It’s a happy space despite what’s going on outside.
They’re planning rooftop gardens. They’ve been hauling soil, soil amendments, and tools up there all winter. They’re growing seedlings in greenhouses they’ve constructed. There are hydroponic set ups in the dispensary where a young man named Barney used to work. The windows aren’t reinforced with plywood since the old owner “was a paranoid freak with too much money”. “Bullet resistant,” Mel says with a firm nod. “Which means they’re zombie resistant too.”
She sits at a table of eight, eating again because it’s warm and it’s good. She doesn’t think she’d be able to say no if they tried to feed her every hour on the hour. She’d say yes and get too fat to run from them, too fat to go looking for the boys.
“Dee?”
She blinks and looks to the inquirer, a woman in her forties by the look of her. “Sorry.”
She nods as if she understands. “It took me a couple months to feel safe in here. I jumped at everything. Dissociated a lot.” She brushes a hand across the table and then stares at the crumbs stuck to her palms. “Anyway, I asked where you’re headed. Mel says you came from Nebraska?”
“We were visiting my wife’s ex. My boys’ bio dad. We were there when things went to hell.” Six months gone. Six months fighting her way here and she is so close now. So close.
“Oh wow. And you spent all this time getting here?”
“Yeah.” Getting here. Such innocuous words for what she went through. Losing Lana. Dan. Ivy. Owen. Evan and Jean. Their kids. Isaac and Paisley. Jude. Will. She shed them like water and like water, they’d rushed downstream and out to sea. “My boys were staying with my mom and dad. I’m hoping …” She doesn’t have to say. It’s what every person in this place hopes or hoped once upon a time.
“Where?”
She gives the address and the woman—Alex—leans back in her chair. “That’s only five miles from here. More or less.”
Five miles. Only five miles more and she will know if her boys are alive or not. She’ll know if she still has family or not.
“You okay?”
She realizes her cheeks are wet, that she’s been crying without even realizing it. “No.”
The table is quiet. She supposes they’ve had a lot of impromptu moments of silence like this. Alex takes one of her hands, Mel the other. More hands press against her shoulders, gentle squeezes, soft murmured words of sorrow and understanding. A single, wrenching sob escapes her before she can rein it in. It’s both affirming and embarrassing. It’s loud, it’s messy. It serves no purpose in this new world except to get her killed.
She’s grateful that they turn away, that they pretend not to hear, though perhaps they had their own moments like this. She’s also annoyed that they don’t press, that they don’t say, “Let it out.” Because she wants to, she wants that permission and there’s no way in hell she can give it to herself.
“I’ll go with you.”
She frowns at Alex, at this woman who doesn’t know her, who has been living safe here for months, who wants to help a complete stranger. Why?
Doesn’t she know what happens out there? Doesn’t she understand that everyone out there dies?
“I mean, if you want me to. It might be easier with someone watching your back.”
“Thanks. I’ll consider it.” She doesn’t want to, though, doesn’t want another death on her hands, doesn’t want to be responsible for anyone.
“I have a brother up there. I tried to get to him when the outbreak first started but it was just chaos. My nieces would be with him. My sister-in-law. If they … you know, survived.” Alex shrugs. “If you were worried I was being too altruistic. That’s why. Plus, I would hate for you to not get there now that you’ve come this far. It would be a shame.”
Mel rises, gathering her plates. “It would be a shame. When you leave, we can make sure you’re geared up. Food, water, weapons. Gas. Whatever you need. We can even call them. James over there? He rigged us some lures around the area. Sirens, noisemakers. That sort of thing. We can draw them to certain spots to keep them out of the road for you. At least for a few miles.”
“Thanks.”
Mel pats her. “When you’re ready.”
She should be ready now, but she finds herself reluctant to leave just yet. She’s still short on sleep after all and she’s just not ready to face the truth, whatever it ends up being. “When I’m ready,” she repeats, and wonders if that day will ever come and how she’ll be able to live with herself if it doesn’t.
31
Now
A week passes before she knows it. There’s so much to learn at the Complex, which is what the survivors call their little safe haven. They go out in small groups every day to make sure their maze stays clear. They also do what they can to make their neck of the woods a little safer. That entails killing them when they can, moving cars, searching nearby homes and businesses for supplies they can use. “Prescriptions, over-the-counter pills, first aid kits. Guns, ammo. Knives. Tents. That sort of thing. Whatever we can use here to survive,” Alex says as they go out with three others to search a nearby store that has fireplaces, fire pits, and barbecues.
They take a truck with a couple of dollies. If they have corn pellet fireplaces, they can heat their living spaces more efficiently next winter. They hadn’t frozen this year because they’d still had electricity through the worst of the cold.
“The corn
