Emily observed this through the rear-view mirror. Nearly all the civilians were holding on to the bottles. Some were squeezing them like they were stress balls. Others just held them and stared at the water sloshing around inside. A few were continually unscrewing the cap, taking a small sip, and screwing the cap back on, only to unscrew the cap again a few seconds later.
Some of the folks had the strength to interact with others – providing some conversation and support where needed. It occurred to Emily that this group appeared to be more disciplined, organized and generally ‘with it’ than any of the other groups she had transported in her bus over the last few days.
Emily guessed that was because they had seen and experienced a lot more. Four days ago, it was rare to see a zombie. Interestingly, seeing a zombie back then caused more hysteria than a few days later, when the undead were roaming everywhere and not an uncommon sight.
What the fuck am I thinking. Zombies are now a common sight?
Well, they are. She answered herself.
“Two minutes out. One female, one male. Claire Moore and her adult son Dale.” Garcia’s voice broke through her contemplations.
“Turn left at the next lights, then first left. House is on the right side, about half-way down the blo– Wait!” Garcia shot out of his seat and pointed. “Did you see her?” He said to Peters, who nodded in the affirmative. Emily saw it too.
A girl had run across the street about half a block ahead. She had seen the bus approaching on her right and the distraction caused her to miss the curb. She tripped and went down hard. Emily wasn’t sure but didn’t think that the undead could run like that.
An image of the girl she had run over came to Emily’s mind. Suddenly, she was filled with a desire to save this child. Without a second thought, Emily sped up the bus to get to where the girl went down. She hit the brakes hard when she got there, Tires screeched slightly even as she hit the handle to open the bus door.
“Get in!” Emily yelled as the girl.
Peters swung around the entrance to the bus, and stepped down onto the top step, still inside the bus and blocking entry. He held his rifle at low-ready.
“Hold on a second.”
He quickly scanned up and down the sidewalk and saw a couple of shambling forms, but they were still over a block away.
Peters spoke up to get the girl’s attention.
“Girl. Can you tell me if you have a tummy ache?”
The girl was very distraught. Tears were flowing freely, and she had hurt her ankle in the fall as well as skinned her leg. She had pulled herself up to a half-seated position and stared up at the soldier. Long dark hair hung down in front of her face, and as she brushed her hair away from her face her large brown eyes shone with desperation and fear. She was breathing fast from running and at the same time her breath shuddered with emotion. She struggled to calm herself but could not respond right away.
“Peters. Bloody hell, mate. Let her in.” Emily tried to keep her voice calm, but it was cracking with emotion.
Peters turned his head to look over his shoulder at her. “Not until we’re sure she isn’t infected.”
“C’mon sir – just let her in and we’ll check her as we roll!” Garcia called out.
Peters hesitated for a moment and scanned up and down the road again. He did not move, however.
At that moment there was a ruckus at the back of the bus, as an undead had approached the bus from across the street and started to hit the siding and windows. Several people screamed in fear.
The girl heard the noise and started to back away from the bus. Peters took one more look at her, then retreated back into the bus.
“Ok. Get in girl.” He motioned for her to enter. The girl had gingerly got to her feet.
The girl contemplated turning and running, but one step told her that she would not be running with her ankle injury. Instead she limped over to the bus and stepped up and in.
Emily got the bus rolling forward again, and the pounding on the back of the bus stopped. Garcia quickly stepped up to the girl, helped her sit on the front bench, and started conversing with her in Spanish.
“Cual es tu nombre, nina?”
“Maria”
“Estas herido”
“Me he lastimado el tobillo”
“She says her name is Maria and that she has hurt her ankle.” This last was to Peters.
“Ask her if her stomach hurts.” He replied.
“My stomach is fine. And I speak English.” Maria replied with a fierce, almost angry look in her eyes.
“Any cramping, blood in your stool, vom– “
“No. No, and no. I am not ‘infectado’ if that’s what you’re asking.
Peters considered for a moment. “How do you know that?”
“Because I’ve seen it. My father and ... and my little ...” Tears started to roll freely “my little brother. They were.”
She wiped her eyes with the back of her hand and stared at Peters with defiance.
“My mother and I never had any symptoms. No stomach-ache!”
Peters nodded. “Ok – I believe you. You can get properly examined at the safe zone.” He frowned. “You mentioned your mother. Where is she?”
“She...” She stared out the window in the direction she had come from. “I’m alone now.” This time her eyes did not shine with defiance but with utter loss and sorrow.
Garcia helped her to her feet and down the aisle towards the back of the bus. She glared at Peters as she walked past him. Peters swallowed and dropped his head slightly.
“I ... uh, ... S-sorry” he mumbled after her retreating back.
Emily watched the whole exchange out of the corner of her eye as she navigated the bus down the street. Peters was a professional soldier who knew how to communicate with his men. The sergeant was talented in
