s admiration grew.

Sean turned himself to better face Catherine. She knew he deserved an answer, but desperately wanted to avoid the horrors of the truth. This was somebody’s brother, after all. Somebody’s boyfriend. A mother’s son. And, Heaven forbid, if Josh were unfortunate enough to be caught in the same situation, Catherine hoped the person that stood over him would do as she was about to do now.

And that was lie.

“It’s actually quite painless,” Catherine started, her voice catching in her throat. “You, uh, feel a sensation then you just sort of fall asleep.”

Sean’s bulging eyes remained unblinking. “A sensation? Where exactly will I feel it?”

Catherine fed the Lie Monster some more fresh meat.

“In the throat. We’ve heard it feels like a tickle then...”

Sean nodded, understanding completely. “Okay,” he said, exhaling powerfully. “Okay.”

“Why?” Catherine said, her voice rising in pitch and volume. “Is your throat bothering you?”

“No, no, it’s fine.” Sean leaned back, pushed a thumb into his sternum. “Just my gut a little. A bit of reflux from dinner is all. Must’ve had too much dehydrated apple cobbler.” He grinned earnestly.

Catherine forced a smile as a tear escaped one eye. She batted at it, feigning a flying insect. She discreetly checked her watch.

Six forty-eight.

Damn, she thought. Damn!

Sean sat up, tried to push on his chest with the end of a closed fist.

“Wow,” he said, his face squinching in clear discomfort. “This is really starting to burn. Do you have a Tums or Rolaids I could get?”

Catherine unconsciously edged away from Sean. “Sure. I’ll find you some.” But she didn’t budge.

Sean doubled over now, digging the tips of all four fingers into his stomach.

“Jesus Christ,” he muttered. “Something isn’t right. I’ve never felt this before.” His eyes slammed shut as a wave of pain surged through him. “Shit. What the hell is happening? What the hell is—”

Sean wrenched his neck to look up at Catherine. And when his eyes met hers, his face dropped like a ton of bricks.

He knew.

It was a look Catherine would never forget. One of betrayal, fear, shock and absolute horror all rolled into one.

At some point she had risen to her feet and backed a few steps away as Sean clutched at his abdomen with both hands.

“Ah, fuck!” he screamed as he fell off the bench and onto his side. He writhed on the ground in unbelievable pain.

Janet spun in an instant from Alvin at the commotion. She jumped to her feet and rocketed over to where Catherine stood, grasping a shotgun in one hand.

Leanne roused dizzily, almost drunkenly, from her brief sleep. Confused and disoriented, she squinted her eyes at the rising sun when the sounds of Sean’s screams propelled her into full cognition. Her eyes sprung open as she climbed laboriously to her feet.

“Sean?” She could see him clearly, lying on the ground, twisting in the earth. His arms were wrapped around himself tightly, his head lurching about uncontrollably.

“Sean!” Leanne screamed. She ran toward him until the length of chain that bound her would allow no further ground. “Sean!” she screamed again.

Janet flew to Catherine’s side, watched as Sean continued to suffer. His legs kicked involuntarily, the tendons in his neck rising like guitar strings.

“What time is it?” Janet asked, panting slightly.

“Time enough,” Catherine replied simply. She allowed tears to stream down her cheeks as Sean hollered in agonizing pain.

“Sean!” Leanne shrieked. “Jesus Christ, somebody fucking help him!” She yanked fiercely at her chain to no avail.

Catherine turned to Janet and nodded. Janet nodded back then raised her shotgun. With white knuckled intensity she clutched the fore-end of the gun then pumped. She pointed it at Sean’s head.

“Go in peace,” Janet whispered. Then she pulled the trigger.

Click.

Catherine’s eyes grew as wide as dinner plates as Janet pumped the rifle again. An unfired shotgun shell flung from the ejection port and somersaulted to the ground. Janet retrained her weapon at Sean and fired.

Click.

“Janet, come on!” Catherine cried through tears.

“I’m trying!” Janet pumped and fired again to the same result. “Shit. The first was a dud and now I’m out!”

“Well, get some more for God’s sake, hurry!” Catherine screamed.

“Damn it,” Janet hissed as she charged for the shelter stairs and disappeared below.

Sean howled unbelievably. His arms suddenly flung backward, his hands twisting into contorted knots. His face screwed into a look of unrelenting pain as he gnashed his teeth like someone undergoing electroshock therapy.

Catherine never felt more helpless in her life. At least when she and her children were attacked, there was something to be done. A fight to be had. A way to assail the assailant. But now, on this chilly forest morning, all she could do was bear witness to the immense torture and imminent death of a promising young man and there wasn’t a damn thing she could do about it.

Sean flopped onto his back, arching it in ways that bordered on impossibility. Guttural gurgling sounds escaped his throat. His hands clawed at the earth, blood oozing from split fingernails.

Leanne screamed repeatedly, the sheer terror in her voice enough to draw gooseflesh. She threw herself against her restraints tirelessly, yelled at Catherine through snot and tears, beseeching her to do to something, anything.

Time seemed to slow for Catherine, as if she had slipped into some form of suspended animation where she was made to endure interminably the sickening death throes of a man who, minutes ago, had successfully managed to help prop back up her ego. All that made her human yearned to reach out to Sean. To snatch him up and cradle him in her arms. To reassure him that everything was going to be okay even though they both would know this was the farthest thing from the truth.

Then she heard the sounds.

At first Catherine thought it might be someone traipsing through the woods toward her, clumsily crashing through dead and dried branches. But a quick assessment would direct her to a different source. And as she found herself staring back down at Sean, fought the urge to vomit with every fiber of her being.

Sean’s chest rose and fell in quick, violent bursts. Loud, muted cracking, like bamboo soaked in water, sounded with each sudden inflation of his chest cavity. Catherine could only assume the noise she was hearing was the breaking of his ribs.

The force with which Sean screamed would haunt Catherine for the remainder of her days. Ungodly howls that seemed to redefine pain.

Alvin paced like a caged panther. He watched Sean with the fearful eyes of a man who saw his own future and desperately wished for a different outcome.

Oliver appeared at the top the stairs, followed shortly by Josh, Shelby and Madeline. Catherine imagined the screaming had probably roused everyone, the curiosity too strong to pass up. But it wasn’t until seconds later when Tamara’s head poked above the surface that Catherine abandoned any semblance of calm and grace.

Whirling in the direction of the shelter, Catherine stormed toward her children, shouting hysterically. “Get the hell back downstairs right now! Right now! And don’t come back up, no matter what you hear!”

Tamara vanished instantly; Josh and Shelby retreated slowly back below ground.

“And tell Janet to hurry the hell up!”

“Caaaaaaaaath-riiiiinnne,” Sean drawled painfully. “Heeeeelp mmmeeeeeee.”

Catherine ran back over to Sean, stopping shy of him by ten feet. She fell to her knees and reached out, gesturing to him in a calming manner, her open hands rising up and down like the soft lulling of a waveless tide.

“Shhhh. I know sweetheart. I know.” Tears poured from Catherine’s eyes. Her lip quivered uncontrollably. “It’ll be over soon. I promise.”

Sean’s legs jolted rail straight. His arms pounded the ground involuntarily. Sickening sounds like dropped eggs on pavement emanated from somewhere inside him, his eyes rolling into the back of his skull so only the whites showed.

“Oh, God,” Catherine muttered to herself. She turned and hollered with full lungs, “Janet!”

Janet sprang up the stairs, running and loading simultaneously. She sprinted past Leanne who sat on the ground, her knees pulled up to her chest, her arms wrapped around them as tight as they would go. She stared off into the distance someplace far away.

Janet skidded to a halt alongside Catherine, sliding the last shotgun shell into the loading port as she stopped. She gazed down upon Sean’s writhing and contorted body.

“Fuck me,” she gasped, immediately pumping the fore-end.

“Do it, Janet!” Catherine shouted. “Do it—”

Sean suddenly shot to his feet in a move that seemed almost superhuman. He flung his arms out wildly to the side. His head craned back in an unbelievable angle, the tautly drawn skin over the trachea strained to its limit. Then, in a rush of physiology never before encountered, Sean’s body exploded.

Charcoal gray appendages shot through the soles of Sean’s feet forcing his limp and ravaged body three feet into the air where it hung like a stranded marionette. Similarly colored protuberances ruptured out of his arms, splitting the muscle and sinew lengthwise from wrist to shoulder. What was left of Sean’s arms hung lifelessly, dangling like a carelessly tossed towel over a drying line. Simultaneously, Sean’s torso elongated an additional two to three feet, the skin unable to maintain integrity as it ripped and tore until the chest cavity erupted outward. Sean’s now useless innards spilled to the ground, his once athletic body now hanging like a jacket over the horrific monster that came into being.

Janet and Catherine could only stare, Janet all but forgetting the shotgun to which she clung in her sweaty palms.

In a final insult to the human that was Sean McAndrews, a small, slime covered head emerged where Sean’s gaping, lolling head held tenuously to the remaining cartilage in his neck. The new reptilian-looking head pushed Sean’s back with a sickening pop, freeing it from the beast that stood before Janet and Catherine, dripping with primordial ooze. The body that was Sean fell to the earth in a pile of discarded flesh, the skin smacking like wet rags on marble.

For Catherine, the world had ceased to rotate. It was as if time had stopped, the events too surreal to put into a context of real life. Standing before this otherworldly creature, Catherine found herself curiously filled with equal parts revulsion and fascination.

She stared incredulously as the twelve-foot tall creature stood motionless before her and Janet. Its features were indistinct and only in the barest of ways did it resemble a human what with its spindly legs, wispy arms and undersized head. But that comparison ended when attention was drawn to the immensely barrel-chested torso and the knowledge of what lay beneath the mottled, chalky flesh.

“Kill it,” Catherine uttered dryly to Janet, the words escaping like sawdust on her tongue.

Janet could only nod as she raised her weapon chest high and prepared to fire. But no sooner had she aimed the barrel than the chest of the creature split open vertically in a nauseating crack, tendrils of slime and muck clinging to the edges of the chest cavity as the rift grew wider.

The creature’s arms moved for the first time, swinging inward in slow, graceful arcs as it reached in toward its own gaping wound and wrapped its skeleton fingers along the berm of its chest, pulling it open even more.

“Kill it!” Catherine shouted to Janet.

But Janet only stared, entranced. The shotgun felt like a barbell in her hands.

The creature, having finished opening itself, plunged its hands into its chest cavity. Grotesque sounds spilled from the hole as the bony hands dug and searched.

Catherine managed to tear herself away from the spectacle long enough to look at Janet. She stared into the woman’s shocked eyes and knew there was no immediate return for her. She would have to do this herself.

Wrenching the shotgun free from Janet’s grasp, Catherine raised and pointed it into the dark chasm directly before her, the slimy hands of the creature buried up to the wrist as it worked something free.

Catherine tucked the stock into her shoulder and prepared to fire. She had never actually fired a shotgun before, but knew enough to know the kick from the recoil would be immense. But just as she applied pressure to the trigger the sight before her gave her pause.

Emerging from the gelatinous hole in the creature, aided by the slender fingers that guided it, was a human form, nude and coiled into a fetal position. It was covered with a thick layer of slimy afterbirth. And as it was being removed from the cavity, ready to be introduced to the world, its head turned.

Having all intentions of pulling the trigger and closing the chapter on Sean’s life and his subsequent replica, Catherine suddenly found herself physically unable to do so.

The Sean clone was lowered to the ground. The legs started to extend, the arms reaching out into the morning air. The head turned further in Catherine’s direction until the face looked directly at her. Then the eyes opened.

Catherine shut her eyes. It’s not Sean, she told herself.

It’s not Sean.

In a swift and instantaneous movement, Catherine popped open her eyes, locked the shotgun against her body and fired.

The single blast disintegrated the left shoulder of the New Human, the remainder of the arm falling to the earth. But just as Catherine’s shot found its mark, a hailstorm of bullets fired synchronously from somewhere behind her riddled the creature.

Soft and tender flesh exploded outward in a torrent of mini-explosions. Sean’s replica thrashed helplessly in its womb as its new body was shredded into an unrecognizable pile of meat.

Catherine fell to the ground, the sound of machine gun rounds whistling over her head. She twisted around to discover Derrik at the top of the shelter stairs, unloading a full magazine. When he depleted it, he expertly discharged the spent mag, reinserted another and fired until he was finally met with a silent and anticlimactic click, the last bullet having been fired.

Righting herself into a sitting position, Catherine gazed upon the remains of Sean’s clone and the slimy beast that had birthed it. Steam immediately began to vent from the body, increasing in intensity until the air around it became choked with thick, post-mortem gas. The body hissed as it sublimated, the mounds of flesh bubbling through the transformation like a slice of ham on a hot skillet.

Janet looked back toward Derrik who stood stoically, the machine gun smoking at his side. She nodded to him, he nodding back, as she turned her attention to Alvin.

He sat on a tree stump, faced away from the carnage. He leaned forward, arms rested on his knees, hands clasped together in front of him. His head hung heavy and unmoving.

Janet peeled away from everyone and walked in Alvin’s direction, stopping a few feet away from him and kneeling on one knee.

Catherine watched for a few moments as Janet conversed with Alvin. By the time she turned back, any evidence that there had once been a college boy named Sean McAndrews had now been reduced to a wet stain in the dirt. Thin plumes of gas continued to mist skyward, but seconds later even they were a memory.

Oliver walked over and stared at where the body used to be. “I don’t think I’ll eat for a week.”

Catherine actually found herself smile at this as she wiped her face free of tears.

“He seemed like such a good kid,” she said. “It just...”

“Say no more, Catherine. Say no more.”

Janet returned to Oliver and Catherine. She sighed with the force of an elephant then looked up at Catherine. “May I have that please?”

Catherine glanced at the shotgun in her hand, surprised to find she still possessed it. She held it out to Janet who took it gingerly.

“Is it...loaded?”

“I only fired one shot,” Catherine began, “so any other rounds you loaded should still be...”

The blood drained from Catherine’s face. She peeked around Janet and looked over at Alvin. He was on his knees, his back to them.

“Please tell me you’re not going to do what I—”

“Take everyone downstairs,” Janet interjected.

They had already said their goodbyes. There was nothing more left to say.

Janet stood behind Alvin, looking down on the back of his head as he continued to kneel. She grasped the shotgun firmly in her right hand.

She couldn’t believe it had come to this. In all the years she had served as a corrections officer, she’d encountered the worst examples of the human species from murderers to relentless drug lords to child rapists. And in those years she’d been forced to draw her weapon on quite a few occasions whether it was to break up a fight or aid in crowd control. She’d even fired it a couple of times.

But she’d never killed anyone.

And now, with that jailhouse world light years behind her, the irony of the moment arrested her. Sure, she had killed people since the Event began, but those were strictly a result of the survivalist nature of the new world. Never in a million years could she believe that she would find herself standing over a friend, preparing to execute him at his request.

Janet searched the area and verified that everyone had, indeed, gone below. She squinted at the sun as it began its ascent on the day, the air already warming with its presence. It struck her suddenly that there wouldn’t be too many more of these. In a few more days, it would be the last anyone would see of the sun for quite some time, its beautiful yellow-orange glow soon to be obscured by clouds of bleak gray.

But life was unfortunately full of last times.

And as Janet pointed the barrel of the shotgun at the base of Alvin’s skull, she wondered if this would be the last time such a horrific request would be asked of her.

She would soon learn that it wasn’t.

19

Fuel

Packing up and preparing to leave the shelter had been a somber occasion. Sean and Alvin’s deaths cast an understandably sad and contemplative tenor over the remaining group, everyone having gathered their belongings and restocked the bus with as much food and supplies as it would hold.

Along with this task, the remainder of the morning had been spent in watch mode over Leanne. Following Sean’s gruesome death, Leanne had all but checked out. Her blank eyes stared dead ahead, unflinching, and all attempts at encouraging water and food were met with only silence.

But she had made it through. Deeming the five hours that had passed since Sean’s death ample enough time to guarantee her void of infection, the group had unanimously agreed to free her and allow her to accompany them to their destination.

Unresponsive at first, Leanne hung limply when helped to her feet by Derrik and Oliver. But when her hands were freed and the chain released from her foot, a glimmer of hope was born in her eyes.

Catherine pondered the course of events that had occurred that morning at the shelter. It seemed like a week ago and yet it had barely been a day—roughly twenty hours. Since then the group had spent the majority of their time on the bus, driving virtually nonstop save a handful of stretching and bathroom breaks as they headed for their new destination.

The decision had been made to push hard and fast during the day, choosing routes that passed through the least populated areas of the country yet allowed as direct a path to their salvation as possible. Time, they were continually reminded, was not on their side and any delays or encounters could be costly. But a similar tactic had been taken en route to Catherine’s shelter, so there was no reason to believe it couldn’t be as effective this time around.

So far, so good.

Upon an initial first glance, the location to which they had been directed surprised Catherine. She’d never heard of the place Warren indicated and couldn’t, for the life of her, figure out why such an obscure sounding area housed a shelter as immense as the one allegedly constructed there. But when she finally had the chance to peruse the stack of printouts she’d obtained from Warren’s upload, it all started to gel. And of the little she knew, one thing was certain: they were headed to New Mexico.

Alamogordo, New Mexico to be specific. Located midway between Las Cruces and the infamous Roswell, and just up the road from the blinding brilliance of White Sands Missile Range, Alamogordo seemed more a perfect spot for a doomsday shelter the more Catherine read.

With a population of roughly forty thousand people, the town seemed to exist expressly for the purpose of supporting Holloman Air Force Base and the five thousand or so military and civilian personnel who worked there.

Home of the world renowned F-117 Nighthawk—known by its more common moniker of “Stealth”—Holloman apparently also boasted a top tier division known as RATSCAT, or Radar Target Scatter, which delved into areas miles above Catherine’s level of comprehension. The dossier on RATSCAT mentioned words like “monostatic” and “bistatic RCS measurements” and talked about its importance in obtaining data on what was called “low observable weapon systems”. But all that Catherine gleaned from the bio is that whatever RATSCAT was, it was important. And that was good enough for her.

Along the eastern edge of Alamogordo and extending away from the town in a southeasterly direction lay the Sacramento Mountains. Part of the Lincoln National Forest, the mountain chain rose anywhere from two to three thousand feet above the city. A popular outdoor enthusiast’s region, the park was riddled with campsites and hiking, biking, ATV and horse trails.

It was somewhere in the canyons of the Sacramento Mountains where Catherine and the others would find their new home. If only they could make it in time.

It was September 13th, a mere two days until the earth would be reduced to a gray ash wasteland. All that was still beautiful would be leveled into lifeless patches of barren desolation. If everything went as planned, they would have not much more than a day to spare. Catherine couldn’t think of a way to cut it any closer and prayed with all her might that the decision to destroy it all would be worth it.

Janet sat in the front seat, volunteering to navigate for Oliver. They’d been following the one ninety-one for a while now, heading south along the relatively flat eastern portion of Utah. This was good thinking on Janet’s part as the selection of the route allowed the bus and its weighted down payload to avoid the strenuous mountain climbs it would have most certainly faced had they chosen other roads through Colorado, burning precious gas in the process. This saves fuel. And that buys time.

But even with the diligent monitoring of roadways and onboard fuel supplies the time would eventually come where the issue of gas would rear its ugly head. And judging by the way Oliver nervously and repeatedly glanced at his fuel gauge, Catherine assumed the time was now.

Turning to Tamara beside her—the girl attempting to animate a stick figure on a stack of Post-its—Catherine laid a reassuring hand on her leg.

“I need to go up and talk to Oliver for a minute. I’ll be right back, okay?”

“I’m okay, mom,” Tamara said with a roll of her eyes.

Catherine gave a curious smile as she rose to her feet, Tamara’s embrace of maturity both entertaining and worrisome.

Traversing the short aisle, Catherine stopped briefly to check on Abby. Having remained relatively quiet most of the day, Catherine speculated whether this had been due to illness, a melancholic attitude toward the events that had played out or a combination of both. She stopped alongside the seat Abby alone occupied. Her arms wrapped tightly around her, Abby merely stared out the window.

“How you doing, kiddo?” Catherine said.

Abby turned. “I’m doing all right. Just got a case of the blahs, I guess.”

“Sick blahs or sad blahs?”

“A little bit of both.”

Catherine nodded. “Well given all that’s happened, I think it’s fair to say you’re entitled to the sad blahs. As for the sick blahs, anything I can do?”

Abby thought a moment then shook her head. “Nah. They’re not too bad. It feels good to just sit here.” Abby looked back out the window. “I hope we can make it to daddy in time.”

“Me too, sweetheart. Me too.”

Catherine gave Abby’s shoulder a squeeze then walked the remainder of the aisle up to Janet.

“What’s the word?” Catherine said.

“The word is fuel,” Oliver said. “As in we ain’t got any.”

Catherine peered through the steering column at the gas gauge. A jittery white needle hovered just north of the letter “E”.

“The drums?” Catherine asked.

“Tapped those on the last stop,” Janet replied. “If there’s even a drop left in ‘em I’d like to know how.”

“So what’re our options?” Catherine asked, her thumbnail anxiously finding her teeth.

“There was a sign a few miles back for a gas station,” Oliver stated. “It looked to be a roadside service station so we shouldn’t have to head into a town or anything.”

“Which is good,” Janet added.

“Which is real good,” Catherine concurred.

Oliver shifted in his seat. “If this place has got fuel and we’re able to fill up and top off our drums, theoretically, we shouldn’t have to stop again until we reach our destination.”

“I like the sound of that,” Janet said.

“And if they don’t have fuel?” Catherine queried.

Oliver shot Catherine a quick, but knowing glance. “Sure is a pretty day, huh?” he said, his blatant subject change eliciting smirks.

Then, as if on cue, a three story sign emerged on the horizon. Catherine recognized it immediately, the distinguishing colors and simple logo seared into her brain after a lifetime of use. And as the Shell station rolled into view, Catherine felt her adrenaline rise, the blood pumping through her heart surging at the sound of Janet’s voice as she turned to Derrik.

“All right, D. Let’s lock and load. It’s hunting time.”

Oliver guided the bus alongside the station fuel wells. As soon as the brakes hissed and the bus rolled to a stop, Janet and Derrik were out the door, weapons in hand, as they charged over to the small convenience shop that at one time serviced parched and snack-crazed motorists.

Catherine watched warily from her perch atop the second step of the bus, her eyes scanning the station and its surroundings, ready for anything.

The station was a small four pump arrangement, two sets of two analog pumps that ran parallel to one another under a simple, corrugated tin roof. One of the filling handles to one of the pump hoses had been severed. Insignificant amounts of fuel dripped onto the pavement.

The convenience shop was no bigger than a sizeable walk-in closet and even through the dingy glass, Catherine could tell it had long since been cleaned out. Hand painted signs still hung in the greasy windows advertising beer and ice.

Adjacent to the snack shop was a single stall garage, the door to which was open. The bay was void of cars. A scattering of miscellaneous tools lay on a small workbench beside the car lift, which was currently in the down position.

Derrik vanished around the far side of the snack shop to where the bathrooms lay. His movements were precise and quick, as if he’d been a commando in a previous life.

Janet ducked inside the shop itself, rapidly aiming her weapon in all directions, covering her corners and blind spots. She worked her way behind the register counter and conducted a thorough search. But for what, Catherine had no clue.

Seconds later, Janet emerged carrying something in her hand. She looked to the bus and held up the object with one hand, giving an enthusiastic thumbs up with the other.

Everyone gathered around Janet as she knelt over the filling port to the fuel holding tanks. She worked a large and heavy peculiar looking round key over the top of a cogged fitting on the port then slipped a second key into a standard lock.

“These guys must’ve been really paranoid they were going to get ripped off,” Janet said, grunting. “Had the keys hidden in two different places. This small one I found by pure luck inside a coffee cup full of miscellaneous junk.”

She twisted the key as the first lock clicked. Immediately she spun the spoked key and twisted off the lid to the fuel tank.

“How will we know if it’s diesel?” Josh asked.

“We’re gonna give it a highly technical sniffer test,” Oliver said.

“What’s a sniffer test?” Tamara asked.

Abby put her arm around her sister. “It means he’s going to smell it.”

“Can you really tell that way?” Catherine asked skeptically.

Oliver cracked his knuckles playfully then took two quick breaths through his nose. “This schnoz has sniffed more diesel from my bus driving days than I care to talk about. If it’s the real deal down there, I’ll know.”

“All right, quit bragging and get sniffing,” Janet commanded as she glanced about uneasily.

Oliver got to the ground, lying flat on his stomach. He moved his face over the opening and took one simple whiff. He held his breath for a second then exhaled mightily. Rolling on to his back, Oliver looked up at the group.

“We’re in business,” he said with a grin.

Derrik worked feverishly. Manning the hand pump, he pulled relentlessly on the handle as Oliver monitored the fuel level in one of the barrels aboard the bus. With its lengthy bit of tubing snaking into the fuel well, Catherine couldn’t help but smile at the simple contraption that held their lives in the balance.

“Mom,” Tamara said, drawing Catherine’s attention away from the bus, “I need to use the bathroom.”

“The bathroom?” Catherine said, looking over their desolate surroundings. “Okay,” she sighed as she set down a half-eaten plate of dried apples, peanut butter and jelly crackers and nacho chips. “Let’s go find you a bathroom.”

“I can do it myself. You don’t have to go.”

Catherine leveled her eyes at Tamara. “I do if you’re looking around here.”

“Janet and Derrik checked the place out and there’s no one here. Right, Janet?”

Janet looked up from her lunch, a piece of jerky hanging from her mouth. “Hey, don’t bring me into this.”

“I’ll go with her,” Abby offered.

“I don’t need a babysitter,” Tamara said, more snidely than she intended.

“Thanks, Abby,” Catherine said as she picked her plate back up. She glanced at Tamara. “That’s the deal.”

Tamara rolled her eyes and groaned. “Fine.”

Abby climbed to her feet and trailed behind her sister. “Come on, squirt. Let’s go find you a ladies’ room.”

“I’m not a squirt!”

