After a while, she went back into the house. Saul and Alex were loading the last supplies into the Humvee while Tara made more coffee. Amy was nowhere to be seen.
“How did it go?” Tara asked, handing Dylan a hot cup of coffee.
“How do you think?”
“I’m sorry.”
“Yeah, well. I don’t blame her,” Dylan said.
“I suppose you can’t. Especially not in these circumstances,” Tara said.
Alex trooped inside, wiping his hands on his trousers. “That’s the last of it. We’ll grab the rest tomorrow.”
“You’d better go talk to Amy. She’s distraught, and nothing I say is going to help,” Dylan answered.
“I’ll try. She didn’t take the news very well.”
“No kidding,” Dylan said in dry tones as Alex went off in search of his sister.
“You should gather your stuff,” Saul said. “Here’s an empty backpack. Take what you need. There are weapons in the basement. All I ask is that you don’t pick a gun you can’t use.”
“I can use most handguns, but I’m not that familiar with rifles,” Dylan replied.
“Maybe stay away from the grenades too,” he said with a faint smile.
“Uh, I’ll do that.” Dylan took the backpack and picked through the supplies in the house, gathering the basics. Toiletries, extra clothes, emergency food, and water if should she get separated from the others, a flashlight, batteries, matches, and a multipurpose pocket knife. She also picked out a long, warm coat to wear over her clothes, a woolen scarf, gloves, and a beanie. Winter was here, and she had no desire to freeze to death. Not with her skinny ass.
She left the weapons for last, excited to see what there was. The rack of guns and other stuff exceeded her wildest imaginings, and her fingers itched to load up. “Mm, what will it be?”
It took forever, but she finally made her selection: A brand new machete with a solid handle and razor-sharp edge was first. It came with a matching sheath, and she slid it onto her belt with a grin, dumping the old one without hesitation. “Sorry, lucky machete, but superior craftsmanship wins out every single time.”
She chose a Glock 17 for her primary weapon. It was the gun she felt most comfortable with, and she knew she could handle it. To her delight, she also found a shoulder holster that fit well and could carry four spare magazines on the opposite side. That significantly increased her firepower, and she wasted no time claiming it for herself. She also slid a knife onto her belt. It was a useful tool to have in any situation.
“Woohoo! Watch out, zombies. Apocalypse Jane is in the house!” she said as she experimented with the holster, pulling her Glock out and pointing it at imaginary foes.
For her final weapon, she chose one of Saul’s custom-made spears. The long pole gave her reach and would allow her to pick off zombies at a distance. Plus, the pointed end was perfect for piercing eyeballs and jamming up into the skull through the bottom jaw.
Clearing a space around her, Dylan whirled the spear between her fingers. She’d been a drum majorette in school and had spent hours with a baton in her hands. At first, she felt clumsy, but her muscles soon remembered the routines. After half an hour’s light practice, she was able to wield the pole with a measure of ease.
Satisfied with her selection, she exited the basement. The house was dark and silent. It appeared everyone had gone to bed without her. With a gas lamp in one hand, Dylan tramped upstairs to her bedroom to get some rest.
For a moment, she paused in front of Amy’s room, her knuckles hovering above the door. She longed to talk to the girl and make peace.
Finally, Dylan shook her head and dropped her hand. Now was not the time. “Tomorrow is another day.”
She fell into bed with an exhausted groan, out like a light the moment her head hit the pillow. She slept like the dead, and when Alex hammered on her door the next morning, she was convinced he’d gone nuts. “Are you crazy? It’s the middle of the night!”
“Wrong! It’s six in the morning. Saul wants to get going, lazy bones,” Alex said with a wide grin.
Dylan cocked an eyebrow at him. “Seriously? Six in the morning?”
“That’s right. Rise and shine, folks!”
Her head fell back with a muttered curse. “Fine, I’m coming, but there had better be coffee. I am not a morning person.”
After a cold shower, Dylan got dressed and packed her stuff. In the kitchen, Tara had whipped up a quick breakfast of canned fruit, mixed nuts, and biscuits with coffee. Amy sat at the table, her head hanging low with a half-eaten cookie on a plate.
Dylan approached the girl with caution, her hand extended as a peace offering. “Amy? Are you okay?” Amy’s head jerked around, and Dylan winced to see her puffy, swollen eyes. “Oh, sweetie. Have you been crying all night? Please, don’t cry. I couldn’t bear it.”
“I can’t help it. You’re leaving,” Amy said as more tears welled up.
Dylan opened her arms. “Come here, sweetheart.”
Amy flung herself into Dylan’s embrace and clung to her like a monkey while she sobbed. “Please, don’t go.”
“I have to, sweetie. You know that. But I’ll be back soon, I promise. It’ll be a few days at most,” Dylan said as she stroked Amy’s hair with one soothing hand.
“How can you say that? You don’t know for sure,” Amy said. She pulled back and wiped her tears away with an angry fist.
Dylan gripped her shoulder. “I do know it. I’m going to Fort Detrick with Tara and Saul; then I’m coming right back. That’s a promise, and I never break a promise.”
Amy swallowed a hiccup and sniffed. “You mean that?”
“I do. I’ll come back as soon as I can, come hell or high water,” Dylan said, putting one palm over her heart in a
