“Yup. No survivors,” replied the second voice.
The door to the coach was slammed shut, and Bob continued to lay in the darkness under the bed for what seemed forever. He could feel the hot tears sliding down his cheeks as he remembered Keri’s birth, her first steps, her first words…images of her flashed through his mind as if on a photo slide show on high speed. His body shook as physical pain worked through him, racking his body with anguish.
He had promised his little girl that daddy would make it all better. He had promised her he would get her to a doctor and they would fix it. He had promised her that it would all be okay. He had promised her that nobody would ever hurt her so long as he breathed because he was her daddy…and he had failed her. He had lain there, hiding under the bed like a scared child and let strange men come in and kill his daughter.
Anger flared through him and he found himself clawing his way out from under the bed. He was breathing hard as he came to his knees and tried to catch his wind. He looked down at his shoulder and the bloodstained shirt he wore. The wound had finally stopped bleeding, and Bob honestly wondered if it wasn’t because he had actually run out of blood.
He inhaled sharply and walked on his knees to the fridge. Jerking open the door, he pulled out two bottles of water. He opened them both and began drinking them as quickly as he could. He knew he needed to replenish his fluids, and while he didn’t have any IV bags available, this was the best he could do.
Bob could feel the cool water running down the front of his chest and soaking his pants, but he didn’t care. Grabbing a third bottle, he cracked the top and began forcing himself to sip at it as he pulled himself to his feet. Fighting the urge to black out, he leaned against the countertop, then the walls of the coach as he worked his way back to Keri. He had to know for certain.
As soon as he got to the doorway, he knew. He didn’t have to check for a pulse. The soldier had shot her at pointblank range through the head, her hair a splattered mess of bone, brain, and blood mixed with carpet.
Bob felt his legs try to go out from under him, but he leaned against the wall of the RV once again and forced the water down. It tried twice to come up as the memory of his daughter’s demise came back to him, but he forced himself to hold it down.
Bob worked his way back to the fridge and pulled the last remaining bottle from it. He knew most of the other three had helped, but just moving around the inside of the RV had taken so much of his energy. He pulled a couple of Keri’s candy bars and a granola bar from the top shelf and bit through the wrapper. Sugar, grains, anything to fuel him at this point, he’d take. He was a dad on a mission.
He knew the odds were slim to nothing that he could avenge her death, and the odds of finding the same soldier that had actually pulled the trigger were near zero, but if he could take out one of the bastards before he bled out, or was killed by one of the zombies, he could die happy.
Buck was starting to think that Skeeter had actually fallen asleep when she stirred and pulled away from him. He had held her while she cried, and he listened to the activity decrease, the noise levels dropping to near nothing. He heard the same truck he had watched come in earlier leave again, and now it was so quiet that it was nearly spooky. The park ranger laying on the ground near them had rolled to his side and had stopped snoring some time before, and now the sounds of the forest had Buck’s nerves on edge.
As Skeeter pulled away, she wiped at his shirt and smiled at him. “Sorry.”
“It’s okay. There’s been more than one time I’ve wanted to scream. Or cry,” he chuckled. “Or both.”
“No, I meant for slobbering all over your shirt.” She sat up slightly, still wiping.
Buck glanced down and shrugged. “No big deal. I’m so filthy, my mom would have a fit. A little drool and snot isn’t going to hurt anything.” He looked down and smiled at her.
She smiled back, embarrassed, and wiped at her eyes. As Skeeter sat back, she noticed the woman’s feet that Buck had put down. “That is so creepy.”
“I can’t exactly toss her off the edge over there. They might get suspicious if it started raining zombies.”
“It just gives me the creeps,” she said again. “I mean, it’s a dead body and it’s right there.”
“I know.” He pulled his bag over and dug in it. He came up with two more granola bars and handed one to Skeeter. “Breakfast?”
She stared at him as if he had two heads. “There’s a dead body right there.”
“I’d offer her one, but I only have two.” Buck held it out to her. “But if you’re not hungry—”
Skeeter snatched the bar from his hand and began peeling the wrapper. “It’s just,” she paused and looked at the body again. “I dunno. Wrong, somehow.”
“What is?”
“To be eating right next to a body,” she said quietly.
Buck nodded toward Fisher. “There’s a body,” he said, his mouth full of granola bar. “Doesn’t bother me a bit.”
She shot him a ‘duh’ look. “That body isn’t dead.”
He hiked his eyebrows at her. “You sure? He hasn’t snored in a while. Just tell yourself she’s napping.”
“With an arrow in her head. Right.” Skeeter smirked and rolled her eyes.
Buck shrugged. “Some people have a hard time falling asleep.”