“Oh yeah?” Abby kidded. “That’s the kind of thing a squirt would say.” She gave Tamara a playful shove then ran off ahead of her. Tamara recovered and gave chase.

“Don’t shove me!”

“Squirt!”

Tamara and Abby disappeared behind the far side of the bus, their initial confrontation giving way to eventual laughter.

Catherine shook her head as she nibbled at a cracker. “Adorable, aren’t they?” she said to Janet.

“Precious.”

“Want to buy one?”

“I don’t know,” Janet said. “Is therapy included in the price?”

Catherine laughed heartily, Janet finding a grin.

Josh rose from his place beside Catherine. “I’m gonna go over and talk to Shelby. She looks bored.”

Catherine turned and stared across the lot to an outcropping of sandstone rocks that spilled out at the bottom of a thirty-foot cliff face just behind the station. One rock jutted out like a table, Shelby sitting atop it as she watched her mother perform Tai Chi.

“All right,” Catherine said. “But put on some sunscreen first.”

“What?”

“They’re sitting in direct sunlight. So if you’re going to go over there then you need to lather up.” Catherine rummaged through her bag, extracting a tube of Coppertone. She tossed it to Josh. “With your skin, especially. End of the world or not, I won’t let you get skin cancer.”

Josh snatched the tube out of the air. “Jesus, in two days we’re gonna be locked in a vault for God knows how long. I think I’ll survive.”

“Humor me,” Catherine said humorlessly.

Begrudgingly, Josh popped the top and squirted a torrent of sun block into his palm. He worked the thick liquid over his arms and face, finishing with the back of his neck.

“Okay?” he said smartly. “Do I pass inspection?”

“You’ve made your mother very happy. Dismissed.”

Josh pursed his lips and tromped off toward Shelby.

Janet finished the last of her jerky. She watched Catherine silently.

“You’ve got good kids, Catherine,” She said finally. “You’ve done really well with them. You should be proud.”

Catherine glanced at Janet, somewhat surprised. “Thanks. You always think it’s going to get easier the older they get, but it really only gets harder.”

“Ah, they’re all like that,” Janet started. “Think they know everything and when they’re wrong don’t want to admit it.”

“You, uh...have kids,” Catherine asked gingerly.

“Me? Lord no. Can you imagine what those poor souls would look like? Not to mention the mental damage.” Janet forced a smile.

“Please,” Catherine said dismissively. “Try silent recluse, drama queen and burgeoning know-it-all on for size. Mental problems?” Catherine huffed playfully.

Janet laughed through her nose then paused. “I had a niece. My sister’s girl. Layla. She was twelve. Or is twelve or...whatever.” She picked a couple of rocks up from between her feet and turned them over in her hands. “She was a good girl. Studied hard. Got good grades. Loved her mama. And her auntie Janet, too.” Janet peeked up at Catherine with a smile then looked back down. “If I ever had a kid, I’d want it to be just like her.”

Catherine studied Janet, chose her next words carefully. “Do you, I mean...do you know if—”

“Nah. Not a clue.” Janet flicked a rock with her thumb. “Tried to get a hold of them on ‘the day’, but couldn’t reach my sister. Things being what they are, I know the odds are against them surviving. And in a weird way, I’m kind of okay with that. The thought of Layla having to scrounge and hide to survive saddens me in a way I’ve never felt before. Her mama loved her fiercely and would’ve done anything for her. But she didn’t have that survival instinct. Not like me.” Janet made intentional eye contact with Catherine. “Or you.”

Catherine flinched. “Me?”

“Sure. Don’t sell yourself too short. You did a hell of a thing. Admittedly, I was a little jealous when I found out about all the heads up preparation you had. Hell, let’s be honest, I was downright pissed.”

A rosy shade of crimson filled Catherine’s cheeks.

“But then I thought to myself,” Janet continued, “wouldn’t I have done the same fucking thing if I’d had that advantage? Wouldn’t I have done everything possible for my family? And the answer is you can bet your sweet ass I would.”

“I appreciate what you’re saying, Janet,” Catherine began, “but I can tell you with all authority that I’m about the farthest thing from a survivalist that you can get. Most of the time I didn’t even know what I was doing.” Catherine’s eyes welled with tears. “And it almost got my family killed.”

“But you didn’t.”

“But I could have. If it wasn’t for you and sheer blind luck things...things could’ve been different.”

“Sometimes luck is part of the equation,” Janet assured her, laughing just a little. “You think everything I’ve done up ‘til now’s been planned? Jesus, luck’s been my closest ally through all of this.” She tossed the other rock to the ground. “No, what you’ve accomplished—you and your kids—deserves a round of applause. It’s no small feat just to keep oneself alive these days let alone the lives of others. I know that from personal experience.”

Janet turned her gaze to the school bus and Leanne who sat motionless, staring forlornly out the window. She returned to Catherine, scrutinized her as she fixated on the red-brown dirt at her feet.

“I’ve been hard on you,” Janet said plainly. “In fact, I’ve been downright mean.” Catherine snapped her head up. “And when we get to Alamogordo and everyone’s safe and sound, I wondered if you’d do me the honor of joining me for a beer. Or a Coke. Or water or whatever those military types keep around.”

Laughter broke out between the two women, the pent up tension and animosity evaporating into the dry desert air with each passing second.

“I’ll think about it,” Catherine said playfully. “I’ll have to check my schedule.”

“Of course.”

“But I imagine I shouldn’t have too much trouble fitting you in.”

“Well, I’m much obliged then,” Janet said with a grin. “It’s a date.”

“Consider it so.”

Catherine and Janet sat in silence for a moment, stared at the ground, the sky. Janet snatched up another handful of rocks when she suddenly blurted, “You know I ain’t gay, right?”

Catherine chuckled. “You know I’m married, right?”

The laughter from the two women reverberated off the cliff walls.

Tamara crept up alongside the garage. It was the only place left where Abby could have hidden that she hadn’t checked. The store was empty and so were both disgustingly filthy bathrooms. It had to be the garage.

She rounded the corner and peered into the work bay cautiously. There were tools and greasy rags on a workbench. Oily barrels and empty cardboard boxes lay stacked in a corner. There was even some high-tech looking machinery and a heavy looking contraption she remembered her father calling a “jack” lying nearby. But there was no Abby.

How could this be? she thought.

Then suddenly from behind, Abby charged, grabbing Tamara by the shoulders and sending the girl a foot into the air. Immediately upon the return of her feet to earth, Tamara whirled in place.

“You jerk!” Tamara said loudly. “You scared me!”

Abby giggled gleefully. “Really? I couldn’t tell by the way you jumped out of your clothes.”

“That wasn’t nice.”

“I know. But I couldn’t resist.”

“If you weren’t pregnant, I’d punch you in the belly.”

Abby’s smile dissolved, replaced immediately by a wash of concern. It was the kind of expression one had when jarred back into a reality previously forgotten.

“Wow,” Abby said simply, sitting down on a metal folding chair outside the garage.

Tamara chewed her bottom lip, instantly regretful of her last sentence. “I didn’t mean that. I wouldn’t...I was just—”

“I know you didn’t. It’s not that,” Abby said resting a hand on her stomach. “For a few minutes there I actually remembered what it was like to be a kid again, and not stress about what it was gonna be like to raise one.”

Tamara watched as Abby’s hand subconsciously made tiny circles on her belly.

“Have you...thought of any names yet?”

Abby stopped cold, her head popping up and her eyes locking with Tamara’s. A peculiar grin broke on her lips.

“No,” she said to her own astonishment. “Not once.”

“We could think of some,” Tamara said. “If you want.”

Abby’s grin grew into a full-fledged smile. She ruminated over the possibilities. “That would be fun.”

Pleased with herself for quickly smoothing over a big sister, little sister rift, Tamara sat on the ground in front of Abby.

“Let’s start with girl names,” she said. “They’re always cooler anyway.”

Abby smiled down at her sister then looked up at the sky. The sun was gone and in its wake was a wonderful spectrum of purples, oranges and yellows that highlighted the thin, drifting clouds overhead.

Tamara noticed it too, the colors reflecting off the walls and glass of the convenience store in a vibrant orangish glow. But more than this, Tamara noticed the extreme shift in facial expressions on her sister, her pleasant smile now devolved into a confused scowl. It wasn’t until Abby got to her feet and pointed skyward that Tamara’s suspicion of her sister’s sudden mood shift had been confirmed.

“What is that?”

20

From the Heavens

Derrik had finally relented and allowed Oliver to pump the remainder of the last fuel barrel. Having filled both the bus and one fifty gallon barrel without a minute of downtime, Oliver wondered if Derrik was perhaps a robot, or at the very least a cyborg. His tireless energy seemed almost superhuman, as did his stalwart commitment to whatever task he was presented with. Yes, Oliver confirmed, Derrik was something along the lines of a Bionic Man, maybe even a Terminator.

Not ten pumps in, Oliver began to huff and puff. His erratic two-handed pump method caused his blood pressure to surge and he could actually hear his heart beating in his ears. For several minutes he thought he might become the next victim, not by infection, but by myocardial infarction.

The barrel was nearly full. Only a quarter more to go. Oliver watched as Derrik snacked from a plate full of dried fruit and nuts, cured salami and soda crackers. The young man didn’t say a lot and when he did it was usually only in response to a direct question. Oliver had been in Bayview with Derrik for almost the duration, some two plus months. If asked, he would only be able to recount the number of times he actually witnessed Derrik speak on one hand.

“Those almonds?” Oliver said, his voice cutting through the silence. “What’re they salted? Garlic? Ever try the wasabi ones? Man, those’ll clear out your sinuses.”

Derrik only stared as if he hadn’t understood the question. Shrugging, he returned to his meal.

Not one to give in easily, Oliver pressed him. “So what do you think of our chances?” he said between pants. “Me, I think we can make it. It’ll be close, but if we push hard enough, I think we’ll get there in time. You?”

Taking a bite of salami, Derrik stared straight ahead. Then, under his breath, muttered, “Maybe.”

Oliver nodded as if this one word answer eliminated any misgivings he might have had. “Couldn’t agree more,” he said with a tinge of sarcasm.

The attempt at conversation with Derrik ending as expected, Oliver turned his attention to his surroundings. He saw Janet and Catherine talking in what looked to be—to his surprise—a cordial manner. Acknowledging this with a cocked head, he then trained his gaze on Josh and Shelby, they conversing as Madeline performed some crazy, music-less dance. Puzzled, he shifted his focus across the station lot toward the repair stall where he discovered Abby and Tamara.

Abby was sitting in a chair, Tamara on the ground at her feet when the elder girl suddenly rose and pointed at the sky. Tamara turned, then quickly got to her feet, following her sister’s finger.

Normally, this sort of observation would spark little interest in Oliver were it not for the expression on Abby’s face. It superseded curiosity and interest. And if he had to describe it, would say it came damn close to fear.

Oliver stopped pumping. Derrik looked up at him quizzically as Oliver jumped down from the bus. He walked away from the vehicle, craning his neck to get a look at whatever it was that had garnered so much attention.

The focus seemed to be directed at the cliff face across the road. The setting sun still glowed orange somewhere behind it and the panorama of colors it created against the puffy patches of dusky clouds was breathtaking. But what the girls were looking at was anyone’s—

Oliver froze solid in place. Is that what I think it is? he thought so loudly he wondered if he didn’t actually vocalize it. But a few more moments after his eyes adjusted to the light and he was sure. It was.

A bird.

“Where the hell did you come from?” he said quietly to himself.

Backpedaling slowly toward Janet, he kept his eye on the airborne creature, which seemed to be in a holding pattern, circling slowly overhead. Within earshot, Oliver turned in the direction of Janet.

“Hey, Janet? You might want to take a look at this.”

“What is it?” she said, getting up and shuffling quickly to his side.

“Looks like we’ve got a pet.” Oliver pointed at the bird.

Derrik and Catherine hurried quickly over to join them, following the tip of Oliver’s finger into the lava-like sky. The bird stood out like a fly in carrot soup.

“What in God’s name...” Janet said. “I haven’t seen a bird since July.”

“What kind is it?” Catherine asked.

“It’s a heron,” Madeline’s voice said from beside Catherine. “A Little Blue Heron to be exact. But that’s impossible.”

“Why is that?” Catherine asked, the anxiety in her voice apparent.

“Little Blue Herons are water birds,” Madeline explained. “As is the whole family of herons. They stick primarily to wetlands—shorelines, swamps—and eat mostly fish and insects.”

Janet turned away from the bird and eyed Madeline. “How do you know this?”

“I used to work with the Portland Audubon Society. I organized bird watching tours in and around the city. Believe me, that’s a heron.”

Everyone turned his or her gaze back to the circling bird.

“So then what’s it doing here?” Josh said, he and Shelby joining the group.

“That is something I’m afraid I can’t answer,” Madeline responded. “The desert would be the last place I’d ever expect to see one.”

Janet chewed her nail, eyeing the roving bird with scrutiny so intense her eyes looked as if lasers could shoot out of them at any moment.

Catherine peered over at Tamara and Abby just as they glanced in her direction. Tamara hopped excitedly, pointing enthusiastically at the sky. Catherine nodded with exaggeration then gestured for them to come over.

“All right,” Janet said finally, “I don’t like it. Let’s pack up and get out of here. Everybody on the bus.”

With no arguments and few words, everyone instantly returned to their respective places and began gathering belongings. Nervous heads checked over shoulders, keeping tabs on the mysterious desert heron.

“You two get on. I’ll be there in a minute,” Catherine said to Tamara and Abby.

“Okay,” Abby replied. “But hurry.”

“Yeah, mommy,” Tamara added.

Abby was the first to the bus. She climbed onto the bottom step, but immediately stopped, her path blocked by Leanne who stood at the top of the small stairway. She glanced down at Abby with dark, bloodshot eyes.

“Are we leaving?” Leanne asked timidly.

“Right now,” Abby said. “Soon as everybody grabs their stuff we’re outta here.”

Leanne nodded in a quick up-and-down motion. “Good. That’s good. We should go.” Turning around she scurried back to her seat, slinking onto the cushion like a cat and encircling herself with her arms.

Abby climbed the remainder of the stairs then turned and held out a hand for her sister. Tamara clutched Abby’s outstretched palm, pulling herself up when she suddenly stopped mid-pull and wrenched free.

“Mr. Sniffles!” she shrieked as she hopped back down the stairs.

“Mom said to get on the bus,” Abby commanded.

“I can’t leave him,” Tamara said, turning away. “He’s just over by the store. I’ll be back in just a couple—”

Tamara’s voice locked in her throat. She had never before felt such an immediate surge of shock, fear and terror all at the same time. Her body felt like it weighed twice as much and the ability to form words seemed virtually impossible.

Abby watched from the doorway, not in the mood for games. “Come on, Tam, let’s go.” She stepped down to the bottommost step. “Mom’s not gonna be happy if she sees you’re not on the bus.”

Josh and Shelby approached Tamara, backpacks slung over each of their shoulders. Josh regarded Tamara and her state of suspended animation. “What’re you doing, waiting for a written invitation?”

The brief smile that appeared on Josh’s lips instantly dissolved, his face metamorphosing into concern as he realized his sister wasn’t playing. But the real moment that clutched at his chest was when he discovered Abby in the doorway to the bus, her mouth agape in the initial stages of an earth-shattering scream.

“Mom!” she hollered, her arm raised and her finger pointing toward the sky—this time in the opposite direction of the lone heron.

Abby’s scream brought everyone to a standstill. Eyes searched for the origin of the terrified voice and when Abby was pegged as the source, those same eyes then followed her sky-bound finger to the summit of the cliffs that towered over the gas station mere feet away.

Catherine whirled in place. The sight before her forced an involuntary moan. She craned her neck upward and back-stepped subconsciously.

Swirling like a whirlpool of windblown leaves in the glowing afternoon sky were more birds.

Hundreds of them.

Janet gingerly stooped and grabbed her pack, never once letting her eyes stray from the avian mass above her.

“Where’d they come from?” Catherine asked, her words coming out in a breathy, staccato rhythm.

“I don’t know,” Janet said rising to her feet, her eyes dancing nervously across the sky. “But my guess is that our solo flyer was a scout.”

Catherine turned and found that two of her three children still hadn’t boarded the bus. “Josh,” she hissed, “take your sister and get on the bus. Now.”

Josh could only nod. He took Shelby’s hand in one of his then slowly stepped to Tamara, gently easing the scared girl’s hand into his other free hand.

Oliver watched as Josh led Shelby and Tamara onto the bus, Madeline right behind them. He stared at the birds, their massive numbers undulating like a pulsing wave in the sky.

Maneuvering himself to the back of the bus he discovered Derrik feverishly working to fill the remaining barrel.

“I don’t know about this, D,” Oliver said. “I got a real bad feeling.”

Derrik pumped repeatedly, each pull of the lever falling faster and faster. He turned and looked up, sweat just breaking on his brow. Spinning back around he put his head down and concentrated all his efforts into the fuel. “Me too,” he said quietly.

Janet and Catherine walked backward side by side. Janet caught a glimpse of Oliver out of the corner of her eye.

“What’s the word, Oliver?”

“Maybe a fifth to go,” he said. “Maybe less.”

“Leave yourselves enough time to get back on this bus,” Janet demanded more than requested.

The bus, packed to the hilt as it was, was impassible from the rear. The two fifty gallon fuel barrels had been stored nearest the access doors. Everything else from food and water, to clothing and supplies had been packed tightly around the drums. Every last bit of usable space had been utilized. The only way onto the bus was through the front door.

“Don’t worry, we’ll be there,” Oliver assured.

No sooner had the words left Oliver’s lips than a new hyper-verbalized sentence replaced it. One filled with the compounded terror of the group, compactly fit into the howling timbre of one man.

“Here they come!” Oliver screamed.

The massive array of birds suddenly swooped, as if a cloud had opened and instead of rain, birds fell. They swarmed with purpose, charging hard at the people on the ground.

Catherine and Janet turned and sprinted.

“Oliver, Derrik!” Janet shrieked. “Let’s go, let’s go!”

Derrik had already pulled the siphon from the barrel and tossed it between the two, fuel spilling sloppily from the end of the hose. He slammed the doors and latched them shut in a blink of an eye as he hopped down and ran after Oliver who was almost to the bus entrance.

Catherine raced up the stairs and into the aisle. She quickly took a head count of her children and breathed a sigh of relief that would have put out a campfire at the sight of them all.

Janet hopped the stairs, spinning in place as she reached the top. She held out her hand to a panting Oliver as he placed a foot on the first step.

“Where the fuck is Derrik?” she shouted, yanking him the rest of the way into the bus.

“Right behind me.”

Tamara was crying, tears streaming down her face as she pressed herself up against the window. Catherine leaned over the seat in front of her.

“We’re going to be okay, baby. Everything’s—”

“Mr. Sniffles!” Tamara bawled. She smacked the glass with her palms and pointed across the parking lot to where the stuffed animal lay.

Derrik fast-jogged alongside the bus. He saw Oliver vanish through the door and knew that he was the last. He glanced quickly at the onslaught of birds descending upon the gas station. He had plenty of time. Even at their rapid rate of descent he knew he would make it. Heck, he could probably walk the rest of the way with time to spare.

But then something jarred him from his attention on the birds. Something on the bus, just above him. Looking up he discovered a pair of palms flattened against the glass, banging repeatedly against it. He could immediately tell the small hands belonged to Tamara. And when those hands pointed frantically beyond the glass to somewhere across the lot, Derrik knew in an instant what the source of her anguish was.

Earlier in the day, he’d seen Tamara saunter off with her older sister and play tag just after lunch. She’d set her elephant in a sunny patch of asphalt beside the concrete parking curb where she ate.

Derrik glared across the lot and pinpointed the doll—it was right where Tamara had left it. He tore his gaze skyward at the rapidly approaching birds, their numbers looming larger with each passing second.

If I’m fast enough, he thought.

Without a second’s hesitation, Derrik raced away from the bus and made a beeline for the stuffed animal. His eyes danced back and forth between his prey and those that preyed on him. Almost there, he shouted internally.

His footsteps echoed dully off the asphalt, each stride growing in strength and speed as his momentum built. The elephant was only a couple of feet away and Derrik knew he needed to maximize the recovery of it so as not to break his forward drive.

With three or so steps to go, Derrik swung wide to the right of the animal and charged hard. He immediately cut back to the left and, continuing on this arc, ran up to the animal. In a move both graceful and expertly timed, Derrik leaned over, lowered his left arm and snatched the elephant from the ground without so much as a stutter step.

Running with the immediacy of a man whose life may very well depend on his speed, Derrik straightened out and rushed for the bus door with everything he had.

Janet leaned out from the first step, her arm extended as far as it would go. “Run, Derrik! Goddammit, faster!”

Derrik saw Janet on the bus, saw her mouth moving but could hear no words. His thumping heart had drowned out everything but his breathing. He saw her face, though. And if there was anything to be derived from the pained expression upon it, it was that he wasn’t moving fast enough.

In a move he knew would slow him down, Derrik turned in mid-stride and glanced back over his shoulder. As soon as he wrenched himself around to see he knew it was a mistake. The bus was within distance now and perhaps if he’d just put his head down and pushed for the door he would’ve had a shot. But the sight shrieking in so close behind him left no illusion as to his chances.

He wasn’t going to make it.

Derrik found Tamara in her window. There was an odd mix of hopefulness and unadulterated fear on her face. Her hands were curled into fists that were thrust in front of her chin, and her eyes winced chillingly.

The first wave swooped low and undercut him at the knees. Derrik crashed violently to the ground, his arms smashing into the pavement. Birds swarmed past him and he could swear it looked as if they were leaving contrails in their wake as thin ropes of smoke marked each bird’s path.

He could see Janet scream from the steps of the bus. Could distinguish the rising horror that hijacked her face as a tight line of birds dipped and upended him again—then headed her way.

Birds began to peck at his flesh. He could feel stinging bite marks on his arms and the back of his neck. And as it turned out, it wasn’t his imagination—the birds were smoking.

Glancing upward, Derrik realized that the towering cliffs adjacent to the gas station had obscured the sun. The light the birds had used to sustain themselves above the rocky walls vanished as soon as they dipped below the ridgeline and into the shadow-bathed area of the station. Their time was coming to an end. But why had they abandoned the safety of the sun for such an assured death? Derrik could only theorize that, having no safe haven once the sun set, they were in the throes of death and the only thing that remained for them, it seemed, was to pass their impurity on before the impending darkness vanquished it from them forever. What had Warren said?

Their only goal is propagation.

Derrik swung wildly at the animals as they swarmed him, desperately trying to get back to his feet. But as soon as he achieved solid footing another wave of suicidal winged creatures were there to rob him of his gain.

In a flash, Derrik reconciled his situation. This was as far as he would get and he knew it. He’d given a noble effort, but it just wasn’t good enough. Lifting his head against the melee he found Janet at the door. Using every ounce of energy he still possessed, Derrik rose up on his knees, arched back and launched the stuffed elephant through the air.

The sight before Janet was paralyzing. A helplessness she’d never encountered overtook her. The flocking birds had downed Derrik, determining his fate with tainted, graceful swoops of their hellish wings. And now they were speeding toward her. There was no time to rationalize or to consider. There was only time to react.

Stumbling, she lunged for the door lever. She grasped it clumsily with both hands, fumbling to rotate it shut. Managing a grip she threw the lever forward. The door unfolded and slid toward its home position—but it didn’t close all the way. It couldn’t.

The stuffed elephant jammed in the opening was preventing it.

“Mommy!” Tamara screamed at the sight of her beloved toy.

Reaching out for the animal, Janet stole a look through the window in the door at Derrik as he struggled to get to his feet. He threw his arms around like windmills, trying anything and everything to stave off the attacking birds. She knew this was the last she would see of Derrick. At least the Derrik she had come to know and respect. The one that had stood by her unquestioningly. He had sacrificed himself for this toy. But maybe his sacrifice had nothing to do with the toy at all. Maybe his heroic gesture had more to do with its idea. Maybe it had to do with the preservation of innocence and the importance of remembering what life was like in simpler times. Whatever his intent, he would die for it. And Janet couldn’t allow his efforts to go in vain.

Placing a hand on the elephant, Janet tugged mightily, trying to force it through the narrow slit. She grabbed it with her other hand and pulled, but the space in which it was suspended wouldn’t accommodate the breadth of the toy. Against her better judgment she made a decision.

“Oliver!” Janet shouted. “On my go, open and close the door as fast as you fucking can.”

“Excuse me?” Oliver said, his incredulity undisguised.

“You heard me!”

“All right, all right,” Oliver stammered, wrapping his sweaty hands around the lever handle.

Birds began smacking into the bus with loud pops. Some burst into clouds of ash as they hit. Others simply stuck to the exterior in a gooey, blackened mess before sublimating.

Janet eyed the dive-bombing fowl and tried to time an attempt. But she knew there would be no perfect moment. There were just too many of them.

“Janet, just leave it.” Catherine said, approaching. “Let’s just get out of here. We can drive on down the road and open the door when we’re clear,” she pleaded.

Janet whirled on Catherine, intensity Catherine had never before seen burning like a smoldering fire in her eyes. “I am not leaving Derrik. And neither are you. Oliver!”

“Yeah!”

“On my mark.”

Catherine backed away. There was no reasoning with Janet now.

“Three...two...” Janet began, her knuckles white with anticipation. She took a deep breath. “One!”

Oliver yanked with his whole body, the door shooting open. Janet pulled the elephant in with ease just as Oliver threw himself on the lever to shut it. The door rocketed forward sealing everyone safely inside. Too easy, Janet thought.

Peering through the window of the bus door, Janet caught sight of Derrik as he made a break for the convenience store. Rushing for the entrance, he pushed his way inside and slammed the door behind him.

Emotions weighing on her like a lead vest, Janet turned to Tamara and extended her arm, holding out Mr. Sniffles. “I believe this is yours.”

Tamara smiled despite the tears that stained her cheeks. She walked to the front of the bus and held out her arms, ready to embrace her toy. She stopped just shy of Janet and reached out. “Thank you, Janet.”

“Don’t mention it.” Janet forced a pained smile.

