on me and made it too easy for exhaustion to set in, but I kept busy with getting the house cleaned and ready for the girls’ arrival.
With wooden stakes and fishing line that I’d found in the barn, I’d strung a primitive alarm system around the perimeter. The dirt was still soft enough from the previous night’s rain that it was fairly easy to shove the stakes into the ground. In just half a day, I’d bounced along the ground, winding the string around the stakes, poking holes in the cans, and stringing them on the line before moving a few feet down to start the process all over again. The line was far enough from the house that if I was awoken in the night, I would have time to get a weapon and defend myself. Stringing the line was easy; it was trying not to lie awake, waiting for something to rattle the cans, that was hard.
Six days after the world ended, the lines hadn’t jingled once. The few shufflers that had come close always stayed to the road for whatever reason. Maybe they’d already come upon other houses and had learned that a building didn’t necessarily mean a meal. If I stayed quiet, most didn’t bother me.
I sat on the porch, aware that a beautiful sunset was visible from the backside of the house, but when I wasn’t checking the wooden slats I’d nailed to the windows, eating, sleeping, or practicing with Dr. Hayes’s guns, I was watching that red dirt road, waiting for Andrew’s white Tahoe to fly over in a hurry to reach their destination, or for my babies’ heads to rise above the hill, higher with each step. I imagined that moment a hundred times a day: They would be worn and filthy, but very much alive. I didn’t even mind that their arrival would mean living with Andrew again. If it meant having my babies, I welcomed it.
Every night my hopes were dashed and my heart was broken. I never gave up until it was too dark for safe travel. But about this time was when the tears came. I picked at the small stick in my hand, fighting the desperation and helplessness that overwhelmed me.
Earlier that day, I thought I’d heard thunder, but the sound echoed from the east, and the storm clouds were off to the west. At first I thought I’d imagined the noise, but then a tall pillar of smoke rose slowly, high above the tree line. I prayed to God that whatever it was, it had nothing to do with Jenna and Halle.
When I heard the noise coming from beyond the hill directly in front of the house, I trusted my ears. A voice yelled intermittently. Then, another began to answer back. My eyes narrowed, and then my heart leapt seeing two heads bobbing just above the tall prairie grass. When two men became visible, I stood. When the herd of shufflers following behind them appeared just as they cleared the hill, I cursed under my breath and retreated inside the house.
“Help us!” one of the men yelled. I grabbed Dr. Hayes’s hunting rifle, and peered through the scope. The first of the men was younger, maybe late teens or early twenties. The other was a head taller, but older, maybe in his midthirties like me, his shaggy dark-blond hair bouncing as he ran. He was wearing a suit and loosened tie, the younger was in a T-shirt and jeans with boots on. The boots didn’t slow him down. He had probably been running for miles and still managed to keep an exhausting pace. The older man wasn’t far behind him, puffing and drenched in sweat.
I cocked the rifle and aimed at the closest shuffler. “Goddamn it,” I said, knowing the noise would carry, and might attract shufflers from the next two towns. I pulled the trigger, and took the damn thing out. The men— without slowing—covered their heads and ducked. The shufflers’ pace was between a walk and a jog. The older man was at least fifteen feet ahead of the fastest shufflers, but they were leading them directly to the ranch.
“Don’t shoot us! It’s me!” the young man said, waving his arms in the air.
The younger man tripped over the fishing line, but as he worked to get it off, he just became more tangled. The other man checked behind him to get a glimpse of the shufflers before stooping down and trying to help.
“You’ve got to be kidding me!” I said, steadying the rifle against my shoulder and looking through the scope. I tried not to rush, but half a dozen shufflers would be on top of them in five seconds. I pulled the trigger and felt the gun recoil against my bone. The first went down, I missed the second but hit him with a third shot, and the next two seemed to walk right into my sights. Before I needed to shoot a sixth time, the kid was free and they were sprinting toward the house.
“Where’s the Bug?” the young man asked, confused by the sight of me.
I jerked my head back to the house. “I’ll explain later. There are rifles on the sofa. Grab one and get your ass back out here. They’re going to be knocking on the front door in a minute.” I peeked through the sights and continued to shoot. Soon, there were two more sources of gunfire, one on each side of me.
By the time they hit the fishing line, the herd looked more like a small group. The loud booming of our rifles seemed to fall into a rhythm. Later I would consider us fortunate that both men at least knew how to shoot a gun. It wasn’t something I’d thought to ask in the moment.
We kept shooting until they’d all fallen. I watched the shufflers for a moment, making sure all of them were downed. After a full minute with no movement, I met the eyes of the bewildered men on each side of me. I backed up to the door and pointed my gun in their general direction, just in case they realized I was alone and could rob me—or worse.
“My name is Stanley Cooper. I’m Ashley’s boyfriend. Have you seen her? Have they been here?” Before I could answer, the kid began to panic, rubbing the back of his neck and looking around. “They’re not here, Nate. They didn’t make it.”
Recognizing the situation, Nate glanced at my gun for a fraction of a second before staring down the road. His eyes narrowed, focusing on the crest of the red dirt with the same desperate, hopeful expression on his face that I’d had for the last six days.
“Okay, so we head down the road and look for them,” Nate said.
“Wait,” I said, letting the end of the rifle drop a bit. “Ashley Hayes?”
“Yes!” Stanley said. “Have you seen her?”
“No.”
His face fell as the last bit of hope I’d given him disappeared. “They should be here by now!”
“It’s almost dark,” I said. “You shouldn’t leave. They’re out more at night. Getting snuck up on is a good way to get killed.”
Stanley interlocked his fingers on top of his head, and after a short moment of deliberation, looked to Nate. “I’m goin’.”
Nate nodded, and then looked at me. “Do you have any flashlights we could borrow?”
I nodded, went inside to the kitchen, grabbed a flashlight from under the sink, and then got another from the bedroom, returning to the porch. They both snapped the flashlights from my hands.
Nate took a deep breath. He was exhausted, but for whatever reason, he was just as anxious to find Ashley. “We’ll bring back the guns.”
I didn’t answer, knowing I shouldn’t say what I truly believed: They wouldn’t make it back. Wandering around in the dark was a death wish. I narrowed my eyes, glancing down the road to where they were headed. Barely visible in the dim light, a cloud of red dust puffed just above the road. “Wait. Wait! Look!” I said, pointing to the road.
Nate and Stanley had just left the porch to start their run when they eyed a white Bug catch air over the hill. It jerked into the drive as if it were being chased, bouncing over every pothole before sliding to a stop.
Stanley ran over to one side of the car, Nate on the other. The driver was Miranda, Ashley’s sister, and her boyfriend, Bryce, stepped out from the passenger side. I’d only seen him once before. I’d never met Stanley, and as I watched him pull Ashley from the backseat, I wondered if he was a new boyfriend. I remembered Dr. Hayes calling Ashley’s boyfriend by a different name.
Ashley was nearly hysterical, wailing and clawing at Stanley’s shirt. Her eyes were swollen and red, long soaked from the tears she’d wept while they were apart. Nate leaned down and pulled a tiny girl from the backseat. She wrapped her arms and legs around him as best she could as he held her, silently weeping, clearly emotionally exhausted. My chest burned at the sight of her. She was about Halle’s size, and I knew immediately that she belonged to Nate. Seeing them reunite made the need to see my daughters unbearable.
Another man, a head taller than everyone but Bryce, climbed from the backseat. He scanned the house with
