Okay?”
Shoulder pat. Shoulder pat not quite enough. Big hug.
“From now on, never let Sam out of your sight. Understand, Cassie? Never. Now go find him. I’ve got to see Hutchfield. And Cassie? If someone tries to take that rifle from you, you tell them to bring it up with me. And if they still try to take it, shoot them.”
He smiled. Not with his eyes, though. His eyes were as hard and blank and cold as a shark’s.
He was lucky, my dad. All of us were. Luck had carried us through the first three waves. But even the best gambler will tell you that luck only lasts so long. I think my dad had a feeling that day. Not that our luck had run out. No one could know that. But I think he knew in the end it wouldn’t be the lucky ones left standing.
It would be the hardcore. The ones who tell Lady Luck to go screw herself. The ones with hearts of stone. The ones who could let a hundred die so one might live. The ones who see the wisdom in torching a village in order to save it.
The world was FUBAR now.
And if you’re not okay with that, you’re just a corpse waiting to happen.
I took the M16 and hid it behind a tree bordering the path to the ash pit.
17
THE LAST REMNANT of the world I knew ripped apart on a sunny, warm Sunday afternoon.
Heralded by the growl of diesel engines, the rumble and squeak of axles, the whine of air brakes. Our sentries spotted the convoy long before it reached the compound. Saw the bright sunlight glinting off windows and the plumes of dust trailing the huge tires like contrails. We didn’t rush out to greet them with flowers and kisses. We stayed back while Hutchfield, Dad, and our four best shooters went out to meet them. Everyone was feeling a little spooked. And a lot less enthusiastic than we’d been just a few hours before.
Everything we’d expected to happen since the Arrival didn’t. Everything we hadn’t did. It took two whole weeks into the 3rd Wave for us to realize that the deadly flu was part of their plan. Still, you tend to believe what you always believed, think what you always thought, expect what you always expected, so it was never “Will we be rescued?” It was “When will we be rescued?”
And when we saw exactly what we wanted to see, what we expected to see—the big flatbed loaded with soldiers, the Humvees bristling with machine gun turrets and surface-to-air launchers—we still held back.
Then the school buses pulled into view.
Three of them, bumper to bumper.
Packed with kids.
Nobody expected that. Like I said, it was so weirdly normal, so shockingly surreal. Some of us actually laughed. A yellow freaking school bus! Where the hell is the school?
After a few tense minutes, where all we could hear was the throaty snarl of engines and the faint laughter and calls of the children on the buses, Dad left Hutchfield talking to the commander and came over to me and Sammy. A knot of people gathered around us to listen in.
“They’re from Wright-Patterson,” Dad said. He sounded out of breath. “And apparently a lot more of our military has survived than we thought.”
“Why are they wearing gas masks?” I asked.
“It’s precautionary,” he answered. “They’ve been in lockdown since the plague hit. We’ve all been exposed; we could be carriers.”
He looked down at Sammy, who was pressed up against me, his arms wrapped around my leg.
“They’ve come for the children,” Dad said.
“Why?” I asked.
“What about us?” Mother Teresa demanded. “Aren’t they going to take us, too?”
“He says they’re coming back for us. Right now there’s only room for the children.”
Looking at Sammy.
“They’re not splitting us up,” I said to Dad.
“Of course not.” He turned away and abruptly marched into the barracks. Came out again, carrying my backpack and Sammy’s bear. “You’re going with him.”
He didn’t get it.
“I’m not going without you,” I said. What was it about guys like my father? Somebody in charge shows up and they check their brains at the door.
“You heard what he said!” Mother Teresa cried shrilly, shaking her beads. “Just the children! If anyone else goes, it should be me…women. That’s how it’s done. Women and children first! Women and children.”
Dad ignored her. There went the hand on my shoulder. I shrugged his hand away.
“Cassie, they have to get the most vulnerable to safety first. I’ll be just a few hours behind you—”
“No!” I shouted. “We all stay or we all go, Dad. Tell them we’ll be fine here until they get back. I can take care of him. I’ve been taking care of him.”
“And you will take care of him, Cassie, because you’re going, too.”
“Not without you. I won’t leave you here, Dad.”
He smiled like I had said something kiddy-cute.
“I can take care of myself.”
I couldn’t put it into words, this feeling like a hot coal in my gut, that splitting up what was left of our family would be the end of our family. That if I left him behind I would never see him again. Maybe it wasn’t rational, but the world I lived in wasn’t rational anymore.
Dad pried Sammy from my leg, slung him onto his hip, grabbed my elbow with his free hand, and marched us toward the buses. You couldn’t see the soldiers’ faces through the buggy-looking gas masks. But you could read the names stitched onto their green camouflage.
GREENE.
WALTERS.
PARKER.
Good, solid, all-American names. And the American flags on their sleeves.
And the way they held themselves, erect but loose, alert but relaxed. Coiled springs.
The way you expect soldiers to look.
We reached the last bus in the line. The children inside shouted and waved at us. It was all one big adventure.
The burly soldier at the door raised his hand. His name patch said BRANCH.
“Children only,” he said, his voice muffled by the mask.
“I understand, Corporal,” Dad said.
“Cassie, why are you crying?” Sammy said. His little hand reached for my face.
Daddy lowered him to the ground. Knelt to bring his face close to Sammy’s.
“You’re going on a trip, Sam,” Dad said. “These nice army men are taking you to a place where you’ll be safe.”
“Aren’t you coming, Daddy?” Tugging on Dad’s shirt with his tiny hands.
“Yes. Yes, Daddy’s coming, just not yet. Soon, though. Very soon.”
He pulled Sammy into his arms. Last hug. “You be good now. You do what the nice army men tell you. Okay?”
Sammy nodded. Slipped his hand into mine.
“Come’n, Cassie. We’re going to ride a bus!”
The black mask whipped around. A gloved hand went up.
“Just the boy.”
I started to tell him to stuff it. I wasn’t happy about leaving Dad behind, but Sammy wasn’t going anywhere without me.
The corporal cut me off. “Only the boy.”