But just as Tamara prepared to retrieve the animal, another hand clamped down around her wrist. Not only did it grab her with authority, it pulled her backward, away from Janet. Away from the elephant. Tamara looked up to find the owner of the offending hand, surprised to discover Catherine.

“Mom?”

Catherine didn’t respond, didn’t even look at her daughter. For her gaze was someplace else. Someplace in front of Tamara. Her pallor became a ghastly white, color visibly leaving her face.

Janet’s meager smile all but dissolved.

“What, Catherine? What is—”

She didn’t need to finish the sentence. It was obvious. There for the world to see. And now, for Janet, the world had been reduced to a narrow tunnel of darkness. One that blocked out her surroundings and all that existed and focused its attention to the stuffed animal she held in front of her. Or more to the point, the hand that held it.

Janet retracted Mr. Sniffles incredulously, her watery eyes locked on the back of her own hand. It was difficult to focus on the image in front of her. Tears and the blinding paranoia of truth reduced it to a blurred, incoherent smudge. But as her hand neared her face and clarity intervened, the evidence became irrefutable.

A gash. Maybe two inches long.

How? When?

The answer was, of course, irrelevant. What mattered now was that it was. Janet looked up suddenly and discovered the entire bus on their feet, staring at her with wide-eyed apprehension and sadness. Oliver, still sitting in the driver’s seat, moved away, pushing himself up against the window.

Catherine maneuvered Tamara behind her.

“Janet, I...” Catherine said. “Jesus Christ.” It came out as a whisper and was followed with a subconscious step towards Janet. It was the kind of thing a compassionate person and a mother of three did without so much as a thought.

Dropping the elephant, Janet snatched a shotgun from the guardrail in front of the first seat where it had been affixed for emergencies—much like the one currently taking place.

Tears spilled from Janet’s eyes as she leveled the weapon at Catherine then quickly panned it over the remaining individuals on the bus. It was the kind of thing a compassionate person and watchman of killers did without so much as a thought.

“Just stay back!” Janet spat. “All of you. Just stay back.” She swiped at her face, stopping a pair of tears from reaching her chin.

Catherine raised her hands defensively, putting herself between Janet and as many of her children as possible.

“Take it easy, Janet,” Catherine said as calmly as she could. “It...it may not be what you think.” Catherine knew this was a weak attempt at consolation, but something needed to be said.

“Yeah, you’re probably right,” Janet said with dripping sarcasm. “I probably just cut myself shaving and didn’t notice it all day.” She turned her head and stared through the glass.

The birds were diminishing in frequency of attacks. Dozens of miniature steam plumes originated throughout the parking lot, the remnants of downed imitation birds. Janet thought it resembled a miniature version of Upper Geyser Basin in Yellowstone, a place she’d only seen in photographs but had always wanted to visit. It would appear that pictures would have to suffice.

Craning her neck, Janet searched the sky. It was clear, save a few straggling clouds. The sun was down and the remaining birds that attempted attacks on the bus had lost whatever energy the sun provided them, falling rather than flying. The brush with death, it appeared, was over.

But for Janet, it was just the beginning.

The commotion at the head of the bus had been a welcome diversion. While the majority of passenger windows had been sealed tight, the bus virtually impenetrable, a weak link in the chain had been overlooked.

One in the back had been left open.

And when the frenzied attempt to close it was met with a scratch on the arm from a kamikaze bird, Janet’s situation suddenly became of particular interest. For if she and Derrik survived, if they were still here in a day, then there was hope. Hope that the tiny abrasion below the wrist was just that and not something more dire.

But for now, silence was the best option. With a simple roll of the sleeve, all could be concealed. For now.

Looking at a watch, one of the few remaining survivors hunkered down and watched as Janet exited the bus. Time would tell now, the only option to wait.

21

Janet

Three hours had passed. In twenty more hours, the outcome to Janet and Derrik’s predicament would be revealed.

It had been unanimously decided to wait and see how they fared despite Janet’s protestations. With just a little under two days of travel time left to reach Alamogordo, Catherine and the others realized they’d be cutting it uncomfortably close. But they’d all come too far together to start abandoning people now.

Janet and Derrik holed up in the convenience store and tried valiantly to get some rest, though everyone knew this was an impossibility. They’d been here before.

Derrik had suffered fewer injuries than expected. With only a handful of minor cuts to his arms and face, the most imposing wound had been inflicted to his elbows when the birds had knocked him to the pavement. He would heal rather quickly if he survived.

If he survived.

The sun was on its downward trajectory toward the mountains, nightfall only a handful of hours away. Catherine had prepared a plate full of crackers, jerky and dried apples to bring to Janet and Derrik, but as suspected, no one was hungry.

She set the plate down and looked in at Derrik and Janet through the dusty glass door, he sitting quietly on the floor, she pacing back and forth like a rabid hyena.

“You don’t have to stay here,” Janet said.

“I know,” Catherine replied. “But I want to.”

Janet stopped in mid-pace and looked up. A tiny smile cracked on her lips. “Catherine Hayesly, you are one of a kind, I’ll give you that.”

“Thanks. I think.”

Janet walked over to the door, the thin sheet of tinted glass all that separated her from Catherine. She looked up at the sun’s position in the sky.

“It’ll be getting on time soon,” she said.

Catherine nodded. “Yep, I guess it will.”

Janet nodded back, her eyes welling slightly. “Now, listen to me, Catherine. You all have got to push and push hard. No stops, no bathroom breaks. You just go until you get there. You understand?”

Catherine recoiled a bit. “Whoa, whoa. Don’t you say that. Don’t you give up yet.”

“I’m not giving up. I’m just keeping it real.”

Janet leaned closer to the door and stared directly in to Catherine’s eyes. “Look, Catherine. You and I both know what the likely outcome is here. And pretending that it could be something else is just wishful thinking.”

Catherine nodded furiously then, without notice, burst into tears.

“Come on, now,” Janet said. “There’s no time for that.”

Rubbing her eyes with her palms, Catherine shook off her burst of emotion with a shudder. In doing so, she didn’t see Janet wipe a single tear from her own cheek.

“I know, I know. You’re right,” Catherine choked out. “I just never thought this was how it was going to end.” She looked up, hoping the words weren’t too on the mark. “I was really looking forward to that beer.”

“Me, too.” Janet looked to the ground. “You all need to go, Catherine. Right now.”

Catherine snapped her head up, a new shock in her eyes. “What? No, no...there’s still a chance. We need to wait and—”

“It’s happening, Catherine.” Janet peeked over her shoulder at Derrik who sat surprisingly calm. He drew cartoon pictures in the dust on the floor. “We’ve both been feeling...different. Peculiar.”

“But...but that could just be your minds playing tricks on you. Making you think something’s going on when it might not be.”

Janet closed her eyes and shook her head. “You need to face the truth. Just as we have. Our journey ends here.”

Tears formed in Catherine’s eyes again, but she somehow managed to reign in her sadness.

“What do I tell everyone?”

“The truth. I’ve often found that works best.”

Catherine stared emptily into space, this new revelation too much to assimilate. While she and Janet had certainly had their differences, and it was no secret that they’d each been cut from two very different swaths of cloth, Catherine couldn’t deny the underlying bond that had formed between the two. As rough and prickly as Janet was on the outside, Catherine knew it was only a defense mechanism to protect that vulnerable and fragile inner person Janet truly was.

“They’re going to be looking to you now,” Janet said peacefully, jarring Catherine back to reality. “And you need to be there for them.”

“Me?” Catherine said, an air of mild protest in her voice. “I’m not a leader. Jesus, I’ve barely been able to keep it together, let alone look out for the safety of my kids.”

“Maybe. But you did it. You’re all here. And the very reason you’re able to kiss your daughters good night and take Josh to task over sun block is because you are a leader. I know you feel a lot of your journey’s been luck, but maybe part of being a leader is embracing karma and not arguing against why it occurred.”

Catherine listened to Janet intensely, every word inspiring needed confidence. She cleared her throat. “Can I get you anything...you know, before we go?”

Janet glanced briefly at Derrik. “Yeah. A shotgun round. I thought I had more, but...there’s only one.

“I’ll bring you some.”

“No. Just bring me one. It’s all I need and you should keep as much ammunition with you as you can. You never know what you’re going to be up against.”

The truth settled in Catherine like silt to the bottom of a lake. This truly was goodbye.

“Okay,” Catherine said simply and walked off toward the bus. When she returned she found a white garbage bag bundled and tied sitting outside of the door. Janet caught her expression.

“It’s Mr. Sniffles. I figure once you get where you’re going you can have it tested or something to make sure it’s safe. No reason the girl should have to part with it.”

Rather than a smile, Janet was met with a look of concern, which she immediately understood. “Don’t worry,” she said, “I used gloves when I tied it up. Found some behind the counter. The bag should be okay.”

“I’ll take it to her,” Catherine said with the tiniest of smiles. “Thanks.”

“Don’t mention it.”

“And, uh...I’ve got what you asked for.”

Janet nodded knowingly. “Just set it on the chair.”

Catherine unclenched her fist which she came to realize was sweating profusely, the single shotgun shell in her hand coated with a thin sheen of perspiration. She set the shell on its end beside the plate of food.

Janet just stared at it, her eyes slowly trailing back up to meet Catherine. “So, I guess this is it.”

Catherine fought tears with her entire body, but a pair managed to escape her eyes. She let them fall.

“I...I just want to thank you,” Catherine managed to get out.

“For what?”

“For helping us. For everything. Without you we would’ve never made it this far.”

“Bullshit,” Janet said simply.

The response drew Catherine’s head up quickly, her body tensing reflexively at this sudden utterance. But the tension immediately melted away as each woman broke into smiles then followed it with laugher. It passed almost as soon as it began, the enormity of the situation looming like a pressure cloud between the two.

“You better get moving. There’s no time for you to be wasting.”

Catherine nodded. “I guess so.” She opened her mouth to say something else, but thought better of it. Offering a last, forced grin, Catherine tapped the glass of the door with her open palm. “Godspeed, Janet.”

Janet bobbed her head once. “And to you.”

With that, Catherine turned away. The emotions swirling in her were of such disparate elements she could barely glom onto a steady feeling. The sadness of Janet was invariably usurped by the real likelihood that in one more day she would be with her husband again. But as soon as this scenario played out, it was replaced with the journey that lay ahead and the dangers they surely faced. This, then, brought her right back to tears for the woman about to die on the other side of a gas station door.

“Hey, Catherine Hayesly,” Janet’s muffled voice called, muted within the confines of the convenience store.

Turning back to face her, Catherine saw she had one palm laid flat on the glass.

“You and me may never have been friends in a different life,” she began. “But we were in this one.” Curling her open hand into a fist, Janet laid it across her heart. And with a single nod, backed away into the shadows.

The bus pulled unceremoniously out of the gas station, thick exhaust spewing from its tail pipe. It kicked up a small cloud of dust as the tires transitioned from the gravel and dirt of the parking lot to the smooth asphalt of the road.

The last thing Janet saw as the bus drove away were the grimy rear windows filled to the hilt with supplies and food. And she couldn’t have been happier. For if there was even one face staring back at her, the little composure she’d managed to hold together would’ve fallen like a house of cards.

She waited until it was out of eyeshot before she pushed open the service station door and stepped into the parking lot. She spent the next six minutes watching the final hues of orange and purple sky succumb to the encroaching blues of dusk over the cliffs before her. True sunset was still thirty minutes or so away, but the little show she witnessed would have to stand in its stead.

She breathed deep and thought she had never smelled air so clean and pure. She stood quietly and listened, the surroundings so quiet she could actually hear the hum of her own ears.

Nodding to herself she turned back to the snack shop. She could see Derrick through the glass. He was on his feet now, just standing. And waiting.

Janet approached the door and stopped in front of the chair and the shotgun shell. It stood in stark contrast to its bleak surroundings, the red casing serving as a figuratively apt color choice.

Carefully, almost with tenderness, Janet picked it up and carried it inside. The door swung on its hinges behind her as she entered, oscillating in smaller and smaller increments until it eventually came to a standstill.

Janet picked up her shotgun.

Derrick started coughing.

Part III: Genesis

22

On The Road Again

Catherine drifted between the foggy middle ground of deep sleep and consciousness. She was too wired to rest and too exhausted not to. Propelling her into full awareness were the unmistakable sounds of someone quietly calling for her attention, the prompts sounding like air being let out of a tire in short bursts, followed by her name harshly whispered.

She searched the mostly sleeping cabin of the bus until her eyes found Oliver stealing quick glances at her from the rearview window. Seeing he had her attention, he motioned for her to come to the front.

Removing a sleeping Tamara from her lap and laying her gently on the seat, Catherine headed toward Oliver. She walked past Josh, Madeline and Shelby, each sleeping in separate seats. She continued past Abby and Leanne who, Catherine noticed, were talking quietly to one another and sharing a breakfast of cereal bars and boxed apple juice. She was unsure of the conversation but glad for it. Each girl needed a friend right now.

“How we doing?” Catherine said as she reached Oliver.

“Exhausted. But I couldn’t sleep if you paid me.”

“What’s up?”

“This,” Oliver said, pointing to the gas gauge.

Catherine craned her neck around the steering wheel to get a look at the jiggling fuel needle. It danced perilously close to the “E”.

“How are our stores?” she asked.

“We tapped out at the last stop,” Oliver declared. “What you see is what we got.”

“Shit.”

“My thoughts exactly.”

“How far are we from Alamogordo?” Catherine said, her thumbnail subconsciously finding her mouth.

Oliver tossed his head from side to side. “I guestimate roughly fifty or sixty miles.”

“Jesus, we’re that close.” Catherine looked to the floor in thought. “And how far can we get with what we’ve got?”

“No telling. It’s like with any car. You don’t know how far you can get when the fuel’s low until you actually do it once. But I haven’t driven this banana enough to have a real good idea.”

Catherine knelt on one knee and looked over at Oliver. “Can you give me a best guess? A gut feeling?”

Oliver checked his rearview then side view mirror. “If I’m guessing, I’d say you could have anywhere from forty miles up to possibly seventy or more. I just don’t know.”

Catherine stood and faced the bus door, grabbing the steel seat pole for support.

“But here’s the real kicker,” Oliver continued. “I’m not sure how you feel about it, but my personal preference would be to not roll into Alamogordo during broad daylight.”

“I would agree.”

“So us being on the same page and all, there may be another option.”

“Another option?” Catherine’s voice rose optimistically as she turned to face Oliver.

“Yes. But it’s a gamble.”

Catherine swallowed hard. “What are you thinking?”

Oliver adjusted himself in his seat. “The way I see it is this. We’ve got until noon tomorrow—about a day. Option one is we could pull over for now, stay out of sight until the sun goes down then barrel into town and make for the shelter. Or, option two, we could keep going and circumvent the city.”

“Circumvent the city? What do you mean, like another route?”

“Yeah. In looking at the map we could detour to the east along the three eighty, then catch a couple of local roads south to the seventy. We follow it to the two forty-four, then onto the eighty-two and we’re in the back door of Alamogordo. Real close to the shelter. We’d still be coming into the city just to the north of it, but at least they wouldn’t see us coming all the way down the fifty-four like a beacon.”

Catherine pondered Oliver’s words. “What’s the drawback?”

Oliver sighed heavily. “The drawback is that it will take several hours longer and burn a ton a fuel. Between here and Alamogordo there ain’t a whole hell of a lot. Just one town, really, called, Tularosa and I’ve got to imagine that it being so close to Alamogordo, fuel’s probably gonna be pretty scarce.”

“And the other route?”

“Well, this is where you need to decide if you’re the gambling type or not. While the route will definitely be longer, we’ll also pass through quite a few small towns up in the mountains. More towns means more chances for fuel and because of their remoteness the likelihood is pretty good that we’ll find some. And more fuel means a guarantee that we make it. We could be in the shelter by early evening. If we decide to push through, we could—and I emphasize could—run out of gas miles outside of Alamogordo. Then we’d have to do the rest on foot.”

Catherine stared through the windshield at the barren desert landscape. In the distance ahead, just beginning to announce their presence, were the Sacramento Mountains. Freedom and safety had never been so close yet so far away.

This was a prime example of how ineffectual Catherine felt as a leader. What was the right call? And what if she made the wrong choice, one in which everyone’s lives could be jeopardized? While she had mourned Janet’s absence, she hadn’t actually missed her until this moment. A born leader, Janet would’ve already decided and set a course of action. But for Catherine, the likelihood of unfortunate outcomes wore too heavily on her conscience. It was the sort of situation that made her just want to climb into a closet and wait for it all to be over. But she knew that wasn’t one of the options on the table.

“Okay,” she said finally, “Let’s look at what we really stand to gain by going around. There may be smaller towns, but there may still be New Human elements running around up there. And if there are all these towns, then that just increases our chance of an encounter with no real guarantee that we find fuel. And how much time will we lose searching for it? These things are smart, too, remember. We know they know how to operate vehicles. If we come across even one that has access to a car and can give chase, we’re dead in the water.”

Catherine chewed her lower lip and started to sense a euphoric rush as she argued out her options, feeling more and more confident with the decision she was about to make.

“It seems the only thing we really stand to gain is early arrival at the risk of impatience.” Catherine looked to Oliver to see if this offended him, but he only nodded. “If Warren says the missile strikes are to be at noon then that’s when they’ll take place. As much as I’d like to be there and off this bus, I think our best bet is to find someplace to hole up, get some rest and as soon as the sun hits that horizon, blaze in there like gangbusters.”

“All right then,” Oliver smiled. “We have a plan.”

“Yes we do.” Catherine could feel her face warming, like a floodgate of blood had been released into her head. She told herself this is what confidence must feel like.

“Any ideas on where we could lay low?” she asked.

Oliver grabbed the stack of map printouts Warren uploaded and rifled through them. “As a matter of fact I do.”

It was as perfect a spot as they were likely to find in the middle of nowhere. An apparently once thriving industry, the gravel and rock quarry was a veritable playground of enormous piles of stones of varying sizes.

Oliver followed the dusty road back among the rocky towers until the bus was no longer visible from any direction except overhead. And as far as the group knew, none of the New Humans had learned how to fly.

Yet.

Catherine and Madeline cornered Oliver and insisted that he get some shut-eye before their final push in the evening. Too tired to argue or disagree, Oliver politely obliged and scuttled over to a smaller heap of fine granite pebbles clutching a single blanket and pillow. Tossing the blanket onto the pile’s gentle slope, Oliver collapsed, asleep before his head hit the pillow.

But Catherine was a different story. Running on pure adrenaline, she couldn’t seem to bring herself to relax and enjoy what would be the last sunny day for a long time to come.

Instead, she set to scrutinizing the bus and pondered ways to make it lighter. Less weight equals more fuel efficiency, she remembered. With the eye of a drill sergeant and the determination of an Olympic athlete, Catherine stood in the aisle of the bus and pored over every last nook and cranny, searching for anything that could help lighten their load and aid their cause.

For starters, there was really no need to carry so much food. In another day, they would either make it or they wouldn’t. All the food in the world wouldn’t help them. With a brief request that resulted in approval from Madeline, Catherine had convinced her along with the help of Abby, Tamara and even Leanne, to take what was left of the food and prepare a massive feast. This was met with such marked enthusiasm that within minutes the food stores had been unloaded and laid out, meal planning set into high gear.

Once the food and water were gone—the water’s absence surely relieving the bus of significant weight—the next item slated for removal was a no-brainer.

With forceful kicks, Catherine ejected the empty and now useless fifty-gallon fuel barrels from the rear of the bus. Crashing to the ground with a thunderous clang, Catherine feared she might have woken Oliver. But a quick glance through the grime covered windows at his still sleeping shape and she knew she could probably set off a bomb and the exhausted man wouldn’t hear it.

The two obvious culprits removed, Catherine scoured the bus for other offenders. Glancing in, around and under the seats a sudden thought struck. Why not? she said to herself.

Josh had taken temporary residence at the top of one of the tallest mounds of rock to serve as a lookout. Calling him down, Catherine walked him over to the bus and handed him a portable tool set she found beneath the driver’s seat.

Josh narrowed his eyes suspiciously. But when Catherine explained to him what she wanted done, she found Josh—much to her surprise—to be receptive rather than hostile to the idea. Taking the toolbox, Josh boarded the bus. And for the next three and a half hours he removed every seat in the cabin.

The sun was minutes away from setting. Josh had arranged the bus seats like a movie screening room with all chairs facing in the direction of the quieting star. It was the final performance, after all, and deserved a proper sendoff.

Madeline had, indeed, prepared a magnificent feast. Using every last resource at her disposal, it seemed there was nothing the woman couldn’t conjure up. Using only simple collapsible camping pots and pans and a mish-mash of food that had been haphazardly tossed into the bus in a hurry, the meal bordered on gourmet.

It was a four-course affair. A plate of grain crackers with salami and olives started things off followed by a simple bean and vegetable soup assembled from an assortment of canned goods. Following this was a pasta and rehydrated mushroom dish seasoned with dehydrated spices. The best was saved for last as a dessert of peanut butter chocolate fudge was served along with instant coffee or cocoa. A source of pride for Tamara and Abby, they had taken turns beating and whipping instant milk until their arms were sore in order to achieve something that remotely resembled butter for Madeline. To them, fudge had never tasted so good.

Catherine couldn’t agree more.

As she sat with a full belly and watched her daughters giggle and tell tales about their baking adventures, or witnessed Josh’s continued self-assurance grow with each passing day while he talked quietly with Shelby, a disturbing yet peaceful thought crossed her mind: if they didn’t make it, it would be all right.

It wasn’t her intended outcome to be sure, but dammit they had tried. And if this was the last sunset she would ever see then at least she would be with her family and know that every possible effort was made to reach Warren and reunite her family. She just hoped he’d be able to move on if fate had a different blueprint in mind for them. It was truly the only source of sadness for her, Warren’s well being. And it crushed her to know that she would never be able to tell him how much she had loved him and the incredible life they had built together. The wonderful children they had raised. The enormous joy that had been her life, more often full than it wasn’t. For it hadn’t always been smooth sailing between the two. Sometimes, it had been downright ugly. But for her money, it was the best thing around.

Oliver helped himself to seconds of fudge and sat beside Madeline, offering her compliments for the wonderful meal. Madeline demurely accepted his comments, but Catherine could sense a more profound range of emotions percolating just below her serene exterior. She thought Oliver sensed it, too.

Abby and Leanne continued to chatter, the two having formed some sort of sisterly bond. Abby demonstrated to her the lesser-known functions of a now defunct text messager she had taken from Bayview mall. Her fingers danced over the keypad in a way that only exemplified her proficiency. And Leanne couldn’t have been more intrigued. In fact, Catherine could swear she got the first glimpse of a smile since having met the young woman and decided in that instant that despite her justifiably bedraggled condition, she was quite striking.

Shelby and Tamara sat beside each other with Josh occupying the seat just behind them. His feet were propped up on the back of their chair in a true display of typical teenage male awkwardness. Catherine knew he would rather be the one sitting beside Shelby, but allowed his sister to continue to reside there without a fuss.

Mashing the remaining crumbs of fudge between her thumb and index finger, Catherine tossed the last vestiges of her dessert into her mouth and followed it with a swig of piping hot coffee. She leaned back in her seat and seemed to be the only one to notice the sun as it dipped below the horizon for the final time, everyone else oblivious to it as they carried on with their private conversations. Brilliant orange light outlined the few clouds circulating overhead in electric hues. Purples and reds gradated to lesser colors of themselves, the sky a tapestry of pastels only a painter could place there. Yes, if this was it then so be it, she thought. There were worse ways one could die.

Full, content and surrounded by new friends and her own family, Catherine snuck away to the bus to have one last look at the map and to review their soon to be executed route one last time.

There were worse ways one could die. Catherine just hoped one of those ways didn’t happen tomorrow.

23

Alamogordo

“There it is,” Oliver said, his raspy voice cutting through what had been an otherwise intensely quiet ride.

Catherine crawled from her sitting position on the floor of the darkened bus and stood beside Oliver. She peered through the windshield and stared out into the dusky evening. The sight before her unnerved her in a way she hadn’t expected.

Alamogordo was rapidly approaching, the city’s low-lying profile a veritable black-on-black against the backdrop of the imposing Sacramento Mountains. But it wasn’t the lack of light and shadowy appearance that shook Catherine to her core. It was the presence of light.

“Shit,” she mumbled.

“I couldn’t have said it better myself,” Oliver said.

Half expecting, but mostly hoping, to find Alamogordo a ghost town, Catherine winced at the random glints of light that peppered the horizon. Even from their distance from the city, she could detect the glow from building windows, likely shuttered presences residing behind the scrim of unnatural light as they awaited the rise of the next morning’s sun.

This discovery, however, brought about another question: Why had she not seen any light from the water when coming ashore? Surely in a city that large there should have been some evidence of light playing along the cracks and crevices of boarded up windows. But she had seen nothing. The only conclusion she could reach was that the New Humans must’ve taken greater pains to conceal themselves due to the large number of “real” humans still moving about the city. The fact that so many points of light were visible in Alamogordo spoke volumes as to the likelihood of finding any human presence there. And this gave Catherine the creeps.

She broke from her thought and stole a look at the gas gauge. “How we doing on fuel?”

“So far, not even so much as a hiccup,” Oliver said as he sat rail straight, his eyes trained ahead of him in the darkness. “I think she’ll make it.”

Catherine nodded gratefully. If they could just get the bus as far as Alamo Canyon Road, then half the battle was won. According to Warren’s maps and instructions, the road was one of several access points into the Sacramento Mountains, located southeast of the city proper. Following the road as far as it would take them into an area called, appropriately enough, Deadman’s Canyon, they would then abandon the bus and continue on foot. Warren had left explicit instructions to bring the Sat phone, not so much for its calling capabilities—which he warned would most likely be useless since the only communications authorized in the shelter, both incoming and outgoing, would be via high-level encrypted messaging—but for its GPS system. Once they were all on foot it would be up to the gizmo in the phone to tell them where to go. Without it, they would be stumbling around in the dark aimlessly.

