I squeezed her gently. “I’m still gay for you.”
“Do I even want to know?”
“Nope.” I kissed her forehead. “I haven’t heard any screams or songs. That might be a good sign.”
As soon as I said it, the woman appeared in the doorway, her face wet with tears but looking hopeful. “She’s okay. I surprised her, but she’s okay. Told her …” She shook her head as if she couldn’t say the words. “Anyway, she said you can stay here until you figure out what to do next.”
“Thank you.” Lana stood and went to her, hands out. She gathered the woman into a hug. “We’re so grateful for your help.”
“You saved me,” she said. “Least I can do. I’m Tonia.”
“Lana. And she’s Deena, though I call her Dee.”
I waved lamely. “Thanks, Tonia.”
She nodded. “My auntie’s name is Trinie. It’s a family thing,” she said and I guessed that meant there were more people with T names in her family. “There’s a small room upstairs you can use. It’s really small, you know, sorry.”
“That’s all right. It’s safe and that’s what matters.”
I used the bathroom and went up the steep, narrow stairs to the bedroom. Tonia wasn’t kidding. The ceiling was sharply slanted and the bed was a twin, an old twin with a rounded, lumpy mattress.
It looked amazing to my tired brain. “Dibs on the spot against the wall,” I said.
“I’m going to end up on the floor, aren’t I?” Lana took off her shoes and socks, wiggling her toes at the freedom. “I don’t know if I can sleep.”
“Have you tried the boys?”
She nodded. “Check yours too.”
I did, but there weren’t any new messages.
Didn’t mean anything except that they were busy or the service had been disrupted.
“They’re fine,” she said, as if reading the turmoil in my head.
I nodded. “They’re fine and we’re getting to them.” I tapped out another message. “I love you guys. We’re coming. Don’t let anyone in. Don’t go out. Stay safe. I love you.” My fingers hovered over the screen, shaking with my need to write more, to send them a fucking novel about how much their mom and I love them.
When I looked up, Lana had tears in her eyes. “I’m so scared.”
“Me too,” she said quietly. “Me too.”
7
Now
The world is askew. She lays on the ground, panting, the thing that tried to kill her draped across her, no longer animated. When she blinks again, the garage comes into focus and she remembers what she’s supposed to be doing. Finding a car, finding a ride, finding a way back to her kids.
She shoves at the thing on top of her, its weight heavy, its flesh mushy. A finger sinks into a rotten spot, into cold, decayed flesh and she gags, furiously wiping the finger on the thing’s dirty clothes. Gagging, she sheds her backpack and finds the wipes that she put in last so she wouldn’t have to hunt for them. She cleans her finger, then soaks it in hand sanitizer, then cleans it again even though nothing remains on her skin.
It can’t make her sick, not its blood, not its fluids. The only thing that works is a bite and it didn’t bite her, but still she scrubs until her finger is red and irritated. Panting, she realizes she’s lost herself in panic again. She counts to ten and puts the wipes away, shoulders her backpack and unlocks the car door. The car smells good, like new, in-transit stickers in the front and back windows. The leather is cold as she settles in, her pack on the seat next to her. Its better than the old truck. It’ll be quiet if it starts.
She finds the garage door opener and brushes her finger over the button without pressing it. No point pressing it if the car won’t start, but it does and then she finds herself frozen again.
She could sit here and let the carbon monoxide fill the garage. She could end things painlessly right now. There’s no reason to believe the boys have survived when so many have died. There’s no reason to push herself another three hundred miles only to find tragedy or worse, nothing.
A look at the gas gauge tells her she has plenty of gas to do it. Plenty of time. She could go peacefully, not torn apart like so many others.
The radio crackles, startling her out of her trance. She pushes the button, ashamed of herself, and the garage door rattles upward. As it does, she fiddles with the radio dial. Static, more static, and then … “—gency broadcast in progress. This message is being broadcast by the Kootenai County Sheriff’s department. We ask that you remain inside—” She clicks it off. Same broadcast different story. They heard it when shit first hit the fan and had actually believed it when it told them the emergency would end shortly.
It hadn’t.
She doesn’t get more than twenty feet from the house when she sees the first one of them step out of a house on the corner. An older woman, her white hair wild on her head, her mouth agape. “Help!” It could have been her grandmother. Long white gown, what looked like a rosary clutched in her hand. “Help!” she calls again.
No blood on the woman’s face, no rips or tears in the fabric. She could be real, could be human. She slows, stomach knotted in worry and doubt.
“Help me, please!”
The old ones, the ones made when the outbreak started, they can’t articulate full sentences. The new ones can and they often look normal, especially if their bite is somewhere inconspicuous. She’s learned that all too well.
A quick glance around tells her they are alone, at least for now.
The old woman’s front door stands open and the old woman’s feet are bare. A strike against her. Surely if she was alive, she would have put shoes on before running outside.
How had the old woman heard her, anyway? The garage door made noise, but it
