“What do you call them?”
“Zombies.”
“I see.”
Marty realized he didn’t understand the gravity of the situation. “And one more thing, mein Führer,” Marty said. “Only multiple shotgun blasts to the head can kill them, and we believe they will come back here.”
“Really? So you suggest we issue as many shotguns as possible?”
“Yes, and shoot the Crazies on sight. You’ll know them from the pustules, the sores, on their bodies.”
“Good. I will inform The General at once. Captain, who would you like to promote to Corporal?”
“Private Laver, mein Führer.”
“Very well.” The Führer spent about a minute scribbling something on a piece of paper, obscuring it so no one else could see, and handed it to Brien. “This is your proof of order. You and your men may escort them, Captain, to their motels. Make sure someone feeds them dinner. After that, you may retire for the evening and get out of those soiled pants.” He turned his head to the corpse in the room. “I am confident none of you will disappoint me . . .”
The sun was behind the mountains once Alexander and the others emerged from the school. Alexander, shell-shocked from McNulty’s brutal murder, saw the color in Brien’s face had not come back. Besides the guards, McNulty’s men—now Brien’s—waited outside. One man laughed and pointed at Brien’s crotch. Soon the rest of his men joined in the laugher, and then the guards. Brien reached for his gun and shoved it in the face of the pointing man who stopped laughing, widened his eyes, and showed genuine fear.
“McNulty is dead,” Brien said.
As they realized what was happening, the laughter died down, and now the guards raised their weapons—an assortment of guns—at Brien.
“I am your new Captain. The Führer killed McNulty,” Brien continued, “for stupidity. Anyone else want to be stupid?”
“No, Sir,” pointing-man said.
“Anyone else?” Brien did not appear to care about the guards surrounding them.
His men kept silent, though two of them grinned.
“Good.” Brien put his gun back in his holster. The guards relaxed their weapons. Brien turned to one of his men—the one Alexander noticed laughed less heartily. “Laver, you are now Corporal. We are all to escort these slaves to their new quarters. Understand?”
They all nodded.
The National Inn, across the street from the school, was a two-story motel with outside room doors. Janice held Emily’s hand as the group approached the motel. Emily’s face was a mess of bloodshot eyes, tears, and snot, though Janice had done the best she could to wipe her face with the sleeve of her sweatshirt. She looked back at the school at the bodies arranged about the lawn and dreaded the view they’d have from the inn, although she dreaded her “duties” there far more. Many of the doors were open and ajar, maybe from the zombies bashing the doors in. Brien knocked on door 101, and an annoyed woman with a butch haircut wearing prisoner smocks emerged.
“You know the rules, Corporal. Not until dark.” Her expression softened into pity as she looked at Janice and Emily. “A child?” She raised her voice. “You bring me a child?”
“The Führer’s orders, Ms. Coward. She is not to be touched.” That last part was not the Führer’s orders, but Janice was not about to contradict him about that.
“I have no rooms left with the doors repaired.”
“Then they’ll have a drafty night.”
“Shit.” Coward addressed Janice. “And your names are?”
“I’m Janice, and this is Emily.”
Coward knelt down to meet Emily’s eyes. “Emily, I will give you a nice room to sleep in tonight, ok?”
Emily nodded and snuffled her nose.
“All right, let’s go.”
“Wait,” Marty said. “We want to hug them goodbye.”
Coward shrugged at Brien, who nodded.
Marty gave Emily a gentle hug. “We’ll see you in the morning, ok Emily?”
“Ok,” Emily said.
While Alexander gave Emily his hug, Marty gave Janice a big bear hug, and whispered in her ear. “We’ll escape before tomorrow night. I promise.”
Brien and his men escorted Marty and Alexander two blocks east to the Vacation Inn, passing a Colorado Park Market supermarket on the same side of the road. In fact, the supermarket was across a side road from the motel. The door to the room assigned to the men was also ajar.
Once inside, they blocked the door shut with a chair.
“The zombies must have canvassed the entire town,” Alexander said. “Bashed down every door they could find. I saw them do it in my hotel that day.”
“I told Janice we’d escape tomorrow,” Marty said.
Alexander shrugged. “With no weapons or food, we won’t last long.”
“You don’t have to come. But I can’t let Janice be—”
“Oh, I’ll come.” Alexander grinned. “With someone as smart as me, you might just survive.”
Marty stifled a laugh at that. Alexander didn’t stifle his.
“But, seriously,” Alexander said. “How can we possibly escape?”
“I’m not afraid to die in this hell-hole of a world. And I don’t think you are, either. And as long as we’re not afraid to die, we just might escape.”
“Or die trying.”
“Exactly.”
Emily lay in bed, snuggling Janice. It was so cold, and she struggled to stay warm under the blankets, but she had trouble breathing when her head wasn’t outside the blanket. And her arm itched. When she scratched it, Ms. Fernley said, “Baby, don’t scratch that.”
“But it itches.”
“Remember, you want no one to know you’ve been bitten, and scratching will only make it worse.”
“Ms. Fernley?”
“Honey, by now I’d rather you call me Janice. Can you do that? Call me Janice?”
“Yes . . . um . . . Janice. Does this mean we’re friends?”
Janice hugged her a little tighter. Emily liked that.
“Yes, baby, yes it does.”
“Janice . . . are we going to die?”
“No, honey. You should try not to worry about such things.”
Emily wondered how she could try not to worry. “Are we going to become zombies, then?”
Janice paused. “No, honey, of course not. We’re going to be fine.”
But Emily knew she was lying. She felt sick to her stomach. Her head hurt.
Chapter Thirty-Eight
Day Nine
Jocelyn awoke face-down