The remainder of the group climbed from their sitting position on the floor to a kneel.

“We here?” Josh asked.

Catherine turned and stared into the eyes of the equally eager and anxiety-ridden faces. “I think so. We’re about five or so minutes from bailing out. So everybody be ready.”

The group nodded silently to Catherine as she turned back around and trained her attention through the windshield. The first structures began to coast by like ominous ghost ships in the night.

“All right, captain,” Oliver began, “direct me.”

Catherine looked at her map. “Just continue south along North White Sands Boulevard until we hit First Street.”

“Gonna be kind of hard to make out street signs with no lights,” Oliver pointed out.

Catherine spun in place. “Josh,” she said, “hand me my pack.”

Josh scurried over to where Catherine’s pack lay and snatched it up. In one steady movement, he heaved it towards Catherine, she clutching it out of the air. As she did, a peculiar sight struck her, and for a brief moment she began to wonder why Josh had chosen to wear gloves on such a mild evening.

Catherine rummaged in her bag and quickly withdrew a pair of binoculars. She thrust them to her eyes and scanned the road, tried to focus on street signs as they approached.

“They’re a little fuzzy,” she began, “but if we just get a good look at one, we should be able to count our way down.”

The city planning was mercifully straightforward with the majority of the city streets in a grid pattern. They needed to make their way to First Street. From there it was just a handful of turns and then it was everybody off the bus. From what Catherine could make out through the binoculars, they had just past Eleventh Street.

“Seeing anything through those things?” Oliver asked, swallowing hard.

Catherine panned across the chalky black outline of the city. “Nothing that we don’t want to,” she replied. “Coming up on Fifth Street now.”

The rest of the group inched forward. Anything that mattered to them was strapped to their backs or stuffed in their pockets. Catherine urged everyone to be frugal with what they chose to bring reminding them that, just like the bus, more weight equals slower travel time and quicker loss of energy.

Catherine nervously peered at a handful of storefronts as they passed, dim light escaping the covered windows of several. She waited with bated breath, expecting at any moment for a random face to pull back the shade and stare out at her.

But none did. Could it really be this easy?

“There’s First Street, mom,” Abby said from her semi-crouched position, her finger pointed dead ahead.

Catherine raised the binoculars and verified. “Indeed it is. Take that left, Oliver.”

“You got it.”

The bus slowed only marginally, Oliver pulling on the wheel in large quarter turns. The group on the floor slid into the right wall of the bus, their momentum carrying them as the bus changed direction suddenly.

“Sorry, folks,” Oliver said. “Don’t want to slow too much.”

“Why not?” Josh asked.

“The more we slow, the more fuel I’ll have to burn accelerating back up to speed.” Oliver straightened out the wheel. “We’re so close now, hate to have to end up footing it before we—whoa, wait a minute.”

“What is that?” Madeline said, her voice filled with fear. She climbed to her feet, as did everyone else, their eyes trained through the front glass.

“Mommy?” Tamara said quietly.

Catherine saw it too, the binoculars immediately finding her eyes as she sought out the massive, jet-black shape that lay in front of them in the road.

“What the hell is that?” Josh said as he moved up behind his mother.

“Is it them?” Abby muttered.

Catherine pulled the binoculars away. Her thumbnail found its way into her mouth.

“Hit the lights.”

“Excuse me?” Oliver said.

“You heard me. Turn them on.”

Oliver cast a sideways glance, his objection clearly indicated on his face. He reached for the headlight switch. Then he turned on the lights.

“Son of a bitch,” he exclaimed.

Catherine’s heart sank into her stomach. She could feel the cold prickle of dizziness overtake her. She reached for the dashboard with both hands to keep from falling, her mouth a sudden desert of cotton and sand.

Oliver slowed the bus.

“What the hell do we do now?” Josh demanded more than asked as he clutched his rifle. “What do we do?”

Oliver brought the bus to a stop. “The boy raises a good question.” He turned to Catherine. “Hopefully, we’ve got a good answer and soon,” he said checking the gas gauge.

Catherine pushed herself up from the dash, fighting every urge to vomit. Of all the things she had planned to go wrong, the very last thing on her list of possible scenarios lay out on the road in an enormous heap.

Piled no less than twenty feet high and stretching not only across the road, but also over the sidewalks and into the properties that lay adjacent to them, were cars.

Dozens of them.

Stacked with no discernable order or plan, the cars looked as if they had just been dropped into place, allowed to fall where they may. And while Catherine couldn’t be certain, it appeared that not only was the wall of cars high and wide, it looked to run deep as well.

She suddenly had a very bad feeling.

“How’d they even do that?” Shelby asked.

“I don’t know,” Catherine finally managed to say. “But we certainly aren’t sticking around long enough to find out. Back it up, Oliver.”

Without a word, Oliver threw the bus into reverse.

Catherine snatched up the stack of printouts. She flipped through the pages until she came to the street map of Alamogordo. She traced their position on the page with her finger.

“We’ll take South Florida Avenue. Should be the next street directly behind us. We can follow it until we hit Panorama—”

“Mom!” Josh hollered.

Abby screamed.

“Shit!” Oliver yelled.

But Catherine saw it before she heard the first cry of horror, even before she was completely turned around. It was hard to miss.

The light was too bright.

24

The Wall

They were running. The cool night air assaulted their faces as their feet hit the pavement. Behind them, the sounds of motors grew louder and the glow of artificial light more brilliant with each passing second. There was no contingency plan anymore. There was only survival.

“Head into the cars!” Catherine screamed as she clutched Abby and Tamara in each hand. She caught Josh out of the corner of her eye just ahead of her. He was almost to the car wall with Shelby, Madeline and Leanne right behind him. Oliver could be heard huffing from somewhere over Catherine’s shoulder.

She knew what was coming. It was no secret. Yet every curious bone in her body cried out like an itch that needed to be scratched. She had to know. Had to see.

Slowing just enough to turn her head, Catherine wrenched around to catch a glimpse of what was now descending upon her and her family. And as soon as she did, she wished she hadn’t.

Escorted on either side by what looked to be enormous, industrial mining trucks was an even larger contraption she had come to know as a hydraulic excavator. With a single arm that protruded forward, the excavator was a staple among demolition sites. With its ability to destroy as well as recover what it had just crushed in its sizable scoop, the machine was invaluable. The particular model heading in Catherine’s direction, however, had no such scoop. In its place was a monster-sized four “fingered” claw. And if light were better, Catherine would see the evidence of this claw all along the exteriors of the car mountain before her.

As expected, the exteriors of all three vehicles were rigged with a hodge-podge of lighting from the smallest desk lamp to the largest industrial overhead. How so many lights managed to be procured in a town so small was of great interest to Catherine. Certainly, there was no nearby outlet specializing in full spectrum lighting. Not here. And even if there were, they certainly wouldn’t have on hand the number of lights she saw affixed to the approaching vehicles like some long lost scene from the Road Warrior. But judging by the way the New Humans were moving—agile and spry, not weakened—that must be what they were using. Alternative light types would have left them in a more debilitated state. So where did they come from?

The answer was so simple, so glaring, Catherine didn’t want to believe it. These things communicated. But not just in a primal, basic sense. They had figured out how to reach beyond their milieu and contact others like them. Had discovered that a world beyond their own existed.

And had asked for help.

But why shouldn’t they? If what Warren said was true about New Humans retaining the knowledge base of their host, then it was really just a matter of time before they put two and two together. They were evolving. Learning how to operate that fandangled human machine. Like a teenager given a formula racing car after having just acquired a driver’s license. And nothing could have wobbled Catherine’s knees more.

As soon Catherine she saw the heap of derelict cars from the bus she knew right where the massive barricade had been situated and why. On the other side of the car mound she would wager First Street crossed over a small canal. The barricade had been formed in such a way that there truly was no way to get around it unless they wanted to chance a swim in the water. And with no possible way to judge current swiftness in the dark, the only option seemed like the one she least wanted to attempt. Strategically, it was an ingenious move.

Josh reached the wall and was already scrambling onto a vehicle, pulling Shelby up after him. He then assisted with her mother and Leanne. Once the women were pulled from the street and had begun their climb through the back window of a VW Jetta, Josh turned.

He quickly loosed his rifle and took aim at the machinery moving toward him. Firing off a rapid succession of shots, he watched with satisfaction as several lights mounted to one of the mining trucks exploded. He pulled on his trigger until he was finally met with a click.

“I’m out!” he screamed.

Catherine was almost to the cars. “Drop it and get in there!”

Josh wavered for a moment, then immediately saw the logic in abandoning a useless weapon. He tossed it aside and scuttled into the Jetta.

As she approached the cars, Catherine yanked Tamara forward hoping to use her momentum to launch the girl onto the hood of a smashed Toyota Corolla. A small, trashcan-sized hole lay in front of the windshield, the rest of the opening formed by the truck bed gate of an overturned Ford F150. Space was narrow between the cars and certainly not Catherine’s first preference to climb through them, but what other choice did they have?

Tamara landed on the hood and instinctively scrambled toward the hole, but then hesitated. She turned to face Catherine, a fear Catherine had never seen before simmering in her eyes.

“I know, baby. It’s scary. But you’ve got to go. Now”

“But it’s so dark. I can’t see where I’m—”

“Tamara!” Catherine snapped. “We don’t have time. Climb through!” And without thinking, Catherine shoved Tamara into the hole. She knew this would seem harsh, but she would apologize later. If they were all still around to do so.

Abby was on the hood just behind her sister and needed no prompting to crawl into the hole. Her feet disappeared into the opening as Catherine hopped onto the hood. With a final glance back, she got a complete look at what was narrowing the gap between them. From the trucks and machinery to the mob of New Humans circling about them like mosquitoes to a porch light, Catherine had never seen such a display of power and force. She had also never been more scared in her life.

Following Josh’s example, Catherine pulled her gun from her waist and leveled it at the lights on the excavator. But as much as she wanted to fire every round in the magazine and inflict some sort of damage, she knew it would only be mere drops in the bucket and thought it more prudent to save what ammunition she had left for a more dire situation. It seemed reasonable to suspect that there would most likely be one.

Having seen the approaching horde in all of their menace, and with everyone clamoring through the mass of wrecked vehicles like rats through a junkyard, one thing was absolutely certain: Even if they made it through the cars, they would never escape.

Catherine could hear Josh from what seemed like only a few car lengths away.

“Grab my foot!” came one command, followed by “This way!” and “Over here!” Seemingly in charge of his situation, Catherine had no reservations as to Josh’s effectiveness at getting everyone to safety. She did, however, harbor a few doubts for her own.

It was impossibly dark among the cars, the only way to move forward by feeling blindly for passages. On more than one occasion Catherine felt herself grab a broken window or a sharpened piece of folded metal as she scurried over and under the maze of vehicles. Her hands were slick with what she could only assume was blood since no overpowering aroma of fuel or antifreeze met her nostrils when she smelled her palm.

Tamara was crying and Abby began to develop claustrophobia at the most inopportune moment. She could only imagine what injuries they had sustained, but she couldn’t help that now. Behind her she could hear Oliver struggling to squeeze through narrow channels between the cars, each movement met with a chorus of grunts and curses.

“Mommy, I can’t see!” Tamara cried, her sniffling audible.

“I know, baby,” Catherine said, “but you’ve got to keep moving. Keep looking for a way.”

“I can’t.”

“You have to try!”

The motors of the trucks and excavator were loud enough that Catherine found herself shouting to respond. Flickers of light began to dance off the interior of the car heap now, glinting sporadically like a strobe light as if teasing the trapped occupants with glimpses of a possible freedom.

They were close.

“I need to get out of here, mom,” Abby said fearfully.

“We’re trying, kiddo. Just keep going.”

“I’m serious. I’m gonna flip out. I’m gonna flip out! The cars are gonna crush us!”

In a perfect world, Catherine would have taken the time to assess and assuage any fears that arose in her children. But this world was far from perfect, and she couldn’t rationalize how inanimate, stationary cars could present more of a horrific scenario then the several hundred New Humans assailing them from mere yards away.

“Look,” she screamed, “everybody get a goddamned grip! We are under attack. Do you all understand that? If we don’t get out of here we are all going to die. Now everybody shut the hell up and move. Now!”

Tamara continued to cry. Abby whimpered. Oliver huffed and puffed. But they were all moving.

The light, although feared for what was held in its proximity, was also a bit of a blessing. For what was initially a maze of blackened shapes in a black room, had now become increasingly more obvious as light played off the glass and reflective metals. It was a trade off, Catherine knew, but one she was willing to make at the moment.

Spying a sizable hole alongside the silhouette of Abby, Catherine pushed past her daughter into the passenger seat of a Chevy Bronco. The cab was surprisingly intact and Catherine thought she could see the blessed sight of moonlight through the driver’s side window and beyond.

“Follow me. Everyone this way,” Catherine commanded. “Abby grab your sister.”

Oliver’s voice sounded in between labored breaths. “You know where you’re going?”

Catherine had never heard a more stupid or inane question in her life. “Yeah, Oliver. I think so,” she panted. “Let me just consult my map and make sure.”

Catherine could hear Oliver chuckle a little as she scurried into the driver’s seat. There was still glass in the door window so she kicked the rest of it out. Thrusting her head through, she searched for the next chess move in this literal game of life.

“Josh, where are you?” she screamed.

Josh’s voice came back, clear and nearby. “Over here,” he called. “I think I can see the street on the other side. I think we’re almost through.”

Catherine squinted in the dark, trying to block out the light from the encroaching machines, it playing with her depth perception. Her heart fluttered at what she saw and the feeling could only be described as one thing: hope.

“I think I see it too!” she cried. For dead ahead, no less than three car lengths away was the unmistakable image of light on pavement.

“Mom?” Josh said.

Catherine twisted herself to look in the direction of his voice and found a head poking out of another vehicle.

“Josh, that you?”

“I hope so,” he replied.

Catherine smiled briefly. “Everyone still with you?”

He vanished for a second then reappeared. “Yeah, we’re all still here.”

Catherine searched frantically for her next move. While the light had been beneficial in discovering space, it unfortunately couldn’t help out in the actual creation of it. Currently fifteen feet off the ground, Catherine twisted and turned, desperately seeking any path or nook through which she could safely move everyone forward.

The machines and the New Humans were terrifyingly close now, the revving engines sounding as if they were just behind them. The acrid smell of exhaust permeated the cars. Then Tamara screamed.

“Mommy, they’re coming! They’re coming!”

“It’s all right, baby,” Catherine began. “We’re getting out of here. Just hold on—”

“They’re coming!” Tamara’s scream was so shrill it caused Catherine to turn involuntarily. When she did the sight behind her was enough to send a chill that radiated throughout her entire body.

Beyond their location, on the other side of the cars they had just passed through, moving like spiders in the vibrating light, were New Humans.

“Catherine, we’ve gotta move. Like, now,” Oliver’s tremulous voice said.

“Mom, go. Go, go, go. Hurry! Go!” Abby cried. She hadn’t yet mentally collapsed, but Catherine knew it would only be a matter of minutes if not seconds before she did.

But there was nowhere to go. There were no open passageways through the interior of the cars, no gaps wide enough for people to pass through, no way up, no way down, and no going back. They were, in effect, trapped.

Catherine fought to keep tears from falling. “What do you see, Josh!” she hollered.

Josh’s head popped back out of the nearby vehicle. “I see a bunch of those fucking things coming,” he howled. “They’re coming this way!”

Josh was losing his cool and Catherine could hear Leanne, Shelby and Madeline wail even from her distance and over the deafening sound of the motors.

“Keep it together, kiddo. We’re going to find a way. Just keep looking. Can you—”

The entire mound of cars suddenly shook with a violent shudder. Metal groaned and glass broke as cars shifted and settled all around them.

Everyone screamed.

“What the hell was that?” Josh shouted.

But Catherine knew. Knew that the New Humans climbing on the cars was only a ploy to try and flush them out. They couldn’t risk going too deep into the confines of the vehicles for fear of exceeding their range of light. And when that ploy failed, they really only had one other option.

Smash us out or kill us trying.

The cars rocked again, this time more ferociously. Tamara screamed unceasingly. Catherine was thrown onto her back and knocked heads with Abby who was directly behind her. Upon impact, Catherine’s weapon jarred loose from her waistband and she felt a surge of nausea rise in her as she listened to it rattle around the cab before clattering out the window and into the darkness below.

She clamored to her hands and knees and thrust her head through the opening. “Damn,” she muttered to herself.

Glancing around her immediate area she could see cars swaying precariously on their meager foundations, ready to collapse with the right amount of force.

A strong jolt shook the cars for a third time. It wasn’t until Catherine watched a VW bug roll down the jagged metal slope of vehicles in front of her that she actually began to consider the reason behind the fierce jostling. Without so much as a backward look, she knew.

They were dismantling the wall.

The truth of this drove into her like a spike through the chest. Using the excavator, no doubt, Catherine deduced that it was probably the same way they constructed the wall in the first place.

A loud grinding of metal was instantaneously followed by an ear piercing crash as another vehicle tumbled to the pavement below.

More screams of horror.

“Catherine, what the hell are we doing?” Oliver shouted.

“I’m working on it!”

“Well, work faster!”

Another car smashed dangerously close into the mound, careening toward the asphalt. Catherine ducked instinctively, bracing herself for the aftershock of swaying vehicles.

Abby was mumbling to herself now, repeating a string of unintelligible syllables repeatedly while Tamara whimpered and cried. Everything that defined Catherine as a woman and mother wanted to scoop her children up and reassure them, tell them it would be okay. But she knew the likelihood of this was remote and didn’t know if she possessed the acting ability necessary to convince them of such a fable.

An ear-splitting crunch of metal sounded just above Catherine’s location. The Bronco lurched downward suddenly, springing back into its original position and sending the occupants bouncing around like rag dolls.

More people shrieked and pleas for help and a rapid exit were met with a mute response from Catherine. There was nothing to be done. Nowhere to go. This was it.

Then she saw it.

She had to blink twice to verify that it was real. And as soon as the vehicle-crushing arm of the excavator neared for another scoop of devastated cars, the lights affixed to the arm emitted enough brightness to confirm it.

There was a gap.

Directly below her on the street, wide enough for several people, was a sliver of space. In all of the shifting and moving of cars, the excavator must have knocked the positions of some loose and opened up a corridor. If she could just make it to that opening there might just be a throughway out to the other side.

“Josh!” she yelled, her adrenaline flowing.

“Yeah!”

“Directly below us. Six o’clock. Think you can get to it?”

Josh writhed and squirmed to get a look.

“Yeah, I think so!”

“Then go. Now!”

Catherine propelled herself back inside the Bronco, feeling the sting of a shard of glass as it sliced into her palm. But she didn’t have time to worry about such trivialities.

“All right,” she said to everyone, “we’re moving. Stay right behind me!”

Catherine looked upon the tear-stained faces of her petrified daughters. They nodded silently and at that moment she knew getting them away from this wretched place wasn’t only something she wanted to do, it was something she had to do.

“Let’s go!”

Catherine sprung from the Bronco, twisting herself so she dangled over the opening. It was too far to drop down so she positioned herself to help Abby and Tamara traverse the maze of twisted metal.

“Okay, Abby. Go!”

Abby crawled forward and reached through the window for Catherine. Clutching her by her shoulders, Catherine wrestled Abby from the truck and lowered her onto the underside of another vehicle below, her slim shape barely able to squeeze past Catherine as she did so. She knew Tamara would pose no issue, but Oliver would certainly encounter setbacks.

“Climb down!” Catherine screamed to Abby as she looked over and saw what she thought was Shelby, then Madeline emerge from the vehicle in which she had seen Josh moments earlier. They worked themselves free of their car and began their descent, Leanne inching out just behind them.

Turning to find Tamara anxiously awaiting assistance, Catherine’s attention was abruptly drawn skyward as the lighted shape of the excavator arm swung like a pendulum into a Ford Focus not ten feet above her.

Catherine lurched into the Bronco and blanketed Tamara with her body as the resulting aftershock rattled the shaky tower of cars. Tamara yelped and Catherine watched out of the corner of her eye as the Focus rolled to the ground.

They were getting closer.

Catherine spied Oliver just over Tamara’s shoulder. “Get ready to move, Oliver!”

Oliver crawled as forward as he could behind Tamara. “Trust me, you’ll never see me move as fast.”

Hopping back out of the cab, Catherine adjusted her footing and yanked Tamara free. Glancing down, she saw Abby was almost to the ground. Easing Tamara by her, Catherine dropped the tiny girl onto the overturned car.

“Follow Abby, baby,” Catherine said. “Do what she does.”

“Okay,” came the jittery response.

Catherine turned to face Oliver when she saw the swinging arm of the excavator in action again.

“Brace yourselves!” she hollered, thrusting her arms perpendicular to her body.

The trajectory of the latest swing must have been more downward then across for the subsequent jolt shook Catherine so hard she nearly lost her grip on the Bronco. Oliver slammed his head into the steering wheel and followed his injury with a tirade of four-letter words.

Catherine checked below her and found that Abby had reached the ground. Tamara was moving gingerly toward her and Catherine could just make out Abby’s arms as they reached out to her sister.

Starting her own descent, Catherine caught up with Tamara in a matter of seconds. She continued on until she reached the ground then reached back up for Tamara. The final steps were tricky as they required a bit of body contortion and a fair amount of trust in that there would be a foothold where none seemed to exist.

But Tamara barreled forward like a trooper, reaching Catherine’s welcoming arms just moments after her mother had set foot on asphalt.

“Mom!” said Josh’s voice from behind Catherine.

Whirling in place, Catherine located Josh through the backseat of a Dodge Stratus. All the women were behind him, Leanne just dropping down from somewhere overhead.

“Josh,” Catherine said relieved. “Everyone okay?”

“Yeah, we’re all good. I think there’s a way through over here. Can you get by?”

Catherine scrutinized the crumpled roof and limited confines of the Stratus. “I don’t know. I’m not sure it’s large enough. But if you’ve got a way, go. We’ll catch up.”

“Hell with that. I ain’t going anywhere without you guys.”

Another massive crash sounded. The entire wall of cars rocked and swayed uneasily as Oliver clung precariously from one hand directly above Catherine.

“Son of a bitch!” he yelled as he regained his handholds. “These things are really starting to piss me off. Tell me you’ve got a way through down there.”

“I think we might. Just keep coming.” Catherine looked up at Oliver’s portly shape as he squirmed among twisted and crushed metal. But her attention was soon directed beyond him to the uppermost vehicle of the pile where someone sat, looking patiently down on her like a gargoyle statue atop a high rise.

Catherine watched in horror as the New Human calmly stood. It stared directly at her and opened its mouth, all indications of a scream evident—but no sound escaped.

Her eyes dancing nervously over the summit of the cars, Catherine’s breath caught in her throat as she heard the revving of not one engine, but all of them. The New Human had seen and reported their location. And when the New Human that had spotted them quickly vanished, Catherine feared the worst.

They were preparing for an all out assault.

New Humans scurried like cockroaches to clear a path in front of the mining trucks. Hopping down from their various positions atop the car pile, they retreated back behind the mammoth machinery as the engines gunned and exhaust spewed.

The pathway clear, the mining trucks began to back up. The reverse warning tone sounded as the two vehicles continued until a sizable distance lay between them and the mound of cars.

Then, without a second of delay, the trucks sped forward.

No sooner had the thought of a vehicle barrage flitted through Catherine’s mind than a distant, repeating beep sounded from somewhere. She knew that sound. Had heard it on forklifts, moving vans and UPS trucks.

They were backing up.

Before Catherine could formulate a question as to the why, the entire wall of vehicles shook with a force heretofore unfelt.

Oliver, reacting on pure instinct, released his grip split seconds after the wall of cars shuddered. Had he maintained his hold on the tire well he previously grasped, his head would have been pulverized like a melon, the front end of a station wagon sliding forward with a crash into the now vacant location.

Hitting the ground with an ungraceful thud, Oliver immediately hopped to his feet. “They’re gonna knock it down!” he boomed.

Catherine glanced up in time to see the wildly swinging arm of the excavator come crashing down on the top most vehicle.

“Get down!” she screamed, collecting Abby and Tamara in her arms and driving them to the ground.

Glass exploded out of several windows, showering Catherine and the others with a peppering of glass beads as the mountain of cars shook unsteadily. The cars themselves compressed and rebounded; metal groaned and creaked.

Catherine could hear Josh trying to reassure Shelby, Madeline and Leanne as the women screamed and shrieked. Rotating around to see, she looked toward the heavens as the excavator arm retracted, no doubt preparing for another go. Then came that beeping sound again. Two of them, in an arrhythmic, atonal pulse, one’s pitch slightly lower than the other.

Getting to her knees, Catherine stared into the darkness. This was the final push, she thought. They were coming full bore now. If they were going to get out of here then she needed to make something happen. Now.

But before she could utter a word of direction, the entire wall of cars trembled with the force of an earthquake as the mining trucks slammed into them again. The initial impact was deafening, but it was the subsequent crashing of vehicles overhead that forced hands to ears. Tumbling end over end, cars smashed and collided with each other as a torrent of dislodged vehicles clattered toward the earth.

Catherine and the others cowered like scared animals, taking up position alongside a Chevy Cavalier, its condensed frame their only protection.

The excavator arm swung again and sent three more cars spilling down the slope. The first shafts of pure moonlight poured in from the new opening it created and for the first time since their entrance into the maze of machines, Catherine could really see her daughters’ faces. But their delicate features weren’t the only things visible in the settling aftermath. Not ten feet away were two revelations Catherine could only describe as miraculous: a person-sized opening through to the street and an overturned motorcycle.

Wasting not a second, Catherine flung herself through the passage and over to the motorcycle as the taunting chime of the reverse signals sounded again.

“Mommy!” Tamara screamed.

“Stay there,” Catherine shouted over her shoulder as she sprinted to the downed cycle. Collapsing beside it, she rapped on the gas tank with bloody knuckles. A dull thud echoed back along with the unmistakable slosh of a partially filled reservoir.

Catherine’s heart fluttered in her chest. And when she discovered the keys still in the ignition, her spirit soared.

