“Don’t shoot!” Carol yelled. “If they’re out in the sunlight, they’re not infected.”
The team leader clenched his jaw as he began his slow approach. “Stand back!” he barked. “We will shoot!”
“Do as he says!” Carol yelled. “Just move away.”
She could hear their anguished cries as they got closer. They begged for food and water. Some just cried for help, and Carol felt her heart break. “Is there nothing we can do for them?”
“That’s not the mission!” the team leader stated.
Miller stepped out of formation and jogged past the other soldiers. “A little compassion won’t kill us!” He slowed as he approached the people. They kept their distance as he closed in on them, some afraid of what the armed soldiers might do, others simply untrusting.
“Hold on a moment. We might have something on the chopper.” Miller trotted past them and pulled the door open. He leaned inside and yelled at the pilot. “Are there any rations in here?”
The pilot nodded toward the rear bulkhead. “Emergency rations are under the rear seats.”
Miller fished around and slid out a metal container. He flipped open the lid and dumped out the MREs. He stacked them in his arms then walked back out to the people. “I’m sorry. I didn’t see any water.”
Carol ran up beside him and helped him hand out the packets of food. “I know they taste horrible, but it beats nothing. Calories are calories.”
One woman gripped her hand as she took the MRE. “Bless you, child.”
“I wish we could do more.”
Broussard appeared at her side. “I think our cure worked.” He beamed at her.
“Contact!” a soldier shouted. A man came running at them, his eyes wild and what looked like blood covering the front of his shirt.
A cacophony of shots echoed between the buildings as they dropped the man. Carol nearly jumped out of her skin and began to tremble as Broussard ushered her onto the craft.
“Is that what Kevin…” she trailed off.
Broussard nodded as he reached across her and strapped her into the seat. “I’m afraid so.”
“Dear god.” She leaned back in her seat and didn’t notice the others, who had run for their lives, fearful of the soldiers and their weapons.
Miller appeared across from her and set the cardboard box at her feet. “It’s okay. We’re leaving now.”
Carol swallowed hard and peered through the window. She could see the body sprawled on the grass, a bloody trail under him where he’d slid down the embankment. “Just get me away from here.”
Simon led Lana away from the grocery store, doing his best to keep them hidden in the shadows and out of sight of any who might be out driving. To her credit, she said nothing as the pair wove across open yards and through abandoned houses.
They ended up coming out on a street lined with small businesses, and Simon’s eyes settled on a liquor store. He licked his lips at the idea of the treasures within.
Lana pulled him back and away, her head shaking at him. “You don’t need what’s in there.”
“But my arm…”
“Will heal faster if you steer clear of that stuff.” She gave him a look that he couldn’t read.
“But…” Simon swallowed hard, his desire starting to override his common sense. “I really need a drink right about now.”
Lana pulled him close and cupped his face in her hands. “New beginnings, remember?”
Simon stared into her eyes and for a moment, he didn’t feel the need to drink. He nodded slightly then realized how dry his mouth was. “I could really use a drink though.” She raised a brow at him. He cleared his throat and clarified. “Of water?”
She chuckled and tugged his good arm. “We’ll find you a drink.”
“Scotch and soda, hold the soda,” he joked.
She paused and turned to face him again. “Remember when I told you about my past?” He nodded slightly, not sure he wanted her to go there again. “I’d guess that ninety percent of the ‘trouble’ in my troubled past was alcohol-based. So, if it’s all the same, I’d prefer you avoided it.”
He nodded at her, wishing he could erase the pain she’d dealt with. “I’ll do my best.” His voice cracked as he spoke. “But in truth, I haven’t been sober much. You might not like me sober.”
She gave him a lopsided smile. “I think I’ll like you a helluva lot better sober.”
Simon inhaled deeply and took a last, longing glance at the liquor store. “I guess we’ll find out.”
15
Buck drove slowly through the residential areas while Hatcher and the old man looked for a house with a blue door. “Do you remember if there was a fence, or…” Buck asked.
The old man slowly shook his head, his eyes squinting in the light. “I’m sorry, son. I don’t.” He scanned both sides of the street as they went.
“Eduardo, I don’t guess you remember a last name do you? Maybe we could find a phone book and search for an address,” Hatcher asked hopefully.
The old man shook his head. “I’m not even certain that’s my name.” He glanced to the rear seat and gave Hatcher sad eyes. “The name comes to mind, but it doesn’t exactly feel like mine.”
“Maybe Eduardo was your neighbor? A brother? Maybe a son?” Hatcher threw out guesses hoping to trigger the old man’s memory.
He continued to shake his head. “No bells are ringing.” He sighed as he slumped in the seat. “Hell, that could have been my dogs name for all I…” He trailed off, his head turning as they drove by a small house. “Wait.” He slapped at the side of the truck. “Stop!”
Buck hit the brakes and the old man was opening the door and stepping out before it came to a complete stop. He walked slowly toward a house and Hatcher appeared by his side. “It doesn’t have a blue door, Ed.”
The old man stood in the driveway and cocked his head to the side. “Mathew?”
“Mathew? Is that your name?” Hatcher asked as Buck pulled the truck into the driveway.
The
