She swallows back the tears that threaten. “Survive, boys. I know you have. I know it.”
There’s another sign, another arrow. It guides her into a parking lot that has been made into a maze with cars and arrows showing her the way to safety.
Please let it be true. Though she kind of hopes they’re gone. She doesn’t want to watch anyone else die and that’s what happens in this world now. People die. Horribly.
She shuts off the SUV and watches the store. The front has been boarded up, though signs welcome her in cheery red letters. “There’s a door to the right as you face the store. Knock three times. Once. Three times. Stay vigilant.”
She grabs her pack, her weapons, and after another long look around, gets out. She goes to the door and knocks as instructed.
Silence greets her.
She does it again. Maybe they’re on the roof. Maybe they are busy.
Maybe they are dead.
She does it one more time, wondering why she is doing this instead of hunting for her sons.
Because they’re everywhere. Because she’s tired and she needs a safe place to sleep so she doesn’t get herself killed.
She waits and waits, her hope sinking.
Not here though. They’re dead.
She steps back, wondering if she can sleep in the car. It’s quiet here, almost as if someone has been making sure they don’t get in. Shooting them if they do. It won’t be comfortable, but that’s okay.
She’s almost to the SUV when she hears the creak of hinges. She whirls.
“It’s okay! It’s okay. Come on! Come.” The woman is older, her hair long and grey. She has laugh lines. It’s the laugh lines that get her.
She glances around then goes to the woman, her hand on her weapon just in case. “I saw your signs,” she says inanely. Of course she saw the signs. How else was she here?
“I’m glad. They’re doing their job, then. Come on girl.”
The store has been drastically altered since she’d last been here. The shelves have been rearranged to create small living spaces and tents are popped up all over. There are people milling around, a few at work doing some task or another.
People. Living, breathing people. People with smiles on their faces, some of them.
A gentle voice says, “How long you been out there?”
She blinks, fighting back tears. “Since October,” she says. “Came from Nebraska.”
The woman stops dead, staring. A few others turn, their expressions shocked. “Nebraska? Good grief, girl. Is it … is it as bad there as it is here?”
She doesn’t want to tell them the truth, but she nods. The looks on their faces—resignation, despair—make her wish she had better news. “I think the whole country is like this.”
“Figured as much,” the woman says, though she detects disappointment in the woman’s voice that tells her this isn’t exactly true. “You look done in. What do you want first? Water? Food? A shower?”
“Shower?”
The woman chuckles. “On the roof. It’s makeshift but the water will be lukewarm. Good enough to get yourself clean. And there’s plenty, though we still want you to keep it to less than five minutes if you can.”
“Sure,” she says, feeling dazed. A shower? The signs had said nothing about a shower.
She follows the woman up a couple flights of stairs and then through an employee-only access door that leads to the roof. There, she sees another tent and a shower area made of tarp.
“What size you wear, girl?”
She was far from a girl, but she didn’t protest, just passed on the info.
“I’ll bring you up some new things. That’s something we have in abundance, clothes. Now go on. Drop your dirties in the basket. There’s soap and towels in the tent beside the shower. Best practice? Turn the water on long enough to get your hair and body wet. Turn it off and lather up. Turn it on long enough to get the soap off.”
“Got it. Thank you.”
“Sure.” She turns to go, then stops. “I’m Mel.”
“Dee.”
“Nice to meet you, Dee.”
Thank you, she thinks as the woman disappears. Then she turns to the tent, already kicking off her worn boots. This could be a trap. If it were TV, it would be. These people would be cannibals, getting her cleaned up to eat, maybe, or ready to sacrifice to their cult leader.
At least she’ll be clean.
She strips off her gear, laying her weapons within reach. Once she’s naked, she steps into the shower. The shampoo and conditioner hypnotize her. The soap. The promise of being clean arrests her.
She hasn’t been clean for how long?
Forever.
Since they holed up in the fancy house after losing Lana and Ivy and the kids.
Since she lost her love.
She reaches for the spigot and lets the water fall, lets it wash away her tears.
29
Then
They were dolls.
I pulled the trigger, hitting the first one in the shoulder. It fixed red-rimmed eyes on me and said, “Why?” before I blew its face in.
Evan shot one. Jean hit another in the chest. Dan was screaming Owen’s name behind us. I hoped he was watching for them because we already had our hands full and—I glanced at the truck—it looked like we wouldn’t be getting any help from Isaac or Paisley.
Paisley sat screaming without a sound while Isaac continued to glare at his knees.
“Fucking lot of help,” I muttered, sick to my stomach as I shot another of them—a fucking doll, that’s all—and it fell to the dirt in a tangle of arms and legs.
None of these zombies were our people.
So, where were our people?
What had