Whipping around, Catherine caught site along the summit of the car barrier, now dramatically reduced. New Humans moved across the top, eyeing her hungrily but she knew they were limited by their proximity to the light.

She looked back into the darkened hole from whence she emerged and saw three pairs of eyes staring back at her.

“Oliver!” she yelled, ushering him over enthusiastically.

Oliver squeezed through the opening and made his way to her. His eyes danced about nervously, unsure of his foray into open air.

Then he saw the motorcycle.

“Holy shit.”

“Can you drive it?” Catherine spat.

“I don’t know. I think—”

“Yes or no!” Catherine shouted.

“All right, yes! As long as it’s operable.”

Catherine spun toward the hole and waved her daughters over with emphatic swings of her arm. They materialized out of the darkness like a pair of timid rabbits.

“Give me your rifle,” Catherine ordered.

“I don’t have it,” Oliver confessed. “I had to lose it in there somewhere. I couldn’t move with it strapped to my back.”

“Shit,” Catherine hissed as her daughters reached her. “All right, help me get this up,” Catherine commanded as she turned to the motorcycle. Each grasping a section of the bike, they heaved it onto its tires.

“Get on. Start it up.”

Oliver regarded Catherine a moment. “What are you doing, Catherine?”

“Get your ass on the bike and start it up!” she screamed.

Oliver climbed aboard the cycle as Abby and Tamara reached Catherine. He twisted the key and pushed the starter and was met with the instantaneous—if incredulous—growl of the motor as it sputtered to life.

Grabbing Tamara by her waist, Catherine lifted the girl and sat her directly behind Oliver.

“Mommy, what are you doing?” Tamara questioned, her eyes filling with tears.

Catherine ignored her, taking Abby’s hand and guiding her onto the motorcycle behind Tamara. She leaned forward into Tamara’s face. “Hold on with all you’ve got, honey.” She moved to Abby. “And you hold on to Tamara. As tight as you can.”

“Wait,” Abby protested, “where are you going to sit? There’s no more room.”

The answer, Catherine knew, would cause tremendous revolt among her daughters. More of a concern to her was the ability to answer without bursting into tears herself. But the decision had been made.

“I’m not going,” she said matter-of-factly.

Then the beeping stopped.

“But...we’re not going without you!” Abby wailed. “We won’t go—”

Catherine slammed her hand over Abby’s mouth and kissed her fiercely on the cheek. She grabbed Tamara’s head and did the same. “I love you both. More than you know.”

Releasing them to intense crying, she flew to Oliver. Retrieving the SAT phone from her pack, she jammed it into his shirt pocket. “My entire life is on the back of this motorcycle,” she choked out. “Please get them to safety.”

Oliver stared dumbfounded. “How will you find the shelter if I have the phone?”

She stared him in the eyes, her response of silence more than he needed.

Oliver nodded. “I’ll take care of them.”

“Go!”

Oliver peeled away. The devastated look on Abby and Tamara’s faces as they dissolved into the inky black night would haunt Catherine until her death. But they were away from here. And that little kernel of truth was enough to offer her a modicum of solace.

The trucks crashed again and this time Catherine had a front row seat to the destruction. Although the height of the car structure had been significantly cut down, there were plenty of opportunities for a wayward vehicle to wreak havoc on the remaining survivors still trapped inside.

The excavator arm loomed over the pile like a motorized serpent. Its open claw drove downward and snatched a mangled car in its clutches, seeming to spit it off to the side as it released it. It wouldn’t be long before it reached the bottom of the stack.

New Humans roamed along the uppermost perimeter of the wall. They seemed to sense their expanding range of mobility with each layer of vehicles that were removed. Soon the light from the trucks and excavator would reach well beyond the wall. And when that happened all bets were off.

Catherine could hear Josh, Shelby, Madeline and Leanne shouting from somewhere inside. She charged back over to the pile just as a Honda crashed scarily close to her. Her son was still inside. And nothing could keep her away.

“Josh!” Catherine yelled.

“Over here,” Josh called. Her eyes scanned the darkened wall made all the more dark by the sea of lights emanating from the other side, their illumination backlighting everything.

The trucks’ reverse warning signals sounded again. Catherine knew with each strike the integrity of the wall was being reduced. It would only take another couple of direct hits before the whole thing crumpled to the ground.

Running along the face of the wall—was she really trying to get back in?—Catherine searched for Josh’s location.

“Josh, where are you? I can’t see you.”

“Right here,” his voice came back. “Directly in front of you.”

Catherine shielded her eyes then saw him. He was waving frantically from two cars away, his face barely discernable through the oil-slicked windshields that lay between them.

“Can you get out?” Catherine called.

“No. The way I thought was an exit turned out to be a dead end. We’re stuck.”

Scanning the exterior of the cars, Catherine could find no viable pathway. Lunging onto the roof of the car in front of her, Catherine watched warily as the New Humans reacted animatedly to her nearing presence. It made her queasy to be so close to them, but knew there was no other way. What she wouldn’t give to have a gun right now. Climbing over a second vehicle and riling them even more, Catherine fell to her stomach and peered between the cracks of two vehicles butted up against one another.

Josh was directly below her.

“Can you see anyway out above you? Over your head somewhere?” she asked.

“No. There’s nothing. Even the way we came in is gone.”

“Keep looking, Josh. There’s got to be a way.”

“I have been looking!” he railed. “You think I want to stay here?”

“All right, sweetie. We’ll figure something—”

The signals stopped beeping. Catherine’s head snapped up and she looked over her immediate surroundings. Cars teetered precariously from various locations near her and as she heard the RPMs from the mining trucks kick into high gear, realized she was in the worst position possible.

She scrambled to her feet, simultaneously yelling to Josh and the others, “I’ll be back!” Turning back toward the street, she began to run across the roof of the car.

Then the impact came.

It was more forceful than she anticipated. The sudden shift in solid footing wobbled her and drove her painfully to her knees. She rolled onto her back in time to see a pickup truck slip from its position above and rocket toward her. Spryly, she twisted and rolled away as the truck smashed mere feet away into the area where she previously lay. The collision jolted her into the air, the momentum from the truck toppling it as it continued toward the ground.

“Mom!” Josh screamed.

“I’m okay,” she replied, not sounding entirely convinced.

Righting herself, Catherine was forced to find a handhold as the previously horizontal vehicle on which she stood now rested at a considerable angle.

“Where are you?” Josh’s voice came again. But this time it sounded clearer, more direct. Catherine crawled over the car in a frenzy looking for the explanation when she discovered a narrow gap between the hood of the vehicle she was standing on and the inverted trunk of another car. It wasn’t large, but she thought with a little effort a person could get through it. Clamoring over to it, she forced her head through the opening and looked down.

Josh and the others stared back at her from directly below.

“Mom!” Josh cheered.

The ominous dual beeping tones began again.

Catherine forced her arms through the gap and held them out. “Come on. I think this hole is big enough to fit through. Hurry, they’re going to ram again.”

The group scurried like rats in a cage, searching for any possible way to reach Catherine. A footstep. A handhold. Anything. But there was nothing available in spite of the wreckage around them. She was too high.

Josh exhaled with frustration. “Goddammit, I just want out of this place!”

“We’ll find a way,” came Shelby’s reassuring and compassionate voice in the dark. “Mrs. Hayesly, there’s no way up. We can’t get to you.”

“Nothing? There’s nothing you could stand on, a...a rope from a trunk you could toss up? Nothing?”

“No, mom. There’s nothing, okay?” The irritation in Josh’s voice was palpable. Any further pressing on Catherine’s part would only serve as a detriment to the situation.

Catherine extracted herself and whipped her head in the direction of the New Humans. They’d moved even closer now, their soulless faces gazing at her with an anticipation that made her quiver. In a couple more strikes they would be on them.

Then something struck her, sobering her instantly. A thought danced through her head. An image that played in her subconscious, of something seen yet not realized. Was it actually there? Did she, in fact, see what she thought she saw?

Those damned reverse signals stopped again and three seconds from now the landscape of the vehicles upon which Catherine stood would be altered irrevocably. She had a decision to make. One that would be based on blind faith and not much else. If she were right, then there existed a chance. But if she were wrong...

Trust yourself, she thought.

The engines from the trucks revved and gears grinded as Catherine turned back to the hole. Rotating herself one hundred eighty degrees, she slipped her feet then legs into the opening.

Josh and the others watched incredulously from below. “What the hell are you doing?” Josh screamed. But Catherine didn’t have time for explanations.

Forcing her torso into the opening, she worked her shoulders, one by one, through the slim notch then followed with her head. Hanging by the tips of her fingers, Catherine prepared to drop. Josh and the others readied themselves to catch her, their faces screwed in a look of sheer incomprehension.

For the second before the mining trucks hit, a lifetime of indecision coursed through Catherine’s brain. All the second-guessing of a myriad of situations gave her pause and prevented her from releasing that final grip into the unknown. But there were no other choices, and at some point in her life she would have to start believing in herself. Believe that she was capable.

The trucks slammed with full force into the car wall. And as Catherine fell to earth, she watched as the vehicle to which she had just clung sheared away from her line of sight. A waning gibbous moon appeared in its place nestled in the black velvet of night. And Catherine thought it had never looked more beautiful.

25

Going Down

Her foot ached and her head throbbed. She could hear voices calling her name but they sounded far away, under water. Forcing open her eyes, Catherine found herself staring Madeline in the face.

“What happened?” Catherine said shakily.

“You took a knock on the head,” Madeline said.

“You okay?” Shelby asked.

Josh stepped behind his mother and snaked an arm around her waist. “What happened is that you’re totally insane. What the hell were you thinking?”

The two pulled Catherine to her feet, the rotation of the world catching up with her. Then suddenly she remembered. Remembered why she had chosen to abandon the relative safety of the surface for the uncertainty of the alcove below.

Getting her second wind, Catherine stepped away from the group and searched the ground, rotating wildly as she did so. Josh was already on his way to a Ford Taurus, which had fallen at a forty-five degree angle into the space and served as a would be ramp to the now cleared opening above.

“I’ll climb out and pull you all up,” he declared, one foot already on the hood of the car. He turned and saw Catherine, her face turned to the street beneath her feet. “What are you looking for? This way. Up here.”

Catherine regarded him only briefly then spun suddenly, her eyes filled with terror. “Josh, no!”

Josh took two more steps, arriving at the rear window of the car and nearly to the top before he fully comprehended Catherine’s disapproval. Had it not been for Leanne’s quick and powerful jerk of his legs out from under him, the arm of the New Human that swiped at his head would have most certainly connected.

Rolling from the vehicle and slamming to the ground, Josh stared up at a group of New Humans as they circled the opening like a pack of wolves.

“Jesus Christ!”

The New Humans reached and swung their arms at the trapped group, their blank expressions unsettling. They maintained position along the circumference of the opening, moving and jostling for a better angle in the off chance somebody else took the risk of climbing out.

Madeline and Shelby shrieked in pure terror. Catherine grabbed each by a shoulder and forced them to look at her.

“They can’t get us. Not as long as there’s no light.” Madeline and Shelby quieted, their tear-filled eyes locked with Catherine. “At least not yet.”

The beeping hadn’t sounded yet and Catherine could only assume this meant the New Humans had taken a break in their assault to conduct a recon mission. See if they’d been able to smoke anyone out. It might be just the pause she needed. But it wouldn’t last long.

“What the hell’re we gonna do now?” Josh said, his voice quivering. “We’re fucked!”

Catherine released her grip on Madeline and Shelby and pushed them back, searching the cramped quarters of the street on which they stood. She knew it was there. It wasn’t an illusion.

Trust yourself, she prompted again.

And then she saw it. Just inches shy of being covered by a demolished red Chevy, it rested in the shadows virtually hidden from sight. But it was there. And Catherine wanted to cry.

A manhole cover.

She shoved passed everyone and fell to her knees, her fingers eagerly working at the holes in the cover in an attempt to heft it free.

His eyes darting among the New Humans, Josh watched his mother with absolute incomprehension. “Mom, what the hell—”

Then he saw it, too.

No words were necessary. No apologies required. No pleas for forgiveness requested. There was only a mother and her son working feverishly side-by-side trying to free the lid from its resting spot.

“Can you get your finger into the hole?” Catherine asked.

“I think so,” Josh said.

Madeline, Shelby and Leanne crowded around, the sequence of Catherine’s actions up to this moment now brought into full clarity.

“Okay, on three,” Catherine said, her fingers tucked into a pair of openings on the cover. Josh adjusted his stance, his fingers also worked into the narrow holes. Catherine looked at him. “One, two, three!”

The pair yanked upward, their muscles straining, their knuckles popping, but the cover wouldn’t budge.

“Let’s try again,” Catherine said, shaking the indentation of the cover from fingers. She reached for it again when Josh stopped her.

“We’re never gonna be able to lift it. We need something to help us.”

“What?”

Josh searched around him frantically, his mind buzzing with a thousand ideas but no options to implement any of them.

“Please hurry, you two,” Madeline said, her voice quavering nervously.

Above them in the opening, the New Humans continued to circle with more joining the group. They leered into the cleared area, some testing the limits of their environment by venturing further into the pit with their reach only to be met with a crackling sound as their flesh—now devoid of nourishing light—began to wither.

Josh looked from the New Humans to the car he had been standing on a minute previous when a thought struck him like a bolt of lightning.

Sucking in a powerful breath, he charged. The New Humans swirled with anticipation as Josh flew for the angled vehicle and ripped open the back door with surprisingly little effort. Their arms reached in toward him, a beehive of activity.

“Josh!” Catherine shrieked when she caught sight of her son’s actions.

But Josh didn’t hear her. Didn’t have time to acknowledge her discontent with words of assurance. He knew as well as everyone else that they wouldn’t last much longer in their pit of despair. And the only way, it seemed, to escape it was not by going up and over, but heading down and out.

Crawling on the back seat, Josh could see the New Humans through the windshield reacting with what could only be labeled as frustration at their inability to get to him. Their faces began to register expressions—and none were of the friendly variety.

The car was a sedan of some sort, large and boxy with ample room. He’d had little experience with cars that size, but the limited amount of knowledge he did have told him that most of them shared similar design features. And if that were true, then the item he sought would be in the trunk.

But the trunk was inaccessible in the car’s current position. He’d have to find another way. In some models, he knew, there was one, but whether or not this particular model offered such an alternative remained to be seen. Approaching with crossed fingers, Josh grasped the center back seat cushion between his filthy hands and exhaled. With a quick tug he pulled it forward. The cushion rotated downward onto the seat. Behind it lay a large, gaping hole into the trunk.

With a grin of mild success, Josh started into the cavity when the entire car shook. He extricated himself in a split second and was met by a chorus of screams.

Retracting like a giant claw from an enormous reptile, the excavator had claimed another vehicle—this one from directly over Josh. Barely recognizable as a car, the large grappler twisted and released the mashed vehicle with an ear-shattering crash somewhere off to the side. Then it came back for another.

Josh’s eyes bulged wide. He knew it was now or never. Jamming himself back into the hole he felt blindly along the contours of the trunk, his fingers searching until they locked on the suspected area. Working a panel free he had a brief moment of accomplishment as his hand wrapped around the object of his intent. Ripping it free, he forced himself back out of the hole and from the car.

It took a moment for Catherine to register what it was Josh held as he crawled from the vehicle, but when she saw it she knew that he had probably just saved all of their lives.

A tire iron.

The excavator slammed down on another vehicle directly overhead. Metal tore into metal as the claw closed around the car and snatched it upward. Catherine and the others ducked for cover as glass rained down from shattered windows.

Shaking pellets of glass from his shirt, Josh dropped to his knees over the manhole and worked the tapered end of the tire iron into one of the holes.

“Here it comes again!” Shelby blared.

All heads turned to the sky as the open claw clamped down on another car. Once this one was carried off, the New Humans would be within ten feet of them. Light was beginning to flood the pit and with each successive removal, the survivors’ area of safety became drastically reduced.

Josh lay on the bar with all of his weight. He pushed downward, thrusting repeatedly with his arms. He thought for sure the bar would break under the strain of all the force exerted upon it, but it remained rigid. With his muscles taut and quivering, Josh gave the bar a final surge.

Then the manhole broke its seal.

“I got it!” he yelled, euphoria swelling in him.

Catherine and the others dropped to the ground, working their fingers under the exposed rim of the lid. Josh abandoned the bar and grasped the cover with both hands, virtually tearing it from the ground. Adrenaline coursed through him and he thought that, at the moment, he could probably lift a car if it came to it.

“Everybody in. Now!” Catherine ordered. Wasting no time in directing everyone to safety, she grabbed Shelby and Leanne each by an arm and urged them toward the hole. Shelby began to lower herself when a spine-straightening crash sounded from just behind the group.

The claw grasped another vehicle. As it retracted with not one but two cars ensnared in it, a shaft of light suddenly broke through and shone down into the pit—all the way to the street.

Catherine, Josh and Madeline stood in knee-locked terror as a pair of New Humans—a portly man who looked as if he could have been a trucker and a woman wearing a Century 21 uniform—lowered themselves into the hole and stood on the street along with them. The light blanketed only a portion of the hole, the New Humans utilizing every square inch of it as they stepped to the precipice of darkness.

Then one of them spoke.

“You shouldn’t try and fight,” the woman said.

Catherine and Josh stood up rail straight at this, mouth agape and fear pulsing in their ears as Madeline descended into the tunnel.

“Get in,” Catherine said to Josh, her eyes never leaving the woman.

“No, you go. I’ll be right behind you.”

Catherine jerked her head around to meet him. “I’m not playing around, Josh. Get in.”

The excavator claw swung back around. With the next extracted vehicle Josh knew the New Humans would have unfettered access to the entire cramped area. Light would flood the pit followed soon thereafter by as many New Humans as it would allow. There would be no place to hide.

Josh grabbed his mother’s arm firmly. “Mom, trust me. I’m right behind you.” Josh whipped around in time to see the claw freefall onto the very car he suspected of being next. The metal talons clenched the car and the arm stiffened for retraction.

Thrusting his mother forward, Josh all but threw Catherine into the hole. Dropping with a yelp, she managed to clamp onto the top rung of the ladder. She cast disapproving, yet knowingly ineffective glares at her son before beginning her climb down.

The excavator arm pulled upward with a groan, the car creaking under its own weight as it lifted from the ground.

New Humans swarmed around the circumference of the pit, anticipating the impending light that would momentarily saturate the enclosed area.

Josh positioned himself over the manhole, one foot on each side. He looked back at the woman and offered her an icy smile. “You haven’t begun to see a fight.”

With that he pulled his legs together and fell into the hole just as the impaled car rotated out of sight and light spilled into the pit. New Humans converged on it, flowing into the small alcove in droves and surrounded the manhole.

Josh descended into murky blackness, the only light source snuffed out by the silhouettes of numerous heads staring down at him.

They ran for what seemed like an hour. They didn’t know which direction they were heading and tried not to notice the smell. They only knew they needed to be away from where they were. As far as possible.

Catherine tried to keep a mental map as they fled, attempting to route them in a way that would bring them within close proximity of their destination. But with a handful of dead ends and acute direction changes that belied the simple, gridded street system above ground, Catherine found herself hopelessly lost. They would be looking for them, probably scouring the city block by block. It was too soon to venture topside.

Out of breath and fatigued, the group came to rest in a tunnel juncture. A dirty patch of concrete hovered just over the canal ways where putrid water trickled along in tiny rivulets. It was large enough to accommodate Catherine, Madeline, Leanne and Josh who desperately craved rest. And after a brief discussion, decided that it was probably in their best interest to take a few moments and recover.

Catherine checked her watch and realized, to her surprise, that it was only ten thirty. Good, she thought. They still had more then twelve hours to reach the shelter. Plenty of time. They could hole up here and recuperate while the New Humans exhausted their search. Then they could head back to the surface after things had settled down, get their bearings and head for the mountains. In the meantime they would just rest awhile.

Catherine situated herself with her back against the tunnel’s concrete wall. She could feel her heart rate slow and her body silently thank her for sitting. She imagined the others probably felt much the same way judging by the vacant, enervated expressions each person currently wore.

Yes, they would rest now.

But only for a while, Catherine told herself.

26

Daylight

The voice came again but she didn’t want it to be there. She tried to block it out, but it kept coming back again and again disrupting the beautiful sound of the nearby waterfalls. She could feel warmth on her face and thought for a minute that she might be on a tropical beach somewhere. Maybe had taken that vacation after all and merely forgotten it.

Then she felt the icy sting on her cheek and heard that voice again. It sounded like a woman she used to know or maybe dreamt about. But before she could put a name to the ghostly face drifting around in her mind, another harsh pricking of needles erupted on the side of her face.

A different voice sounded. This time it was male. And it sounded a lot like her son.

“Muuung!” came the word, foreign-sounding and bloated.

Images flashed through her mind. Images of mushrooms and school buses, dragons with claws and junkyards.

The voice called again. “Muuuum,” it said, seeming more familiar this time, clearer.

The sound of the waterfall dissolved away and was replaced by a weak dribbling, like a running faucet. Accompanying this was an indescribable odor and a feeling of urgency she couldn’t quite place.

“Mom!” the voice said loudly.

And then Catherine opened her eyes.

Josh and Madeline were staring directly at her. Their eyes were wide with a caustic mixture of anxiety, apprehension and fear.

Catherine blinked repeatedly, forcing her eyes open as she tried to shake the sleep from her frame.

Josh gave her a moment to fully rouse before divulging the terrible situation in which they found themselves. He imagined she had probably already recognized it, had maybe felt the spotty warmth of the rays on her leg. But in the event she missed the grated shafts of dusty yellow streaming in over his shoulder, shared the secret:

“It’s daylight.”

Catherine couldn’t believe it. All of the aimless running around, the directionless fleeing and yet here they stood. When she initially crawled from the hole her senses were assaulted by two distinct and varied occurrences: The first was the amazing early heat; the second was the sight of the imposing Sacramento Mountains—directly in front of her.

Quickly orienting herself, Catherine discovered that they had run south of their destination by several miles. Sending Josh on a two-minute recon, he returned with the name of Calle de Oro, the street on which they now found themselves. Locating it on her map, she learned it was one of only a handful of residential streets in a tiny neighborhood just south of Alamogordo. And, indeed, when she looked to the north, she could make out the more dominant structures of the city on the horizon.

But if what she were reading was accurate, it would be a quick passage through the suburb, utilizing short and relatively unpopulated roads until finally reaching the boundaries of the national park. From there it would be an arduous and exhausting uphill climb into the mountains through scrub and sand, hopefully one that would lead them to the shelter. She hadn’t yet told the others about the SAT phone and how she had given away the only source for locating the shelter. But she had the coordinates. And she knew how to read a map. The location was by no means pinpointed, but she thought she could find the general area. They still had a shot. She only hoped the New Humans hadn’t considered other innovative ways to give chase through the rocky, uneven terrain should they be discovered.

Catherine turned to the others with a gleam in her eye. They only had a little over five hours. Five hours. And in that time they not only needed the stamina to make the journey, they needed the wherewithal to track down their final location amid treacherous terrain. But for the first time, and despite the narrow window of opportunity, she actually felt like they could make it.

“All right,” she said to the exhausted group. “Let’s get moving.”

Everyone was dog-tired. Add to that the fact that no one had eaten or had a drop of water in over ten hours and the insurmountable suddenly seemed inconceivable. So it came as a bit of a shock when the group, pumped up on pure adrenaline but already staggering from spent reserves, was suddenly forced to a halt by a presence in the road.

Feet skidded in gravel and it was all Catherine could do to keep from screaming. Leanne and Shelby were less successful in stifling their cries.

She looked to be about seven. Her hair was pulled into ratty pigtails and she wore a relatively clean summer dress, blue with white trim at the sleeves and hem. She was barefoot, her toes caked with mud.

Catherine stood frozen with fear, the little girl only staring at she and the others without an expression. Catherine understood what it was standing mere feet from her and could feel the blood leave her face at the thought of all that could occur. An image of Sean passed through her mind and her fear was suddenly compounded.

A slight whimper drew Catherine’s attention to the ground. Lying at the girl’s feet on its side was a dog, a Labrador it seemed. It panted laboriously in rapid huffs as if it had just had the run of its life. But Catherine knew this was not the case.

Debating the best course of action, she made a decision that sent a chill rippling through her body. She knew they could turn and run, besting the little girl with no problem. The concern was what happened as a result. Did the girl call for help? Did she attack? There were too many scenarios to consider, none of them leaving her feeling particularly confident. The only option that seemed to make any sense was the one she least wanted to try. But what she wanted didn’t have a place at the table right now.

Having made the decision to attempt communication, Catherine crouched down in the street, much to the consternation of Josh.

“Mom, what the hell are you doing?”

Catherine threw out her arms in a gesture of “silence”, all her attention focused on the young girl and what she would say.

The girl eyed Catherine for a moment, then let her eyes slowly trail back to the dog, as if this were the more interesting of the two choices. The dog was panting harder now, its chest rising and falling in dramatic swells. Its tongue hung out of its mouth and lay on the ground, eyes bulging wide as it whimpered in obvious pain.

Catherine swallowed dryly and formed a sentence in her mind. She opened her mouth to speak and could feel the prickle of her parched throat work to form the first word. But just as her vocal chords became functional, her subtle plan of contact was suddenly thrown into disarray when the dog exploded.

Madeline and Shelby screamed, jarring the girl’s attention back on to them. Spattered with muck, the girl cocked her head in mild interest as if this were a sound previously unknown to her. She gawked at Catherine and the others uncertainly, seemingly oblivious to the spidery-looking thing that slithered out of the decimated animal in front of her.

Catherine’s legs suddenly felt like lead weights and as the innocent looking girl—who was anything but—opened her mouth in an impossibly wide oval, Catherine half-expected something to crawl out of it. She knew what was happening even before she heard the sound of the first motor. And as Josh corralled the women away from the girl, an already backpedaling Catherine turned and yelled with the intensity of a drill instructor the only word that currently existed in her vocabulary: “Run!”

