I pressed on the gas.
“Daddy, slow down!”
“I can’t, Zoe. We can’t wait for the train.” I reached over and yanked up her seatbelt to be sure it was tight, and then I put both hands on the wheel. The crossing rails began their descent. The horn of the train wailed, drawn out and sad. I used to think that sound was romantic. Now it was what was keeping me from getting my daughter to someplace safe.
My foot ground against the gas pedal, slamming it to the floor.
“Daddy, no!”
The first crossing rail just grazed the paint on the top of the car, but we took the second rail out, easily snapping it in half. Zoe flipped around, covering her mouth. I looked in the rearview mirror. The wine-colored Lincoln Town Car behind us must have had the same idea, but was a second too slow. The train clipped its back bumper and sent it into a spin. The front end of the car whipped around, crashing into the train a few times before it was spit out a bit farther down into the wheat field. If they weren’t badly hurt, they were going to have to walk.
“We should go back!”
I shook my head. “We’re going to Uncle Skeeter and Aunt Jill’s.” Skeeter McGee was Aubrey’s little brother. Aubrey’s obvious disdain for me made Skeeter like me that much more. They lived in a tiny two-bedroom dump of a house just on this side of Fairview. The town was small. Small enough not to have to worry about a herd of the undead surrounding us.
Zoe’s lips turned up in the tiniest hint of a grin. Skeeter and Jill hadn’t been married but a couple of years, and had no children. Skeeter was in love with Zoe like she was his own, and Jill was just as crazy about her.
One more reason to make a beeline for Fairview was that Skeeter was a hunting enthusiast, and had several pistols and hunting rifles with plenty of ammo. It would be the perfect place to hole up and wait out the end of the world.
The two-lane road didn’t have the congestion I expected. A few times I had to steer around a two- or three- car pileup, most likely from the initial panic and worried drivers not paying attention, but for the most part the cars on the road were driving along at moderate speeds. Zoe pointed out her window when we arrived at Old Creek Bridge. A man was bent over, vomiting next to his ’76 Buick LeSabre while his wife touched his back. Her expression was more than worry or fear; the residual lines on her face were deepened by resignation.
“Is he one of the sick people, Daddy?” Zoe asked as we drove slowly past them.
The woman looked up, hopelessness in her eyes, and then she helped her husband to the passenger side of their car.
“I don’t know, baby.”
“Maybe we should stop and help them.”
“I don’t think we can,” I said, pulling my cell phone from my pocket. I tried to dial Skeeter’s number to warn him we were coming, but all I heard was a busy signal. Of course the phone lines would be down.
We caught up to a short line of cars, one after another slowing as we approached and passed Kellyville. Not a single person could be seen. I didn’t dare hope for the same in Fairview. As we approached the outskirts of town, it seemed quiet. At first, I thought maybe we were faster than the sickness, but then the car in front slammed on its brakes as a woman ran across the road screaming, followed by a man covered in blood, much of it concentrated around his mouth. The woman had the most beautiful brunette hair I’d ever seen flowing behind her. She was running so fast, her hair was waving behind her head like a flag. Tires squealed against the asphalt, and a car in front led a frantic escape through town. The other vehicles chased it. I wasn’t sure if any of them had meant to come here, but they definitely weren’t going to stay.
I glanced over at Zoe. “There are sick people here, Zoe. When I say so, I want you to unbuckle your seat belt and I’m going to carry you inside.”
Zoe nodded. She blinked a few times. I could tell she was nervous, but not because she was afraid to die. She wanted to make sure she did what I asked of her, and did it correctly. Zoe was always particular about procedures, especially when they were spoken and not just implied. Rules were formed very carefully in our house. They were something we couldn’t take back. If there was an exception, we didn’t enlighten Zoe, because she didn’t understand the concept of an exception to the rule, and if we tried to explain it to her, she would get upset.
“Zoe?”
“Yes, Daddy?”
“It’s time to unbuckle your seatbelt.”
Zoe did as she was told as I made the first right and then pulled into Skeeter’s driveway. Once the car came to a stop, I shoved the gear into park and pulled Zoe over to my side, and we ran quickly but quietly to Skeeter’s back door. No one ever came to their front door, and if they did, Skeeter knew they were either a salesman or a cop, and Skeeter answered the door for neither.
I pounded on the storm door with the side of my fist, still holding Zoe by the waist with my other arm. The barrel of Jill’s .22 became visible, as it pulled the curtain away just enough for her to get a good look at my face.
“It’s us,” I said, glancing behind me.
The lock clicked open and the doorknob turned, and then Jill opened the door wide, waving quickly for us to come in.
I set Zoe down. Her glitter sneakers slapped against the green-and-yellow diamond-patterned linoleum of the kitchen. I took a deep breath, trying to blow out all of the anxiety I’d just built up while attempting to get Zoe out of the car and inside the house alive, while Jill locked the door behind us and set her rifle down.
Jill slammed into me, wrapping her arms around my torso and squeezing so tight I was glad I’d taken a good breath beforehand.
“Oh my God, Nate! I’m so glad you came!” She let go of me and then bent down to hug Zoe. “Hi, sweet pea! Are you okay?” Zoe dipped her chin once, and Jill looked up to me, fear in her eyes. “Where’s Aubrey?” When I didn’t answer, she stood up and peeked out the window. She turned back to me. “Nate! Where is she?”
“She left me.”
“What? When?”
I shrugged, unsure of what expression matched the conversation. “Today.” Any other time I would have felt justified telling my sister-in-law the news, but at that moment I just felt stupid. With everything else going on, the end of my marriage seemed trivial.
Jill’s almond-shaped eyes bounced between Zoe and me. Aubrey leaving wasn’t exactly a surprise. She’d been depressed and unhappy for a long time. No matter what I tried or how many times I asked her to go to counseling—together or just her alone—Aubrey was no longer the woman I married, and we were all waiting for the woman who took her place to finally say she didn’t belong in that life. We all pretended it would get better, but the unspoken truth is always louder than the stories we tell.
Still, for Jill any expression but a smile seemed out of place. She was a beautiful woman. Watching her clean a buck or a catfish with that porcelain skin and those long, delicate fingers had always been surreal to me. The fact that she could shoot a gun and bait a hook made her perfect for Skeeter, and he loved her as much as any man could love a woman. They’d been dating since high school, and neither seemed to mind that they’d never experienced anyone or anything else. Anywhere but Fairview, Jill would have never ended up with Skeeter, but here, in the middle of the middle, even with his blossoming beer gut and unkempt beard, Skeeter McGee only needed country-boy charm, working man’s muscles, and a decent job to score the magnificence that was Jill.
Speaking of Skeeter . . . “Where is he?” I asked.
Jill put her hand up to the side of her face. “He left about half an hour ago. He went down the street to Barb’s and Ms. Kay’s to see if they needed help. They’re getting old and their husbands have been gone for years. He shovels their driveways every winter, and fixes things when they need fixin’. He worries about them. With hell breaking loose outside, he wanted to try to bring them back here where he could take care of them.” Jill unconsciously reached for Zoe’s hand, the thought of the monsters outside reflecting in her eyes.
“Did he take a gun?”
Jill nodded. “His thirty aught six.”
“He’ll come back.”
