Red Hill

selfish for leaving Anderson? Should I have stayed and waited for them? Would that choice sentence me to a life without ever seeing their sweet faces again?

The Jeep’s headlights lit up dozens of shufflers. Like a herd of sheep, they meandered about in the middle of the road. I winced at the sight of children among them. Some with visible bites on their carotids. Some with mouthfuls of their skin and muscle missing; all covered in the blood of their former selves. Jenna’s and Halle’s faces flashed in my mind, and then were projected onto the faces of those children. Tears sizzled down my cheeks.

I slammed on the brake and gripped the steering wheel. If I chose to drive through them and was forced to stop, they could surround the Jeep. On one side was a grassy knoll. A rock with the town’s name, Shallot, carved into the stone sat at the crest of the small, gentle hill. The sun had begun to rise, so I could just barely see the shadows of more shufflers crossing the sign and making their way down to the road toward the noisy car. Noise attracted them.

The left side was field. Acres upon acres of wheat field, still saturated from the downpour the previous morning. If I wanted to make it to the ranch, I had two choices: drive through the herd, up that knoll and hope if I hit one of those things it didn’t crash through the windshield, or risk getting trapped in the muddy field.

Courage came slowly. Each beat of my heart felt like an explosion as my hand rested against the center of the steering wheel, preparing to press down. I took a breath, and then honked the horn once. Dozens of dead slowly craned their necks in my direction. The explosions in my chest turned into the cadence of a thousand tiny sprinters. Even sitting still, I began to pant with fear. After a short pause, they began to hobble and limp toward the Jeep. Again, I honked and waited. Despite the shufflers being less than twenty yards away, I pressed the heel of my palm against the center of the steering wheel, holding it there, until every last one of those fuckers were moaning and reaching out for the meal seeming so eager to be had. My fear kept my hand down, waiting, hoping they would move faster so I could drive past them and in the opposite direction of their new path.

When the shufflers were just over an arm length away, I jerked the wheel to the left and headed toward the wheat field.

“Don’t get stuck. Don’t get stuck,” I repeated. My hands jerked the wheel right to make a large circle around the herd, and panicked when the Jeep struggled in the mud. “C’mon!” I yelled, my fingers digging into the padding of the steering wheel.

The Jeep weaved back and forth, fishtailing and threatening to lose control, but the mud tires clawed through the rain-swollen soil, and back onto the road. After turning into the skid more than once, the Jeep straightened out, and I was screaming in victory, barreling toward the white tower.

The sun had just peaked over the horizon when I saw the water tower looming above the trees. With Halle’s sweet singing in my mind, I turned the wheel, never so happy to hit dirt road. By the time I turned left at the cemetery, the night sky had cowered from the clear, bright blue sky. The storm clouds from the day before had moved on. If the world hadn’t gone to shit, it might have been considered a beautiful day. The Jeep took the right at the first mile section hard, but I couldn’t slow down. The closer I came to sanctuary, the more afraid I was. My foot was grinding the gas pedal to the floorboard, but the Jeep’s engine just growled louder instead of going faster. Maybe five minutes had passed since seeing the white tower, but it seemed to be taking an eternity.

Turning into the drive, my foot instinctively pulled away from the accelerator. Dr. Hayes’s truck was in the yard, and a silver Mercedes was parked next to it. He’d made it home.

I didn’t even bother to shut the Jeep door. The second my feet touched the ground, I broke into a sprint, only stopping until my hands hit the door.

“Dr. Hayes? It’s me! Scarlet!” The side of my fist pounded against the wooden frame of the screen door. “Dr. Hayes? It’s Scarlet! I’m not sick . . . please . . . please let me in.”

With every passing second, my relief and excitement turned to disappointment. He was a radiologist, for Christ’s sake, he had more than one beat-up pickup. Dr. Hayes and his girlfriend, Leah, only stayed there on his off week. The radiologists worked two weeks on, one week off, and they all had a farm or ranch they ran away to during those seven precious days. Leah was an attorney and lived two hours north. They usually had me clean the weekend before they met in the middle—the farmhouse. It was her Mercedes in the yard. They’d probably met here and then took the doctor’s car somewhere else. To get his daughters, maybe.