27

Uphill Battles

Catherine looked over her shoulder as she ran. She could hear the distant sound of multiple engines and knew this was it. There were no more chances now. They either made it or they didn’t. The chase of her life was on and she wanted to see for herself. Wanted to know how many of them there were.

Despite the overwhelming heat from both the sun and her own body, Catherine still managed an icy chill at the sight that made its way steadily up the gentle grade toward them. If she were conservative she might suppose dozens. But she knew she couldn’t be that lucky and the number was probably closer to several hundred—several hundred New Humans clamoring up the dusty apron of the Sacramento Mountains. All with a single purpose. All determined. All gaining ground.

Catherine and the others had already managed a couple of hundred feet in altitude and were rapidly approaching the more treacherous aspects of the mountain range where the real hiking would begin. For once they hit the mouth of the nearest canyon it would become a matter of will. And luck.

Shelby pulled at her mother, virtually dragging the poor woman along as she tramped up the hill in clunky, lumbering steps. Leanne seemed to be moving just fine and assisted Shelby in her efforts. Catherine assumed the young girl was running on pure adrenaline, the scare down the hill catapulting her into overdrive. Josh had taken the lead and was acting as scout, but never strayed too far from the group. In fact, he was almost exerting twice the energy as the others as he leapt ahead to search for routes, then doubled back to make sure everyone was still with him.

The group was sweating profusely and their collective gasps for air sounded like the inner workings of a dry cleaning business. Feet ground against sand and rock as they pumped uphill, legs brushing past desert scrub brush. Bodies fell and clamored back to their feet, hands pushing off the prickly earth as thorny cholla and other cacti nipped at them as they ran.

Leanne staggered then vomited down the front of her shirt. But she never faltered and only briefly hesitated to swipe the residue from her mouth with a sopping wet forearm.

Madeline appeared as if she could collapse at any moment, her reddened face and bulging eyes doing nothing to reassure an alternative outcome. Shelby was equally exhausted, but remained steadfast as she bore the daughterly duty of aiding her bone-weary mother with unswaying devotion.

Catherine had never exerted herself in this way in her life. She could feel nausea overtaking her and likened it to the morning sickness she used to have when pregnant with Abby. That sudden surge of queasiness that would come and go without any notice. And as she tried to swallow dust-tinged spit, felt certain she wouldn’t be saying goodbye to its discomfort anytime soon.

Josh stormed up ahead, panting heavily now. He rounded an outcropping of boulders and disappeared along the backside of them.

They must be close, Catherine thought. Had to be. Mountains towered over them now and if her memory served, the canyon Warren had labeled as “Canyon A” —an alias lest the printouts fall into hostile hands—should be coming up any minute. She could see the remnants of a dry creek bed emerge from somewhere up ahead and snake down the hillside. With a little luck this would be the inlet to the mountain chain they were seeking. Once inside they could move along the rocky beds and winding canyon walls and put some obstacles between themselves and their foes.

Josh’s head reappeared excitedly. He waved with his entire arm in a giant sweeping windmill. “Come on, come on!” he shouted, “We can head through here!”

Catherine snuck another glance at the New Humans as she and the others reached the outcropping. They were spreading out now, some even falling behind. Catherine prayed with all her might that Warren was correct in his hypothesis regarding them. He had claimed that a New Human retained all the knowledge and memories of the host after it was born. She only hoped this extended to each person’s physicality as well. Maybe they could use the relative sedentary lifestyles of much of the populace to their advantage. In short, maybe they would tire, too.

Looking down the hill at them, their dispersed pattern suggested she might be on to something. Several lagged and she could swear she spotted others walking. But it didn’t matter if the majority of them petered out. All it took was one. And in a group that large, the odds were decidedly stacked against them.

It was ten seventeen. They’d been scurrying along the creek bed for the better part of two hours, hopping rocks and sidestepping boulders. They pushed until they felt like they couldn’t possibly continue any farther. When they reached a point where the dried up stream dead-ended into a limestone cliff face, the inevitable had finally arrived: they were going to have to climb.

Madeline broke into tears, her sobbing working in direct opposition to her body’s need for oxygen. “I...can’t,” she puffed. “I can’t.”

“You have to, mom,” Shelby countered. Strands of her sweat soaked hair stuck to her face like errant blood vessels. “We don’t have a choice. We’ve...got to go up.”

Madeline sucked air in heaving gasps. She doubled over, her hands on her knees. Perspiration dripped in sizable drops from her face, the water drying almost instantly as it struck the sun-heated rocks below her.

Josh had already struck up the side of a steep hill near the creek. He forged through a dense thicket of desert sage and other assorted brush, blazing a trail toward the ridgeline.

“How’s it look?” Catherine said between breaths.

Josh surveyed the land closely. He wiped his face with his shirt then spat, his chest inflating and deflating in rapid breaths. “It’s steep and narrow...but I think we can do it.”

“All right. Then up it is...Lead the way.”

Madeline fell to the ground, crying hysterically, completely broken. Shelby crouched to lift her as did Leanne, but Madeline shook her arm away.

“I can’t do it...” Madeline mumbled. “I’m not...going anywhere.”

“Madeline,” Leanne said, “you have to get up. We have to keep moving.”

“Mom, please.” Shelby was approaching tears. “Don’t do this. We’ve got to go. Please get up.”

Madeline only shook her head in tired, drunken arcs. “No...I’m done. I can’t do...anymore.”

Shelby stood, tears streaming down her face. She ran her fingers through her wet hair and walked away. Madeline only stared at the ground.

This was a scenario Catherine had not planned for. If Madeline didn’t move soon, Catherine would be forced to make a decision—one she desperately didn’t want to have to make. But they couldn’t just sit here.

She crouched alongside Madeline and put a hand on the woman’s sweaty back. “Madeline, we’re close. We’re so very close. You have to find some hidden reserve, some sort of mental fuel that can get you through. Please, you have to get up.”

Madeline lifted her weary head laboriously, looked Catherine in her blood shot eyes. “I can’t feel my legs, Catherine. My chest feels like it’s going to explode.”

“We all feel that way, Madeline. There isn’t a one of us that’s not exhausted beyond words. But we have to keep moving. We have to.”

Madeline tried to spit, but only drooled. The woman was spent. Catherine could see that. But they were losing precious time.

Kneeling down, Catherine placed her mouth beside Madeline’s ear. She spoke just above a whisper so that only Madeline could hear her. “Please don’t do this to me, Madeline. Please. Don’t force me to leave you here. Because I will. I’ll hate it, but I will. We are almost there. And there are four other people you have to consider in this, not the least of whom is your daughter. Don’t deprive her. She’ll need you. You can’t give up on her. Not now.”

Catherine’s eyes welled as she spoke, her words resonating with the thought of her own daughters. Her grandbaby. And every second she spent trying to convince Madeline of her worth made Catherine resent the woman. Resent her for the potential future she might rob from everyone if they waited here any longer.

Josh’s voice suddenly broke through the tension, but only added to it. “Mom, I can see them! They’re at the bottom of the last ravine. They’re getting closer!”

“Come on, I know you can do it,” Catherine continued, her voice filled with urgency. “We’ll all help you. But you have to get up.”

Madeline looked directly at Catherine, “Take care of her. Get her to safety...I know you will.”

Catherine’s fists clenched in frustration and overwhelming anguish. “Goddammit, Madeline. If nothing else, do it for your daughter.”

“I am,” Madeline said. A tiny smile broke on her cracked lips. “By staying behind.”

It was no use. The woman’s mind was made up and there wasn’t enough time to try to convince her otherwise. Catherine stood up, looked down on Madeline and sighed heavily.

“All right,” she forced out dryly. “Let’s keep moving.”

Shelby whirled around, broke free from Leanne’s consoling arms. She glanced at her mother still sitting in a heap on the dusty creek bed. “What? We can’t leave her! She’s not staying here!”

“She says she can’t make it, Shelby,” Catherine said. “And we don’t have time to argue with her.” Catherine walked over to the spot where Josh began his ascent. “We’ve got to go.”

Shelby ran to her mother, crying uncontrollably. She dropped to her knees and pulled tirelessly at her mother’s arms, tried to hoist her to her feet. But Madeline only slumped like a sack of potatoes, eventually falling back to the earth with a painful thud.

“Mom, get up, get up, get up!” Shelby bawled. “I can’t leave you here!”

“You can,” Madeline said. “And you will.”

Shelby hugged her mother fiercely. “No, I won’t. I’ll stay here with you! We’ll wait until you’re rested and we’ll take our chances. The others can go if they want to, but I’m staying!”

“No, you’re not.”

“Yes, I am! And there’s nothing you can say—”

In a swift move that surprised everyone, Madeline’s hand met the side of Shelby’s cheek in an alarming slap, jerking the girl upright. Madeline grabbed the stunned girl by each shoulder, her arms trembling violently as she lifted them there.

“I love you. More than you will ever know...And if you love me you will march up that hill with the others and get as far away from here as possible.” Madeline rubbed the girl’s welted cheek. “I’ve gone as far as I can go. At this point, I’ll only slow everyone down. And I won’t have that on my conscience. You have a chance to have a life still. Please, for me, don’t waste it.”

Catherine watched this scene play out with anxious feet. As a mother she wanted to give Madeline every last second she could afford to give her. As a survivalist with a family of her own, she wanted to get the hell out of that canyon. Pronto.

Tears streamed down Shelby’s cheek in an endless flow. Her mouth opened, but no words would come. Madeline nodded, swiping the water stains from her face. “I know, sweetie,” she said. “I know.”

The echo of falling rocks reverberated up from the gorge below. Faint sounds of footsteps shuffling through arid, stony brooks ricocheted off the cliff walls.

Catherine waited as long as she could.

“We’re, uh...we have to go now,” Catherine said timidly. “They’re too close. We...we can’t stay here any longer. Please, if you’re coming...”

Leanne eyed Shelby mournfully then edged past Catherine and began her climb toward Josh.

Madeline worked her head around to face Catherine and gave a subtle nod. Turning back to her daughter, Madeline kissed Shelby on the cheek. “Stay close and do whatever Catherine says.”

Shelby could only stare. She hugged her mother fiercely, collapsing into her lap. Madeline stroked her hair, tucking wayward strands gingerly behind her ear.

Catherine maintained her position at the bottom of the hill, shifting uneasily as she waited for Shelby to rise and join her. It was the sensible thing to do. The smart thing. The only thing. But Shelby only lay in her mother’s arms, crying with a pain Catherine hoped she never felt.

It was all she could do to keep from turning away and storming up the hill behind Leanne and Josh. She desperately wanted to be on her way. They still had to locate the shelter, after all. But that damned maternal instinct inside her tingled like a thousand blunt needles.

Before she was even aware that her feet were moving, Catherine snatched up Shelby by her arm and pulled her away from Madeline. The ensuing scream was more than Catherine could tolerate. Slamming her hand over the grief-stricken girl’s mouth, Catherine spoke as calmly as she could given the buzz of immediacy that stirred in her belly.

“Shelby. I understand this is horrific for you. I do. I can’t imagine anything worse. But you cannot scream.” Catherine removed her hand. “The NHs are just down the grade from us and now probably have a better idea as to where we are. Let’s not help them if we don’t have to, okay?”

Shelby stared, her eyes wide, shocked. Finally, she forced her head to move, nodding in quick movements.

Catherine glanced up the steep incline toward Josh. She could see the concern on his flushed face as he peeked back in quick stares, his expectant gazes transforming to uncertainty at Shelby’s immobility. Catherine held Shelby’s cheeks in her hands, made sure eye contact was made before she spoke. “We’re gonna get through this. I promise. Now climb up after Leanne and step where she steps.”

Numbly, Shelby moved forward and trudged through the thigh high brush. She stared at the ground, but Catherine doubted she was really looking at anything at all.

Madeline smiled. The bittersweet kind a retiring fighter might give after losing his final bout. Giving in to her condition, Madeline lay back on the rocks and stared at the sky. She allowed her eyes to slide shut and placed her hands on her chest, it rising and falling like the ebb and flow of the sea.

The desert scrub pricked at Catherine’s legs as she pushed uphill. She watched Shelby with the type of concern a parent has for the well-being of another person’s child. She felt Shelby would overcome today’s events. She would have to. There was so much more to come. And if any of them had any hope of retaining their sanity they would need to find a way to cope with the changes looming on the horizon.

To her credit, Shelby only glanced back at her mother once before leaving the dry creek bed behind her.

They ran with the conviction of wanted felons. Time wasn’t the only issue—it was now also a question of endurance.

Upon seeing the gang of New Humans crest the ridge and head directly for them, Catherine and the others found a renewed sense of purpose—and a hidden cache of energy. Ignoring the pleadings of every muscle in their bodies, the group ran.

Catherine scrutinized the mountain pass they ambled toward, her body screaming its protestations with each step. Sighting the mountain on which they currently found themselves, she pinpointed the peaks Warren had labeled as “D” “E” and “G”. Somewhere in their obtuse triangulation, in what she supposed was “canyon 8”, lay the back entrance to the shelter. And her family. She had checked the map countless times. Any more would be an exercise in obsessive-compulsive behavior. She was sure. It was down there somewhere. The question was, could they reach it before the New Humans caught up to them?

It wasn’t until they’d rounded a boulder pile and begun their descent into a wide expanse of valley that Catherine’s initial hypotheses had been verified. They were indeed heading into “canyon 8” and lest there be any lingering question regarding its location, Catherine took as an affirmation the chain link and barbed-wire fence that extended in either direction across the hillsides below.

She caught up with Shelby and Leanne, the two girls panting profusely as they struggled to push themselves beyond their limits. “Come on,” Catherine said in a pathetic attempt to offer encouragement. “Keep moving. We can...make it.”

Catherine could feel her stomach tighten and that queasy feeling rise again. Just as the thought of puking sent her gag reflex into overtime, Leanne lost what little remained in her stomach down the front of her shirt. But she kept going.

“I see a way in!” came Josh’s voice from somewhere over the next rise. Catherine, Leanne and Shelby ran doggedly toward a small plateau that dropped off in a steep decline. Josh was at the bottom waving his arms frantically, his gloved hands—still?—standing out like beacons against the beige landscape as he pointed in the direction of the fence.

Catherine took the lead and leapt headlong down the arduous grade, her momentum propelling her forward much faster than she would have liked. For a moment she thought her legs would buckle and she would tumble the remainder of the way over sharp rocks and thorny cacti. But she managed to keep her footing despite the immense fatigue. Shelby and Leanne jumped right after, each stumbling a bit before righting themselves and charging for the bottom.

Once they were all clear of the slope, Josh was off again. He left the three women in his wake as he sprinted toward the fence, checking over his shoulder periodically to verify they were all still with him.

Catherine wrenched her head around as she ran. She could see dust clouds floating just over the top of the plateau, no doubt kicked up by the approaching New Humans. They grew immeasurably thicker when finally the first one, a slender man, appeared at the top of the hill. It stared down the sharp drop and seemed to be confused as to how Catherine and the others had reached the bottom.

Good, Catherine thought. Maybe this would buy them a little time. The New Humans were adaptive but, it seemed, not very adept at problem solving on the fly. This might just be the break they needed.

Others soon joined the first New Human, all displaying the same lack of intuitiveness. Catherine turned back around and tried to use the respite to her advantage, driving her legs as fast as she could get them to move.

Shelby started to lag. Catherine ran up beside the emotionally and physically drained girl and took her arm in her hand, thrusting her forward against her will. “We’re...almost there...Just a little...farther.”

Nodding like a bobble head doll, Shelby only stared straight ahead, her glazed over eyes focused on nothing at all. All body functions were diverted toward one thing: running.

The fence was getting closer and a quick look back revealed that the New Humans had figured out the solution to their problem. Two were on the slope traversing the incline; one was at the bottom.

Catherine started to doubt how much farther she could go. Her panting was becoming more labored. She struggled to get enough oxygen to her lungs and the limited amount she was inhaling was oven hot and sprinkled with dust. It was more than a human could take.

But then, as thoughts of surrender taunted her, something appeared on the horizon, there seemingly to snuff it out. In any other setting she would have considered the sight horrific, but things being what they were, could only find beauty.

Josh stood along the fence line a hundred or so yards away. Piled up beside him in what looked to have been a terrific crash were two vehicles. Burned out and crushed, the cars looked to have impacted each other at high speed. A smaller, compacted two door of some sort lay underneath what looked to be a military jeep. But what made the sight relevant was that the incident occurred right at the point where the fence met the earth. Charred and twisted, the one time impenetrable fencing now sported a gaping hole inside the perimeter.

Josh hopped onto the hood of the jeep and began pulling Catherine, Leanne and Shelby up over the blackened metal until all had passed through the fence. Tracks from the jeep dissolved into the distance, heading around a bend and straight for the nearest peak.

Resuming her bone-aching run, Catherine looked back toward the fence and caught sight of the New Humans through the chain link. More had made their way down and the ones at the bottom weren’t waiting around for an invitation. They charged toward the breach with a sense of urgency and as they drew ever closer, a peculiar thought occurred to Catherine: why hadn’t the fence been repaired? If it was the first level of protection, why leave such a blatant opening into what was supposed to be a secured area?

The answer struck her like a blow to the chest: it wasn’t repaired because it didn’t matter. The world was ending, remember? But this simple revelation led to another concern, one that could be the wild card in her plan and foil any hopes of rescue.

And in a matter of minutes she would discover her worst fears had become a nightmarish reality.

“There!” Josh screamed, his voice equal parts exhaustion and exuberance. “It’s there!”

Josh’s booming words cut through the air, forcing Catherine, Shelby and Leanne to glance up.

“Oh, my God,” Leanne mumbled and started to cry. “Oh, my God.”

“You see,” Catherine began, interjecting words in between breaths. “We’re almost there. We...can make it.”

At the base of the mountain in front of them—was it “A”? “G”? —lay the pot of gold to a long and arduous rainbow. Jutting out into the desert from a steep face were two massive concrete walls running parallel to one another. They appeared to be fairly high, perhaps as much as twenty feet, and were adorned with copious amounts of barbed wire. The space in between the two walls, Catherine assumed, must be where the shelter entrance lay.

Catherine turned to Shelby who was struggling mightily to keep moving. “You can...do it,” Catherine panted. “It’s right...in front of you.” Shelby forced what looked like a pained smile. Her cheeks were an unhealthy red and sweat poured down her face, soaking her clothes. She wasn’t so much running as she was trudging quickly, her feet barely leaving the ground as she took steps.

Rotating around, Catherine peered along the fence toward the opening. A New Human had just dropped down from the jeep inside the wire and five others were in the process of climbing over.

Grabbing each girl by their respective bicep, Catherine tugged them forward, a new fear enveloping her. The opening in the fence was a little more than two hundred meters behind them with what looked to be at least that distance ahead to reach the shelter. With their current pace matched up against the New Humans’, Catherine was certain of one thing: they wouldn’t make it. The time for plumbing the depths of one’s desire to live had now been pushed to its limit.

“Come on, girls,” Catherine huffed. “We have...to hurry.”

“I...can’t,” Shelby muttered incoherently, almost in tears.

“If we don’t...they will...catch us.”

Leanne twisted around and looked over her shoulder. Her eyes grew as wide as dinner plates at the sight of the New Humans bearing down. It was all the incentive she needed. Pulling free from Catherine’s grasp, Leanne moved ahead, her legs pumping furiously.

As they approached the concrete wall, Catherine could make out another structure directly in front of it. She couldn’t be sure but it looked like—

“Mom!”

Josh’s voice broke her stream of thought and redirected her concentration back to the task at hand. It was then, for the first time, that she became aware of the sound of footsteps somewhere behind her.

Catherine started to turn to see how close they were.

“No!” Josh screamed. “Don’t turn around! Just keep going! As fast as you can! Hurry!”

The urgency in Josh’s voice scared the hell out of Catherine. The New Humans were directly behind her. She knew it. Could feel it. And they were gaining.

Josh was already to the structure when Catherine realized what it was. Four equispaced metal poles protruded out of the ground. They propped up a simple olive green canvas, which cast a seemingly deliberate shadow directly on the area where Josh stood—it was like an oasis in the desert.

Summoning almost superhuman reserves, Catherine charged forward, virtually shoving Shelby ahead of her. The girl had begun crying irrepressibly, but Catherine had come too far to have it all end at the doorstep of her new home.

Leanne ran, arms swinging wildly, valiantly trying to reach the canopy. Catherine sprinted with all she had left, the structure only meters away. She gulped at the air in desperate bids for oxygen, her body on the verge of total collapse. But she wouldn’t allow that to happen. Not now.

The footsteps in her ears were louder and more numerous. Jesus, they’re right behind me! she thought.

Josh stood under the canopy flailing his arms madly. “Run! Run! Faster!” he screamed. “You’re almost here!”

Leanne collapsed underneath the canopy beside Josh in a puff of dust. Catherine was close enough now to see the color of her son’s eyes, wild as they were. The footsteps thundered in her ears, more of them, bearing down on her from all around. So close she thought she could smell them.

With a final all or nothing push, Catherine lunged for the canopy, tossing Shelby ahead of her with every final bit of strength she had. The girl crossed the threshold and crashed to the ground alongside Leanne just us Catherine made her last ditch leap for the safety of the shadows. Falling to the ground she felt a distinct tugging sensation on her foot. She slammed into the earth with a massive thud, rolling uncontrollably until Leanne caught her. Gathering her wits, Catherine stared in the direction from whence she came and shuddered.

Advancing on the canopy was the remainder of the New Humans with still more slowly making their way from outside the fence. Oddly, this wasn’t what caused a chill to momentarily slither up Catherine’s spine. Rather, it was the sight of the New Human lying on its stomach right where Catherine had just stepped a few seconds previous. Its arm was still outstretched, literally inches from the cast shadow of the canopy, as if something had just barely evaded its grasp.

As expected the New Humans gathered around the covered area, circling it like sharks in search of chum. They remained outside the confines of the shadow and for the moment that was okay.

Everyone except Josh lay on the ground, their chests heaving and expanding in such dramatic swells it seemed as if ribs would break at the exertion required to take in air.

Catherine stared up at the taut canvas, her body recovering with each breath she inhaled. She rolled onto her stomach, her pants kicking up minor dust clouds, and stared at the concrete barricade twenty feet away.

The ends of each wall were joined together by a reinforced steel fence, atop which lay more of that ubiquitous barbed wire. In the center of the fence was what appeared to be a hinged door, sealed and bolted in numerous places—no one was entering unless permitted to do so.

Her mind starting to regain clarity, Catherine regarded the massive security structure as Josh stepped beside her and knelt down.

“So...what do we do now?” he said.

The question was obvious and one for which Catherine had no answer. The New Humans traipsing around them with blank, oxygen depleted stares were the least of their worries. For after all of their travels, after all of the running and lost lives to get to this exact moment, the one thing Catherine had not counted on was exactly the one thing she had been forced to confront.

There was nobody here.

Rising to her feet, Catherine peered forlornly into the secured area and came to grips with the sickening realization that had begun to haunt her subconsciously upon their ascent. Back then it had been irrational fear brought on by a propensity to believe there couldn’t possibly be a positive outcome from all of this. At times, it just seemed too much in her favor. She reminded herself to trust in Warren, but the ticking clock argued against such a probable scenario.

Catherine looked at her watch. It was eleven thirteen. In less than an hour everything would be ash.

“What do we do?” Catherine said finally, turning to Josh. “I have no idea.”

28

Give Me Shelter

Senior Airman Charles Brophy had one hell of a morning. Having retired to the head on more than one occasion to vomit during his shift, he was sure he would be reprimanded and perhaps relieved of duty. Fortunately, his CO had been exceptionally gracious and understanding today, a trait he uncharacteristically and rarely displayed. But today was different from most. They were blowing up the world after all.

He sat back down at his post and peeled a piece of Wrigley’s from its wrapper, popping it into his mouth. The bitter taste diminished with each chomp of the sweet gum and he felt the squeamishness subside.

SrA. Brophy glanced over the array of monitors in front of him with a heavy sigh. Sometimes the sheer monotony of flitting from screen to screen with nothing to view was enough to make him sick, albeit more figuratively than literally. The twenty camera positions he’d been assigned to monitor—split into four quadrants on each of five viewing screens—had had no activity in weeks. It was like watching paint dry. Or grass grow. At times he’d thought of volunteering for latrine duty just to have something to do. But, no, this was his post and despite its predominately stagnant developments was a necessary duty.

Just take last night, for example. Out of the blue and in the dead of night, three people materialized out of the darkness. He’d heard it was a man and two girls. Staff Sergeant Merles on the Southeast Array had first picked them up as they approached and within minutes had a welcome team scrambled.

It was a gratifying break from the doldrums and raised the spirits of most of the other enlisted he’d spoken with that morning. The shelter was shy of capacity by one third so any additions to the preservation of mankind were considered victories. And with last evening’s rescue came the assurance that more survivors were coming and that everyone should remain vigilant in their respective duties. SrA. Brophy had watched his array like a hawk, carefully scrutinizing each watch point for any sign of motion. But the pre-dawn hours had been like all the rest in recent weeks, and the rise of the sun had shed no new light on the alleged arrivals.

Brophy glanced at a digital clock. The red LED read eleven fifteen.

Forty-five minutes.

Perusing the monitors casually, SrA. Brophy suddenly felt the wave of nausea return. “Jesus Christ,” he muttered angrily to himself.

“You all right?” Airman First Class Peattry said from her own wall of monitors.

“Yeah,” Brophy spat. “Just feeling like shit again, that’s all.”

“You need to hit the head? I can cover.”

Brophy looked over his monitors again when, as if sparked by their appearance, his stomach took a tumble. He hopped to his feet. “Would you mind?”

“No. Go. But hurry, all right?” Peattry said. “We may be blowing the world to hell soon, but Aikers will bust my ass—and yours—if he finds you not at your post.”

“Deal. I really appre—”

SrA. Brophy abandoned the rest of his sentence, sprinting from his console. With a smirk and a headshake, Peattry rolled her chair toward Brophy’s array when her phone rang. She stopped in mid-glide and snatched the receiver from its cradle.

“Peattry,” she said into the phone. “No, sir, I haven’t had a chance to compile—” Airman First Class Peattry winced at the response from the other end. “Yes, sir...Yes sir, I will...No, sir.” She grabbed a pen and scribbled onto a note pad. “Could you please repeat, sir?”

A tinny voice barked out orders and instructions as Peattry wrote, her hand struggling to keep up. Her attention hijacked, Peattry was forced to neglect Brophy’s post, made to forego temporary monitoring duties. And as a result, didn’t see the flurry of activity taking place on Monitor Delta, quadrant three.

Josh bent and scooped up another handful of dirt. Standing, he threw it headlong into the face of a New Human—a trim woman who at one time had probably been pretty—as she kicked and pulled at one of the four poles holding up the tent. The dirt struck her and she reeled backwards, clawing at her eyes.

The tent was under siege. Beset on all sides, Catherine and the others were in a fierce battle defending against the New Humans as they attacked the structure in a frenzied strike. Taking up positions at each corner, they thrashed and railed against the support posts in an attempt to bring them down. They had learned. Had discovered a solution to their weakness and committed to ridding themselves of it.

Catherine, Leanne and Shelby, each guarding a corner, reached in frantic arm swoops at the earth, clutching and pitching rocks and dust into the eyes of their attackers. But as soon as one became incapacitated, another would simply take its place.

“There’re too many!” Leanne cried.

Catherine shoveled a huge pile of dirt into her hand and threw a heaping, pebble-studded fistful into the faces of two New Humans. She searched around wildly looking for any sign of life from the shelter.

But there was no one.

There had to be someone, she thought. There had to be. Maybe they could find some way of letting Warren know they were there, Catherine mulled. A signal they could send. She scrutinized the concrete wall, the fence. Looked over the barbed wire, the bracing poles used to install it. Nothing.

A heavyset man with a beard kicked the pole in front of Catherine. It bent slightly, the canopy rippling under the impact. Catherine pitched some earth into his face, then threw a heavy rock for good measure, it ricocheting off his forehead.

She returned to the gate, searched over its formidable structure. Surely there had to be something. Someone. A guard on duty, perhaps. They knew they were coming, didn’t they? Oliver would have made certain the right people were informed of their arrival. He would have explained what happened and why they got separated and they would be expecting them. Then a counter thought suddenly entered Catherine’s mind: What if the reason no one was here to greet them was because no one knew they were coming? What if Oliver never made it?

The idea made Catherine wince in anguish, not just for her and the others stranded under the canopy, but for the potential fate of her daughters. For if Oliver had not made it...

Catherine’s eyes welled with tears, her mind working overtime to convince her of the worst. She lashed out at a plump woman who latched onto the pole in front of her, throwing a heaping scoop of dirt directly into her eyes. The woman staggered backwards with a yelp then fell. It was the first time Catherine had heard any of the New Humans react in distress. She watched the woman for a brief moment and actually gained some satisfaction from her torment.

The woman climbed to her feet and just stood, arms at her sides as if waiting for the dirt to purge itself from her eyes on its own. Catherine wound up and threw another scoopful into her face as if to emphasize its purpose and her rage.

And that’s when she saw it.

It was over the woman’s shoulder, just before she stooped to attend to her dusty face. Mounted to the top of one of the barbed wire support columns. It was small and camouflaged to blend in to its beige surroundings. Easy to miss. But it was there, God bless it. It was there.

A camera.

Catherine spun toward Josh, a last sparkle of hope in her eye. “Josh, up there! On the fence! There’s a camera. You see it?”

Josh kicked at the hands of a New Human as it grabbed for the pole in front of him then threw two quick blasts of earth at another as it lunged for the metal support. Turning, he crouched to get a look from under the canopy. His eyes widened and his brow furrowed.

“Yeah, I see it!” he said excitedly. “But why the hell don’t they see us?”

“I don’t know. But we’ve got to find a way to get their attention.” Catherine snatched up some more dirt. “Think you can hit it with a rock?”

Josh looked at his mother. “Hit it? What the hell is that gonna do?”

“Maybe you could shatter the protective glass over the lens,” Catherine said, throwing handfuls of dirt at a fit looking man. “Or hit it hard enough to change its angle. Or, hell, break it for that matter. I don’t know. Just anything that will attract attention to it.”

Josh suddenly ran over to where Shelby stood and kicked at a man in an Oxford button-down and khakis as he wrapped his hands around the pole and shook it violently. Josh’s foot caught the man square on the knuckles causing him to release his grip. Emboldened, Josh pushed his luck and kicked the man again, this time in the stomach, his foot extending beyond the safety zone of the canopy shadow.

“Keep it up,” he said to Shelby sincerely. “We’ll get out of this.” Shelby offered an unconvincing smile, throwing gravel at an approaching woman dressed in jeans and a blouse.

Josh ran back to his corner and kicked at a portly teenage looking boy who reached for the post then recoiled at the sight of Josh’s foot.

Josh glanced quickly at his mother. “If I break it, how will anyone see us?”

“I don’t know, Josh! Okay?” Catherine yelled. “I don’t know. If you have a better idea I’d love to hear it because I’m rapidly approaching the point of being fresh out.”

Catherine swiped away a single tear, frustration overtaking her remaining hopes. The last thing in the world she wanted to do was submit to the full-scale meltdown that desperately wanted to ignite. But that would do her and the others no good. So, for now, she would bury it and hope the few shreds of hope that remained inside her were enough to extinguish it.

The New Humans’ attacks on the canopy were ceasing, their dirt-crusted eyes signifying the ineffective means by which they attempted to demolish the tent. They stood back from the cast shadow made by the canvas and stared, seeming to analyze the structure. Formulate a new plan of attack.

“Try now, Josh,” Catherine said anxiously, turning. “Hurry, before they start—”

A blast of earth hit Catherine square in the eyes. She screamed, dropping to her knees and rubbed at her face frantically with the palms of her hands.

Josh whirled with the frenzy of a tornado, his head twisting in all directions, searching for the source of the attack.

“Did you see it?” he shouted to Leanne and Shelby, panic-stricken. “You see where it came from?”

“No. I didn’t,” Leanne said, her eyes darting from her corner, where four New Humans gathered, to Josh and back. She backed away from the pole.

Josh looked over the deadened faces of the nearest New Humans as he knelt beside his mother. He turned quickly to Shelby. “Watch them carefully. And keep back.” He placed his gloved hands around Catherine consolingly. “Are you okay? Can you see?”

Catherine moved her hands away from her face and blinked profusely, Josh scrutinizing her eyes. Dirty tears stained her face and muddy residue rimmed her lids.

“Keep blinking,” Josh said, glancing around the canopy at the New Humans who, for the moment, only stood. “Don’t wipe. You’ll make it worse.” Catherine’s hands instinctively went to her eyes. Josh grabbed them. “Don’t wipe, mom. Try and keep your eyes open. It’ll force them to tear and flush out the dirt—”

“How does it feel?” said a man, clean cut from lawyer’s cloth as he stepped front and center. His navy blue jacket, coated with a layer of desert, perfectly matched his equally discolored pants. A red and blue striped tie dangled loosely from his neck in front of an off-white Oxford, stained with filth and sweat. His thick, disheveled hair suggested that at one time he probably used product to contain its unruliness. But not today.

“Not very pleasant, is it?” the Lawyer said.

Josh stood at his approach. “Neither is exploding out from the inside. But maybe you already forgot about that day at the beach.”

Catherine reached for Josh and climbed to her feet. She wiped at her blinking eyes. “Don’t talk to it, Josh. It just wants to get inside your head.”

“Yes…Josh,” the Lawyer said coldly, eliciting a look from Josh at the mention of his name. “Don’t talk to us. For what could we possibly have to share? What bits of knowledge could we impart to you?” A smirk that bordered on sarcasm grew on the man’s lips. “You’re on the verge of extinction and yet you still cling to the possibility of a different outcome that, I’m afraid, is just not going to happen. This thing that’s occurred to us, it’s an improvement that you can’t possibly comprehend unless you’ve experienced it for yourself. If you—if all of you—would only submit to the process, you would see. It’s something to behold.”

Josh snorted. “See what? All I see are a bunch of half dead zombies that run for cover like cockroaches when the sun goes down.” He took a step forward. Catherine reached for him, but was too slow. “You spend half your day hiding from the dark. Your mental capacity is like a child and you attack like packs of wild dogs. If there’s an improvement somewhere in there I’m afraid I just don’t fucking see it.”

“You won’t,” the man said. “You can’t. Not yet. It’s indescribable. Whatever this is, it connects us. It connects us in ways that transcend race and ethnicity.” The man looked to the ground then moved closer. “But you are right. The process is far from perfect. The evolution is slow and the birth is understandably fearsome. But compare it to what you think you know. Look at a human birth. Isn’t it filled with fear and pain and, in some instances, even death? And while your reference to us as ‘zombies’ may seem accurate, I ask you to consider the functionality of a newborn. What are they capable of? What abilities does a three-month old child possess? I have only been converted for the better part of two months and yet I have already matured to my former self. My previous memories, knowledge, aptitude—all of it still intact. But there is so much more that I’ve gained.”

The Lawyer walked along the precipice of the shadow. He eyed Shelby and Leanne, saw the fear in their eyes. “It’s understandable that you feel afraid. But I assure you, these people that surround you do not want to hurt you.”

“You could’ve fooled me,” Shelby said timidly.

“You’re not people,” Josh spat.

“You say you don’t want to hurt us,” Catherine said, her eyesight back. “Then how do you explain last night in that wall of cars you things built? I would say the sole intention of your actions, from the crashing of the trucks to the pounding of the excavator, was to hurt us. And then you chase us unceasingly through mountainous terrain? How are we to see it any other way?”

The Lawyer stopped near Leanne and looked over at Catherine. “That’s a valid question. The best answer I can give you is exuberance.”

“Exuberance?” Catherine chortled.

“And I didn’t think you things had a sense of humor,” Josh quipped.

“Exuberance. Overzealousness,” the Lawyer continued. “Eagerness. Anxiousness. They all apply. You must understand that you are not dealing with fullly functioning rational minds just yet.”

“Really?” Josh said sarcastically.

The Lawyer began walking again, motioning to a cluster of New Humans standing near Leanne. “These ‘things’ as you keep referring to them, are in various stages of development. Many are in the early phases of recollecting their previous lives and, as a result, behave like tempestuous children acting out in sudden and deliberate ways. They don’t mean to. They just don’t know any better. All they know is that they want to share the gift they’ve been given. They may not even know why or how to articulate it. But they know it’s something special, even if they are a bit aggressive in their delivery.”

Catherine had to admit she was relatively impressed with the thing talking to her. Save her neighbor who had done nothing more than unsettle her with eerie talk and mannerisms, Catherine had actually heard very little conversation from a New Human. But this one certainly possessed a strong vocabulary and a convincing way. She wished now more than ever that Janet were around to help keep a clear head.

“So you can talk,” Catherine said, her eyes following the Lawyer as he continued his stroll around the tent.

“Of course, we can talk. We can do a great number of things. You seem surprised.”

“I must admit that I am. Nothing in the way you’ve presented yourselves so far has suggested anything other than a malevolent plague on humanity. If you can talk, as you’ve clearly shown, why not try and speak to us? Explain to us what’s happening. You must’ve known that your aggressive tactics would form a negative opinion of you.”

The Lawyer almost smiled as he rounded the far pole. “If we did try to talk, do you really believe you would’ve listened?”

Catherine thought about this a moment and realized he had a point. It was the nature of man. When a threat or intimidation strikes, shoot first and ask questions later. It was as old as time itself.

The Lawyer sauntered forward. “But you’ve said something interesting. A plague, I think it was you called us. But I ask you, what do you think the human race is?”

Catherine glanced at her watch—eleven twenty-six. While a large part of her was interested to learn more about these things, she just didn’t have the time. And every minute the Lawyer spoke with her was another minute lost from trying to solve their plight. Warren, where the hell are you?

“The human race?” Catherine said simply. “Sentient, but imperfect creatures trying to do our best.”

“Wrong,” the Lawyer said flatly. “You’re as much a plague as the various bacteria that have wiped out so many over time. In fact, I’d say you’re worse. Humans infest the world knowingly, taking what they want, depleting resources, acting out in their own best interests. And they do this while trying to convince themselves it’s all for the greater good. At least a bacterium has the self-defense of instinct. And, as you say, humans are sentient. So what is your excuse?”

“We don’t just go around killing people because we want to,” Josh threw out. “We’re not killers like you.”

The Lawyer, for the first time, offered a toothy smile. “But that’s exactly what you are. Don’t you see? Every war, every conflict has been predicated upon one group’s belief that they are in the right. That mass murder is acceptable as long as it’s in the name of their righteous cause. All the human race has ever done is embrace their instinct to kill.”

“So why do you think you’re so different?” Catherine asked.

“We don’t. The only difference is that we don’t deny what we are.”

“And what are you?”

“Enlightened,” the Lawyer said, completing his circle and stepping back in front of Catherine and Josh. “We are more aware of ourselves than we ever were as mere humans. Emotions have been reduced only to base necessity and for the first time we actually exist as a single, collective species, working together to further our own survival. Not like you, with your individualistic approach to life. Your fenced yards and solitary actions. The more you progress the more you separate yourselves from one another.” The Lawyer moved to the edge of the shadow, his toes within an inch of the boundary. “I know. I used to be just like you.”

Catherine took a step forward and met the Lawyer’s gaze. “You may be right,” she said. “We are problematic at times and do tend to withdraw into our own lives somewhat selfishly. But by and large, we are good and decent. We try to help. We do the right thing. We’re not all perfect and we fail quite a bit. But we continue to try to improve. Not to just help ourselves, but the world. You’re wrong about us. As for your argument, I hear you. But you’ve shown me nothing to convince me of your enlightened status.”

“I see,” said the Lawyer. “Then perhaps this will help.”

The Lawyer did not move. Didn’t say a word or offer any signal. Yet when the twenty or so New Humans simultaneously took a step back from the tent without a second of hesitation, the perfect unison in which they moved was enough to send shivers along the spines of all who witnessed it.

Catherine’s mouth fell open and she could hardly keep her eyes from welling with tears. It wasn’t the dirt this time, but the glaring realization that she had just seen something remarkable.

“Consider this an olive branch,” the Lawyer said calmly, holding out his hand.

Josh stared out at the New Humans encircling the canopy. They remained motionless, eyeing him and the others. It was an impressive statement. One, quite frankly, that sealed the deal for what he was about to do. There was no escaping these things. He knew that. But there was a larger more unassailable truth— no one was coming to help them. They would have to make it happen. And he knew just how.

“You don’t really expect me to take your hand, do you?” Catherine asked the Lawyer, stepping back subconsciously.

“I’d hoped that maybe we could come to an agreement,” the Lawyer replied. “That we could all stand together and reach an understanding.”

Josh felt fire in his stomach as his adrenaline kicked into overdrive. Those things were still static, having moved nary an inch. He just hoped they remained that way, their current positions actually of benefit to him.

Glancing over at Shelby, he caught her eye. She managed to force a smile and he thought it was the most beautiful thing he had ever seen. He winked back reassuringly and pushed his fingertips into his sternum.

Catherine smirked at the Lawyer. “I think we’re fine, but you’re welcome to join us in here if—”

Josh was already to the Lawyer before anyone grasped that he’d fled the safety of the tent. Running at full bore, Josh charged the Lawyer, driving his open palm into the man’s nose. The Lawyer recoiled violently, crumpling to the ground, blood spewing from his face as Josh slipped through the gap created by his fall.

“Josh!” Catherine screamed, every heartache a mother could feel embedded in the call of his name.

Josh sprinted with all of his might for the gate, arms swinging, legs pumping. The exhaustion he felt had vanished, replaced now by a renewed sense of urgency that fueled him.

The New Humans were jolted from their trance-like state, immediately giving chase to Josh as he ran.

Catherine, Leanne and Shelby crowded the nearest corner of the tent, watched as the mob descended on him.

“What’s he doing?” Shelby cried, tears spilling down her cheeks. “Where’s he going?”

Josh reached the gate and leapt onto the metal frame. He pulled himself up using every bit of his remaining strength. The New Humans would be right behind him. He didn’t need to look back to verify it. He clamped his hands around the steel braces and climbed, his feet working to push him higher.

The New Humans reached the gate below him and threw themselves at it, several clinging to it and beginning their ascent after him.

Catherine stared in horror. The New Humans were swarming like locusts below her son, teeming along the massive gate as they crawled up toward him. She knew in an instant what he intended to do and knew that he would never make it. Not unless he got some help.

She quick-checked the circumference of the canopy, confirming the absence of all New Humans with the exception of the wounded and bleeding Lawyer.

“Keep on eye on him!” Catherine commanded to Shelby and Leanne, her finger pointed at the writhing man-thing on the ground. And with that, she charged out from under the tent toward Josh.

“Catherine!” Leanne screamed.

But Catherine didn’t hear her. Her mind was elsewhere, her focus and drive concentrated into a singular goal: help my son.

She ran over to a patch of sand saturated with oblong and pointed rocks. She deftly snatched up two fist-sized stones and hurled them at the New Humans, one after another. The first caught a woman in the back, the other, the bearded man, in the head. The woman arched her back in pain, the man collapsing to the ground.

Several New Humans turned and looked at Catherine. She’d already procured two more rocks and launched them viciously. One clanged off the gate with a metallic echo. But the other found its mark, striking a climbing New Human on the back of his hand, causing him to drop like the stone Catherine had just hurled.

Josh continued on, unaware of the aid his mother was providing. He reached the uppermost portion of the gate then pulled himself so he could stand on top of the concrete barricade.

A slender man-thing scaled the gate, his hands within reach of Josh’s foot. Josh lashed out with a furious kick to the man’s face, the force knocking the man loose and sending him crashing into two more New Humans just below.

The gate suddenly rang with a loud clank. Josh twisted and found his mother, her arm in windup as she let loose of a baseball-sized stone. He watched it graze the neck of a pudgy woman then strike the face of a shorter man in front of her.

Many New Humans turned. Several started after her.

Catherine spun and charged for the canopy. Josh, seizing on the distraction, whirled back around and located the object of his intent. There, mounted to the top of the first pole supporting the barbed wire was the camera. If the people inside didn’t see them, they surely would in a second.

Josh checked below him and, finding a generous distance between himself and the nearest New Human, sprang onto the barbed wire.

The razors cut into him instantly. Blood began to ooze down his arms and he could feel his legs slice open with each movement. His bare forearms bore the brunt and he thanked himself between breaths for the potentially incriminating decision to wear gloves.

The camera was atop the pole, an easy ten feet above the concrete, eight of it entwined in that laboriously set wire. Josh grappled with the wobbly cable, climbing until he was able to grasp a section of the pole above the highest fixed point. Using his legs, Josh kicked at the wire. He ignored the pain that rocketed through his body as the blades cut him with each step.

Almost there.

Reaching hand over hand, he pulled himself higher. The camera was just out of reach. One more thrust and he would be face to face with it. Blood trickled down his hands and arms. The pole became slick with it, each grasp becoming more difficult to maintain. But managing a final upwards yank, Josh secured a hand around one side of the camera. He raised his bloody legs and wrapped them around the pole, placing his other hand along the opposite side of the camera so he was staring into the lens.

Then Josh screamed at the top of his lungs.

Senior Airman Brophy plopped down in his chair. He bent forward, his head between his knees.

“This is stupid,” he said sloppily. “I don’t have anything else to throw up. You have a cracker or—”

The popping sound of fingers snapping forced Brophy to turn and look over at Peattry. She had a phone plastered to her ear and a pen in her hand. The other hand was thrust toward him, the index finger extended in an agitated manner. He peered around her hunched form and saw she was scrolling through pages of scanned reports.

“I’m checking now, sir,” Peattry said into the phone.

Brophy shook his head. Probably Aikers. The man was just as scared as everyone else. But rather than embrace his fear with intermittent trips to the head and engage with one-on-one’s with the can, he chose to occupy his remaining pre-devastation minutes by creating non-issues that he could easily resolve. It was merely a way to pass the time and take his mind off the horror that was soon to come. Everybody handled it differently. Aikers just chose to be an asshole about it.

Brophy exhaled and sat upright. His eyes trailed lazily to the monitors before him. He wondered if Peattry had even scanned his grid. Not like it mattered too much. Operation Houseclean would be underway in less than twenty minutes and he seriously doubted there would be any—

Brophy bolted upright in his chair, his stomach doing a somersault at the sudden movement.

“Holy shit!” he cried out.

Peattry twisted in her chair at the sudden exclamation as Brophy fumbled for his phone. He jammed the receiver to his ear and punched a two-digit speed dial. He drummed his fingers impatiently for the three seconds it took for someone on the other end to pickup.

“Sir, I’ve got activity!” Brophy blurted. “Area Delta, quadrant three!” Brophy listened, his free hand poised over his control console. “Yes, sir. Right away.”

Brophy slammed the phone down and flipped a switch on his panel. Flashing red lights and a loud siren filled the shelter. Brophy reached for a microphone, toggled on the “talk” button.

“Scramble REC Team Bravo Niner to Area Delta. Repeat, REC Team Bravo Niner to Area Delta.” Brophy said, his words echoing throughout the shelter. “This is not a drill. Repeat, this is not a drill.”

Peattry rolled up behind him, her conversation finally over. “You got something?” she said, astounded.

“You could say that,” Brophy responded, perspiration breaking on his forehead. His eyes fixated on the monitor in front of him, Peattry staring over his shoulder, both awash in the red of warning lights.

In the lower corner of Monitor Delta, Josh’s face filled the camera frame. His mouth was agape in a silent holler, his eyes filled with desperation.

“Hang in there, kid,” SrA. Brophy muttered. “Help’s on its way.”

29

Catherine & Josh

The siren was barely audible. But when the camouflaged door at the base of the mountain suddenly opened between the concrete barricades, Josh knew he wasn’t hearing things. An ungodly wail emanated from the breach, seeming to push forward the two columns of armed soldiers that double-timed it out then up identical stairwells adjacent to each barricade.

The lead soldier on Josh’s side stormed up to him, thrusting the end of his M-16 just feet from Josh’s face.

“You have five seconds to release that camera and climb down,” the soldier commanded, his voice firm, his aim steady.

Catherine shrieked at the sight of the soldiers. “Don’t shoot! Don’t shoot him! He’s with us! Please, God, don’t shoot!”

A young soldier—Catherine thought he might be a First Sergeant in the Army—appeared atop the barricade opposite Josh. “Stand down!” he shouted to the other soldiers.

The New Humans had retreated from the fence at the sound of the siren. They rejoined the Lawyer, now back on his feet, at the canopy having formed a wall between Catherine, Leanne and Shelby and salvation.

The First Sergeant surveyed the crowd of people below him. His demeanor was all business, like someone who’d been here before.

“Please!” Catherine yelled. “Help us! My name is Catherine Hayesly. That’s my son by the camera. My husband’s name is Lt. Colonel Warren Hayesly. He’s inside this facility. Please don’t shoot us!”

The First Sergeant narrowed his eyes and found Catherine through the sea of New Humans in the shadow of the canopy. “Mrs. Hayesly?”

“Yes! Yes, I’m here!” she said waving her arms.

“Who do you have with you?”

“My son and these two young women. All the rest are...”

The First Sergeant nodded. He turned to the soldier behind him who immediately produced a walkie and spoke into it.

“Help him down,” the First Sergeant called over to the other barricade where Josh still clung to the camera pole. The lead soldier there lowered his weapon. He called over his shoulder. “Get a ladder!” The soldier directly behind him spun and sprinted along the gangway. “Hold on, son.”

“Hurry,” Josh mumbled weakly.

“Mrs. Hayesly?” the First Sergeant called.

“Yes?”

“Just hang tight. We’ll have you inside in a matter of minutes.”

“Okay,” Catherine said, her eyes welling. “Okay.” She wrapped her arms around Shelby and Leanne who seeped tears of joy.

The First Sergeant addressed the New Humans. “I know some of you can understand me so listen close. You will leave this area immediately or you will be shot right where you stand. Do you understand?”

The New Humans only stared, their cold eyes looking up at the First Sergeant who returned the gaze in equal measure.

“I repeat,” he began again, “leave this area at once or you will be shot. Make no mistake, we will fire on you. If I had my way you’d all be dead already. But by the good graces of my command you have been given the opportunity to flee. I advise you take that opportunity.”

Again, silence from the crowd.

The First Sergeant nodded in a way that indicated only a minor nuisance. As if this bit of duty might be keeping him from a poker game somewhere. “Very well.” He leaned forward, leering at the New Humans. “Arms!” he screamed.

Soldiers filed along the tops of the barricades, others rushing to the gate. In a simultaneous movement all drew their rifles and pointed them into the crowd.

“Last warning,” the First Sergeant declared. “Disperse. Now.”

But the words fell on deaf ears as the New Humans defied the command, remaining motionless in front of the canopy.

“So be it,” said the First Sergeant. “Mrs. Hayesly, ma’am?”

“Y-yes?” Catherine forced out, the gravity of the situation finding a way to unnerve her despite all she’d been through.

“I apologize for what’s about to happen. Please, reach above you and withdraw the plastic cover that’s been affixed to the roof of the tent.”

Catherine looked up and discovered a fold of thick plastic sheeting Velcroed in place above her. She ripped it from its place and began to unfold it.

“Please move to the center of the tent and cover you and the others with it as best you can. Get as low to the ground as possible and do not come out from under it until you hear my voice. Do you understand?”

“I understand,” Catherine stammered, her heart beating in her chest like a timpani drum.

Leanne grabbed a corner of the sheet from Catherine with shaky hands and helped unfurl it. The three shuffled to the center of the tent and began to climb under the plastic.

Catherine thrust Shelby in between her and Leanne and hugged the trembling girl close. She glanced up to where her son was hanging and saw a soldier arrive with an aluminum ladder and climb up after him. My God, he was so bloody.

“Catherine,” a voice said in front of her, redirecting her attention. She searched and found the Lawyer standing just out of the shadows. He faced her while the others continued their silent vigil in the opposite direction.

“I just wanted to say,” the Lawyer began, “...it was a pleasure to meet you.”