The light on the barn flickered and then turned off. I had nowhere else to go. I had to get inside.

I pulled open the door slowly, wincing at the loud creaking sound it made. The doorknob twisted and with caution, I pushed it open and listened. “Dr. Hayes?” I said softly, half hoping he wouldn’t hear me, and half hoping he would.

The house seemed untouched. When I’d checked every room and decided no one was home, I wandered to the back porch and hoisted myself onto the dryer, wondering what I needed to do to secure the house. Should I board up the windows? It wasn’t my house to alter, but even if Dr. Hayes made it back here with Miranda and Ashley, he might be glad some of the work had been done. My eyes drifted to the floor, and relief and fear hit almost simultaneously. There were muddy footprints in front of the door that led to the side patio. I hopped down off the dryer and looked out the Plexiglas that took up the top half of the door. Something was splattered on the concrete. Something sticky with chunks of something else—definitely vomit. The footprints led inside and to my right, down the stairs, and into the basement.

I’d cleaned the basement many times before. It was used for storage, was carpeted, painted, and not at all scary, but in that moment I was terrified to walk down those stairs.

I stared at the trail of mud and whatever else, and then finally took the first step. It complained under my foot, and I squeezed my eyes tight, hoping nothing jumped out at me as punishment for making a sound. When nothing happened, my eyes popped open, and I immediately searched for a weapon. The closest thing was a hammer sitting in a hand-held, red toolbox lying open on the floor. I quickly picked it up, making sure I had a good grip, and then descended the stairs, preparing myself for whatever might be down there.

If he’s alive, don’t hit him. Don’t just swing. Don’t just react. Those thoughts were on loop, getting louder with every step, which made it difficult to listen for anything that might signal I might actually need to swing in reaction.

The door opened, and I bent forward to look inside, immediately seeing a pair of legs lying flat on the floor. They were Leah’s, and even though I couldn’t see all of her, I could tell she was face down. After a quick glance to both sides, I stepped in, following the trail. Dr. Hayes was sitting back against the wall, a large wound in his neck, and a single gunshot hole in his temple. One of his many handguns was at his side, next to his open, lifeless hand. Leah also had a head wound, similar to Dr. Hayes’s, but her chin and chest were covered in blood, and the missing piece from Dr. Hayes’s neck was peeking from her mouth.

Blood was sprayed in several directions: on the open gun safe in the corner, the wall, and floor. From what I could tell, Dr. Hayes had come to the basement to get a gun for protection, but Leah had apparently caught him in the act, and attacked him. She must have turned quick. He must have been running from her. I imagined that he knew he was infected, so after shooting her, he’d killed himself. It made sense.

Suddenly I felt very alone. It hadn’t crossed my mind that the ranch would be devoid of anybody else. His daughters weren’t here. Leah was dead. Would the rest of his family try to make it to this safe haven? Miranda and Ashley were supposed to visit this weekend. Maybe they were already on their way. If not, maybe they would have the same idea I had and come here anyway with their mother. The ranch was obviously the best place to be, and even though they didn’t visit as often, Dr. Hayes, like every girl’s father, was their protector. It made sense for them to try to make it here. That was my hope, anyway.

Dr. Hayes was just smiling about his daughters visiting the morning before. I couldn’t believe he was sitting in a pool of his own blood just a few feet from me. It was so surreal, I couldn’t find an emotion to attach to the situation. I couldn’t pull my eyes away from the gruesome scene until it finally dawned on me that if the girls did reach the ranch, they could see their father like this.

“Damnit,” I said. My mind went on an inexplicable memory search for every time I’d seen the doctor eat a donut. He was a stout man, and I had no idea how I was going to pull him up the stairs.

I walked over to the mess and picked up the pistol off the floor. The safety was off. With my foot, I nudged Leah’s hip, pointing the gun at the back of her head. A rather large exit wound was visible, but I didn’t want any surprises. She rocked forward, and then didn’t move again, prompting me to click on the gun’s safety feature.

Satisfied they weren’t going to attack me, I walked upstairs—gun in hand—through the house to the front porch. I stood on the wood deck, taking stock of my surroundings, trying to decide what I should do first.

A sudden wave of exhaustion came over me, and I sat on the steps so hard that I hurt my ass. I’d made it.