Catherine’s eyebrows lowered in a confused scowl. “What?”

“I’d hoped for a different outcome between us. Maybe another time.”

Draping the plastic over her head, Catherine peered out from underneath it. “Do you realize what’s about to happen to you? They’re going to kill every last one of you. For an enlightened being I find it difficult to believe you would just stand here and not try to save yourselves.”

“Prepare yourself, Mrs. Hayesly!” came the First Sergeant’s voice. Catherine pulled the sheeting so just her face peeked out.

“Even if we tried to run, do you really think we would get very far?” queried the Lawyer.

“You might today.”

The Lawyer swiped blood from his nose and rubbed it between his thumb and forefinger. “I remember before, when I was...different. I used to read. There was a quote from Plato that I recall resonated with me. ‘Death is not the worst that can happen to men’. I never really understood what that meant.” The Lawyer let his arms fall to his sides. “Until today.”

“Fire!” the First Sergeant screamed.

Catherine quickly ducked her head under the plastic as machine guns sprung to life. Metallic popping came from everywhere, the sickening sound of bullets hitting flesh rampant. High-pitched echoes rang as errant bullets ricocheted off the support poles. Sand thudded with the impact of missed shots.

Shelby screamed, Leanne and Catherine clinging to her and each other as gore and blood spattered the exterior of the tarp.

Little by little the firing ceased until all was quiet again. Catherine lifted her head and waited, her breathing an erratic series of gasps and exhales.

“Mrs. Hayesly, are you all right?”

Catherine peeled back the plastic carefully at the sound of the First Sergeant’s voice, making sure to avoid any contact with the blood tinted plastic.

The scene before her was out of a Holocaust. Bodies were strewn about like mistreated rag dolls. Blood pooled into the sandy ground, limbs, torsos and heads devastated or missing.

“We’re fine,” Catherine finally managed to reply.

“Please step forward, ma’am. All of you. Quickly, please.”

Peeling back the tarp gingerly from over Shelby and Leanne, Catherine raised Shelby to her feet. “Close your eyes if you need to, sweetie. Just hold onto me.”

Soldiers shouldered their rifles and set to work on the gate. With an impressive sounding buzz, the bolts slid back, unlocking it. Three soldiers pushed the eight-foot high door open, three more rushing to the aid of Catherine, Shelby and Leanne. Five additional soldiers with arms at the ready charged into the carnage, their muzzles pointed at the bodies as if expecting some final assault.

A muscular soldier took Catherine by the arm and escorted her through the minefield of tangled bodies, Leanne and Shelby each receiving their own personal accompaniment.

It was the most surreal experience Catherine had ever encountered. Her mind swam in a murky haze of mixed emotions, equal parts euphoria, sadness and revulsion. So many people had died and so many more would follow in the coming minutes. But she would survive. Her family would survive.

Glancing down she discovered the remains of the Lawyer. He lay face down in the sand, one arm shredded, his head bereft of a sizable portion. His final words would linger in her subconscious. And she would often ponder if there could have really ever been an understanding between the two species. It seemed that now they would never know.

She floated on a cloud of shock as the soldier led her toward the gate. She was barely aware of her legs moving, only that the entrance was creeping ever closer, sanctuary only a few steps beyond it.

Entering through the large metal fence, she noticed her son. Hunched and walking slowly, Josh was escorted along the walkway toward the stairwell at the far end of the barricade. His clothes were in tatters and he had suffered numerous cuts to his body. He looked like hell.

Josh twisted painfully and caught the eye of his mother, who managed a sincere smile. He raised his arm with a closed fist and gestured lightly, like an amateur golfer who had just sunk a four-foot putt.

Catherine’s senses rejoined her, the change in the earth beneath her feet recognizably different. The soft, sinking sand beyond the gate was replaced by firmer ground inside, metal grating covering every square inch of area between the barricades. For Catherine, it was both a literal and figurative distinction.

Her footsteps thudded dully on the surface as she gained her stride. The soldier let go of her arm, but then immediately grabbed it again when Catherine stopped suddenly, the sight before her rendering her knees useless.

Exiting the shelter, amid all the ensuing chaos of people, was a single person. A man.

Catherine fixated on this individual.

“Warren?” she whispered to herself, the disbelief giving way to reality. Then she screamed. “Warren!”

Catherine broke free from the soldier’s grasp and raced over to the gaunt and frail man jogging toward her. Tears ran down her cheeks and she became filled with a state of indescribable elation.

She slammed into him clumsily, her momentum knocking Warren askew from his step. She wrapped her arms around him tightly, months of uncertainty, pain and loneliness culminating in an uncontrollable flow of tears.

Warren hugged his wife passionately, his arms encircling her body, unable to embrace her enough. He grabbed her head and she reared back, their mouths meeting in a flurry of sloppy and misdirected kisses, each person seemingly trying to devour the other. He pushed her head back onto his shoulder and cradled her gently.

“Is it you?” Catherine blubbered. “Is it really you?”

“God, I hope so,” Warren choked out.

“The girls?” Catherine asked suddenly, fearfully.

“They’re safe. Your friend Oliver got them here without a scratch.” Warren stroked her hair. “You did it, Catherine.”

Catherine exhaled, accompanied by a torrent of tears.

“Lieutenant Colonel, sir?”

Warren released from his wife just enough to face the First Sergeant who stood beside him.

“I’m sorry to be the one to inform you, sir, but I need you to remain at a distance from your wife.”

Warren reacted as if he’d just taken a blow to the stomach. “Excuse me, First Sergeant?”

The First Sergeant nodded knowingly, fully prepared for the direction the conversation was about to take. “Yes, sir. I know. But I have my orders. She and the others need to undergo testing and quarantine. Until she can be cleared she needs to be kept separate from—”

Warren waved off the First Sergeant. “It would take more manpower than you have here to pry me away from my wife. I understand you have your orders. I know the quarantine procedure. She will comply.” Warren leaned toward the soldier, as if to reinforce his intent. “And so will I.”

The First Sergeant offered the slightest of grins. “Yes, sir.” He held out his arm toward the entrance. “Please, sir, we need to get back inside immediately.”

“Of course,” Warren said.

Glancing beyond the comfort of Warren’s shoulder, Catherine discovered Josh slowly descending the stairs from atop the barricade. Turning and walking briskly toward the shelter entrance, Catherine directed Warren’s attention to their son.

“Jesus,” he said simply, his wondrous eyes welling at the sight of his wounded and bleeding boy.

“First Sergeant,” Warren barked.

“Yes, sir?”

“Let’s get a medic down here. ASAP.”

“Already on his way, sir.”

Warren nodded. He held Catherine’s hand firmly as the two stepped into the shadow of the shelter entrance. They waited at the bottom of the stairs as Josh descended the remaining steps with pained movements.

Catherine swiped tears from her face. “How you doing, kiddo?” she called out in a tremulous voice, fully aware the question was both inane and ludicrous.

Josh looked up at his mother and forced a smile. “Spectacular.” His eyes diverted to the line of soldiers retreating back into the shelter behind Shelby and Leanne, their job complete. Minutes ago the area had been a battleground. Now, it was a virtual ghost town. Save his parents and the two soldiers escorting him down, the area was clear.

Josh locked on his father. “Hey, dad.”

Warren tried, but couldn’t hold back, tears springing from his eyes. “Hey, Josh.” He swallowed, tried to force a jovial grin. “What did I tell you about playing in barbed wire? You...you could get hurt.” Warren’s smile evaporated, the aching hurt he felt usurping the vain attempt at jocularity.

“You know us kids,” Josh said, reaching the final few steps. “We never listen.”

Josh gingerly treaded the last step, arriving in front of his parents with a weakened shuffle. Warren and Catherine’s faces dropped like a ton of bricks. Josh’s injuries were far worse than they anticipated. Blood seemed to weep from everywhere, his skin wet with the red liquid.

Warren composed himself then, with rage in his eyes, turned on the two soldiers who had just escorted Josh down.

“Why in the hell hasn’t this man received any treatment!” he bellowed.

The soldiers looked at one another, the stockier of the two taking the lead. “Sir, he’s a ‘Q’ risk. Our orders are to admit him to the infirmary then to quarantine until—”

Warren howled at them. “This is my son!” He turned to the First Sergeant. “Get me a goddamned medic out here so we can stop his bleeding!”

The First Sergeant stepped forward. “Sir, it may be faster if we just get him to the infirmary. I can have you all there within the minute.”

“Fine. Let’s go.” Warren turned to Josh. “Think you can make it?”

Josh nodded weakly.

The First Sergeant turned on Warren’s cue. He bee-lined it into the shelter and cleared a path with all the intensity of a lunatic.

Catherine stepped through the massive reinforced steel doors of the shelter. Cool, filtered air hit her in the face and were she not so exhausted and emotional, would probably have considered it orgasmic. Briefly, she took note of the miles of piping that snaked along the concrete walls of the corridor and watched in awe as the First Sergeant barked orders just ahead of them, people shifting to the side as if he were Moses parting the Red Sea.

“You see, sweetie,” Catherine began, “we’ll be there in no time. Just keep moving. We’ll get you fixed...” she turned in mid-sentence and looked back toward Josh, expecting to find him struggling forward just behind her. But he wasn’t there.

The cool air suddenly became an icy chill.

Josh still stood outside the shelter, having moved not at all. Instead, he was bent over, one hand fingering his chest.

Catherine could feel the blood leave her face and her mouth became like the desert she’d just left behind. With a trembling originating in her heart and radiating outward, she forced herself to look down at his feet. The tips of Josh’s toes—along with the rest of his body—remained just outside the boundary of the shadow formed by the mountain. He stood in broad sunlight and made no effort to change his position.

“Josh?” Catherine said, walking toward him on wobbly legs.

Warren turned at the sound of Catherine’s voice. His eyes danced between his wife and son, he still stationary outside the shelter, she wearing a mask of abject horror at the sight of him there.

With great effort, Josh raised his head and looked at his parents. The truth resided in his eyes. And it was all they needed to see.

“Josh!” Catherine wailed, sprinting toward him.

Warren lunged for Catherine, gripping her by the wrist as she attempted to run. She flailed uncontrollably, her screams drawing the attention of the shelter residents, as well as the First Sergeant who now charged back in their direction.

Warren wrapped his arms around his wife for the second time today, the embrace of longing now replaced with one of restraint and mourning.

“Catherine, no,” Warren urged, his pale features somehow made even more so. “You can’t.”

“Let me go!” she shouted. “Not my son!”

Tears and snot wet Catherine’s face. She kicked wildly, desperately trying to free herself from Warren’s grip. In a sudden lunge she twisted to the side. Her momentum too much to bear, she and Warren toppled to the floor.

“Not my son!” she hollered again as the First Sergeant arrived with a cadre of soldiers, they taking up guard positions along the entrance with all eyes on Josh.

Josh stood upright and stared in at his parents writhing on the cold concrete floor; his mother attempted to crawl to him, his father tried everything in his power to prevent it.

“Mom,” Josh uttered quietly. Then louder. “Mom.”

Catherine froze and looked up at Josh. Her glassy, bloodshot eyes conveyed in a single look what Josh had always known. No matter what differences they’d had, no matter what side of the fence each had found themselves on, one thing had always been constant: the unconditional love of his mother. And it continued still. He watched her try to reach him willingly, struggling against his father to do so. Not for a moment did she consider her own safety, her only objective to be with him.

And this caused Josh to cry.

“I’m sorry, mom,” he said. “I wasn’t sure. I...I’m so sorry.”

Tears streamed down Catherine’s face as Warren lay atop her, his face screwed in an agony.

“How?” Catherine bawled. “When...?”

Josh lifted his arm painfully and removed one of the gloves that had plagued Catherine’s curiosity the past few days. There, on the underside of his wrist, was the evidence: a two-inch long red gash, noticeable despite the blood.

“The gas station,” he confessed, his voice losing strength. “The birds, they...I wanted to wait and see what happened to Janet...but when she died I...I got scared...” He winced in pain and cried out. “I don’t want to die, mom...I don’t want to—”

Josh doubled over again suddenly and Catherine’s mind reeled. She was inundated with inescapable sorrow and a desperate need for understanding. How could it have happened? Why had it taken so long for him to show symptoms when Janet and Derrik had seemed to stay true to the incubation pattern? What was different? The questions lingered in her brain, colliding like bumper cars on an empty track.

Josh looked up from his hunched position. “Mom...dad...”

The First Sergeant glanced at his watch nervously. He stepped over to Warren, the tenuousness of the situation ever-present on his face. “Sir, I...I’m sorry, but we need to seal this portal immediately.”

Warren snapped his head around to meet him, nodding slightly. He stared vacantly into space. This was not how he had envisioned the reunion. He had prepared himself for the likelihood of his family not making it to the shelter. It’s all he’d been doing for the last two months. He spoke with counselors regularly to find ways to put closure to that part of his life if and when the time came. But when his daughters arrived on the eve of Armageddon, all the despair he’d come to accept had been thrown out the window. And when they told him of Catherine and Josh’s proximity his spirit soared. He knew she would make it. Felt it, even. When word came over the COM system that more survivors had arrived, he’d known right away that it was Catherine. Their family would be together after all. It was a miracle.

“Sir?” the First Sergeant said.

Warren locked eyes with the soldier and rose to his feet. “I understand, First Sergeant.” He glanced down at Catherine who remained splayed on the floor, devastated. She stared helplessly at Josh, her crying unabated.

“Please...” Josh whimpered. “Someone help me.”

Warren turned his attention toward his damaged son, bleeding and suffering. He’d seen this scenario play out hundreds of times in the race to block the incubation process and discover a “cure”. But they’d all failed. And he knew what would soon occur.

He swiped tears from his eyes. “I’m coming, Josh,” he said, looking at his son. He turned to the First Sergeant, keeping his voice low so as not to alert Catherine. “May I have your sidearm?”

The First Sergeant’s face dropped. He reached into his holster and withdrew his nine-millimeter. He handed it to Warren determinedly.

Warren took it in his palm then leaned in close to the First Sergeant’s ear. “Restrain my wife.”

The First Sergeant nodded, offering no argument as to Catherine’s “Q” status. He gave silent orders to nearby soldiers who understood implicitly what was about to take place, they moving into place along Catherine’s blind side.

Catherine pushed herself into a sitting position. She looked from Josh to Warren. Then she saw the gun.

“What are you doing?” she said, her eyes flitting between the gun and Josh. “Warren?” Catherine began to stand. “What are you doing with that gun?” New tears formed in her eyes as she reached her feet. She took a step toward Warren and was immediately detained by the waiting soldiers.

Her screams were unearthly.

“Don’t you do this! Please, Warren! Not our son!”

Warren tried valiantly to block his wife’s shrieking pleas from his mind. He could hear her thrash and flail against the guards’ restraints, sobbing uncontrollably. But there was no other way. He knew it. And so did she.

He stepped through the portal and approached his son.

The pain in Josh’s chest was all consuming, every second a new experience in agony. It wouldn’t be long now.

Josh tried to stand upright and face his father, but the constant torment in his body and sufficient blood loss had left him a shell of his former self.

Bathed in cool shadow, Warren could only stare, the gun feeling like an anvil in his grip.

“Hey...dad,” Josh muttered, twisting his head to see. “How you...been?”

Warren forced a meager smile, tears dripping down his cheeks. “Truthfully, I’ve had better days.”

“You...and me...both.”

Josh squinted viciously as a sudden surge of sharp pain rippled through his body. Warren stepped forward and reached out then, coming to his senses, withdrew his arm angrily. He turned away and screamed at the sky. “Goddamn it!”

Panting slowly, Josh stooped and placed his hands on his knees. “Tell Shelby...thank you. She’ll know.” Drool mixed with blood streamed from his mouth into the sand. “And tell Abby, Tamara, I...” Another sharp pain wracked him. A pair of tears fell from his eyes and disappeared with a puff into the earth. “Tell mom...tell her...”

Warren nodded furiously, anticipating Josh’s final words. “I will.”

Josh’s head sunk. He spat a string of bloody saliva into the dirt. Then he looked at his father.

“Do...it.”

Warren slammed his eyes shut. The time had come. He’d thought of this day often. Of having to say goodbye to one or all of his family. He just never expected he would have to do it face to face.

“Josh, I...” Warren began. But words escaped him. For what does a father say to his son before firing a bullet into his skull? “I never...I never knew what pride was until the day you were born. And for that...I thank you.”

Josh angled his head to get a better view of the man he had known as his father. This man who had simultaneously existed as hero and tormentor throughout his life. Who had challenged him when he was complacent and berated him when he was stubborn. This man—who stood before him now with his gaunt features and hollow eyes, weeping tears of anguish—this man was his father. And the pride was all Josh’s.

“You’re...welcome,” Josh said.

Catherine could fight no longer. It was fruitless. She’d expended any remaining fuel grappling with the guards and finally her body had had enough. So she lay on the floor at their feet, staring at the colored and varied pipes that protruded from the drab gray cinder blocks in front of her.

Warren was outside the shelter with Josh. At least he was with family, she told herself. At least the last face he would see would be of somebody who loved him. That was important. Nobody should die alone, least of all in the manner in which Josh was about to succumb.

Catherine closed her eyes and shuddered at the thought of what this parasite would do, how it would ravage her little boy’s body. She wished she would’ve never seen how it destroyed Sean so unapologetically, so violently. Then she’d have nothing to compare it with. But she had. And the imagery was as fresh as summer rain.

She traced the pipe contours with her finger, closing one eye for better accuracy. And as her mind retreated from the present she recalled better days. Happier times before their lives had been so rudely interrupted. Back when petty family arguments were the only drama. Back before Warren had taken his cursed job. Back when all of her children were born and the euphoria that accompanied each child’s arrival into the world.

And she thought of Josh.

She remembered how he felt as she birthed him, a searing pain one moment followed by pure exhilaration the next, the disparity in emotions something for which she was ill prepared. She remembered the toddler who had found crayons and doodled on the freshly painted walls of the living room, inviting the short-lived fury of Warren, but filling her with new depths of love. She remembered the second grader who’d brought his pet gerbil to class for show-and-tell, only to lose and never find it again, the subsequent tears reaffirming in her the compassion she’d known was there. She remembered the sixth grader who’d crashed on his bicycle, slicing open his calve on the rusty chain she’d warned him to oil. She remembered the doctor visit that followed and the nine stitches sewn into Josh’s leg serving as a test of her maternal endurance, each ensuing medical visit prompting irrationally heightened fears of negative prognoses. She remembered the high school freshman and the first morning of school spent vomiting over the toilet and the next year sophomore asked by his peers to run for student council, a request he ultimately declined. She remembered the friends he made, the girls he pined for and the teachers who raved about him. She remembered his spirit, his resoluteness and his determined attitude, all of which, at one time or another, had contributed toward the multitude of head-butting arguments routinely held around the dinner table. Most of all, though, she remembered how she had loved him, unfalteringly, unwaveringly.

Catherine never heard the shot. She was too busy encapsulating her son’s life, compartmentalizing it for future visits. For she knew she would be a constant guest and the details of his existence demanded preservation. She was his mother. That was her job.

She followed the snaky pattern of a blue tube along the wall. She never even noticed the natural light it was bathed in incrementally dwindle, it replaced by fluorescent only illumination. Nor did she acknowledge the pair of legs that walked up slowly and stood, eventually kneeling beside her.

No, she was aware of none of these things. At the moment—and for some time thereafter—Catherine Hayesly would be aware of not much at all.

Epilogue

The room smelled. A contradictory odor of antiseptic staleness. But then it had always smelled that way since the first day. She’d had the dream again and for whatever reason, the scent seemed especially pungent upon waking.

Catherine rose and sat on the edge of her bed, a luxury she had come to learn over time that was afforded only to those in positions of authority or importance. Warren, it appeared, was the latter.

It had been like every other time. She was back in the quarantine room, sequestered away from her family and left to deal with the emotional onslaught of Josh’s death on her own. In the dream, Josh would visit her in her room. He would ask her questions, many of them accusatory, as if he blamed her for his demise. Then, as quickly as he’d arrived he’d disappear, his body transforming into a column of sand and dissipating into the floor.

Catherine knew the dream was about guilt. What she didn’t know was how she was supposed to deal with it. The counselors had valiantly tried to reassure her that none of what had happened was her fault. That she couldn’t hold herself accountable for things—and species—that were beyond her control. But she knew she wouldn’t be able to turn off that part of herself that felt responsibility and regret. At least, not yet.

As she dressed, she thought about that day in quarantine, or the “Q” as it was called. It was the most difficult twenty-four hours she’d ever had to endure. If there had been a means to take her own life she wasn’t so sure she wouldn’t have tried. But she had resisted the urge. Instead, she focused her emotions and railed against the new reality she would face when she emerged. Specifically, that Josh would not be there.

She cried for hours on end, pounded the walls with her fists and screamed until her voice disappeared. She yelled at God, cursed his name and waited joyfully for the brimstone to rain down upon her. But she was met with only silence. And that had been the loneliest moment of all.

She had a lot of time to think about the events that led up to Josh’s death and the maddening, inexplicable reason for the prolonged duration of his incubation. It defied logic and flew in the face of every thing they knew. With enough time, she discovered, even the most vexing problems were presented with a solution.

On one of many sorrowful days following, a thought suddenly struck her. There was a unique element. Something Josh had used that no one else had, at least none that she’d seen.

Sunscreen.

She remembered making him apply generous amounts to his skin, so much so that she’d noticed creamy white streaks still visible on his arms even after he’d rubbed it in. The sole purpose of the block, she knew, was to prevent harmful penetration of UV rays onto the skin—the very thing the New Humans craved. By using it, the block must have acted as a buffer. But rather than prevent the actual process, it appeared to have only delayed it.

Walking along the concrete corridor in her navy blue, shelter-provided jumpsuit, Catherine thought of the conversations she and Warren had had on the matter. About life, death, Josh and God and how each played a part in the final mix. They each tried to view Josh’s passing as prolonged rather than premature. That perhaps some sort of Divine Intervention had allowed him to survive just long enough to do what he did.

This was the faith-based logic Catherine preferred. Any other scenario would only submerge her already sinking theological quandary further into an ocean of doubt, perhaps never allowing it to resurface. She wanted to believe his sacrifice had been worth it. But each day that passed only seemed to accentuate his absence, time doing nothing to heal the rift in her heart.

It had been weeks before she could bring herself to speak again. Warren had been exceptionally patient and Catherine often had to remind herself that her husband was grieving as well.

It had taken a note from Tamara to draw her out of the darkness. Adorned with butterflies flittering among a green field with a bright orange sun that beamed down on lush green trees, the card had read simply, “I miss you mommy. Love, Tamara.”

Catherine didn’t know whether it was her daughter’s forthright tenderness or the images of a world they would all probably never see again that resonated with her. Regardless, the gesture had jolted Catherine back into an awareness she’d attempted to bury: This was her life now. And it wasn’t going to change. From that day forward she forced herself to get out of bed.

Strolling along the corridor and passing by the cafeteria, Catherine waved to the other residents she’d come to know. Mostly military and their families with a few random survivors that had been scooped up or found their way to the shelter in the weeks before the bombs.

It was a peculiar thing to think about what the world must look like outside. Warren had taken her to the monitoring stations and let her catch a glimpse of the mountainous region surrounding the shelter. Even to the discerning eye, the landscape didn’t appear all that different. But she knew better. Warren had shared reports with her fresh from other locations around the world proclaiming total annihilation. These same reports had also deemed the nuclear action a success, and Catherine had never wavered so dramatically between emotions, unable to decide whether to laugh or cry.

The med ward seemed to materialize in front of her and the butterflies from Tamara’s picture quickly took residence in Catherine’s stomach. She could feel her step quicken like it had for the past few days, the walk from her chamber to the ward one filled with excitement and anticipation. God, how she missed those feelings.

“Good morning, Catherine,” the nurse on duty said as she approached.

“Morning,” Catherine replied, casting a smile she was pleased to discover originated naturally. “Everything okay?”

“Like clockwork,” the nurse grinned.

Catherine nodded and continued down a hallway until she came to a door with the letter “E” stenciled on it. She peeked through the adjacent window into the room and felt the earth move.

“You’re up early,” she said as she pushed open the door and entered the small recovery room.

“I wasn’t tired,” Tamara said, her long hair hanging like tangled drapes over her face. She sat cross-legged in an uncomfortable looking metal chair, a pad of paper and colored pencils in her lap. Mr. Sniffles was tucked under her drawing arm. “Plus, I wanted to finish this drawing while it’s fresh in my head.”

“Sounds like a good idea,” Catherine said. She turned to the girl lying in the bed. “And how are you feeling this morning?”

Abby looked up at her mother and smiled, the color in her exhausted and drawn features already returning. In fact, Catherine would say Abby possessed a veritable glow.

“I feel better. Sore, but better.”

“I’m glad.” Catherine’s eyes trailed from her daughter to the bundle in her arms. “May I?”

“Of course, mom,” Abby said, her face scrunching in a look that suggested a combination of ridiculousness and puzzlement. “You never have to ask. You know that, right?”

“Well...I never like to assume.”

“Mom,” Abby said, lightly scolding. She gently scooped up the sea of blankets in her arms and handed them over to Catherine.

Cradling the wadded assortment of coverings, Catherine backed into the chair beside Abby’s bed like she’d done so many times before. She settled back and stared down. A pair of fresh eyes peered back.

“Well, good morning, Miss Renata,” Catherine cooed. “I almost didn’t notice you there, sleeping so soundly.”

The baby in Catherine’s arms squirmed and gurgled, its jeweled eyes staring up at the alien being above her. Catherine could have spent hours gazing into those eyes. All the promise that was contained there, all the hope. The months shuttered in prior to the birth had begun to wear on her, making recovery a long, uphill trudge. But the baby, seeing it in all of its unaffected perfect glory, lit a spark in her soul.

As the ash swirled outside and with the sun on temporary vacation, Catherine realized that she could have cared less. For she held new life. And in this baby’s eyes Catherine saw the universe and knew that the pillars of hope had begun to be erected. And in her arms was the foundation of all good things to come.

###

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