Since Ranger Bob didn’t know about the current happenings around the globe, he hadn’t yet reached for his gun, just kept the flashlight beam fixed on Jill’s torso. Maybe his concern for an ailing senior citizen really did outrival the usual fear of diseased strangers. Maybe, just maybe, we really could forgo a potential conflict.
I almost exhaled with relief. But then Jill paused in her purging and looked up at us, her green-tinged complexion and pain-stricken eyes too startling for even me to bear.
“Oh, Mom…” Clare whispered from behind my left shoulder.
Jill wiped her chin with her sweater sleeve, glanced at the wide-eyed, light-wielding ranger, and opened her mouth, but instead of spewing more of the nasty black-and-red stuff, she unleashed her customary pleasantries.
“What are you looking at, jackoff?”
I sighed with resignation. Why did she have to make every stressful situation worse?
I had no explanation for her near-constant acrimony. Only knew one thing for certain: If she hadn’t insulted the moronic forest ranger, he might not have hardened his jaw, pivoted his flashlight, and spotted the small pile of guns and knives I’d left on the floor while retrieving the radio. The light also fell upon the partially covered crate still teeming with weapons.
Then, as if that weren’t enough, he shifted the beam across the van, noting the blood, black goo, and other foul-smelling secretions and chunks of flesh on the tires and side panels.
“Monsters!” With a gasp, Ranger Bob stumbled backward and shifted the flashlight beam back to me—who was, as far as he knew, the only other male in the campsite and likely the biggest threat to his safety.
Frankly, my money would’ve been on George. That was one tough lady—and dangerous to underestimate.
But it didn’t matter. Before I had a chance to explain—or brandish my gun—Ranger Bob unlatched his holster, whipped out his own Glock, and aimed it at me, his hand trembling noticeably.
“Freeze! All of you!” His eyes flitted from my dismayed face to the women standing behind me. “Don’t know what kinda horrible shit y’all already pulled and what other terrorist acts y’all got cooked up, but it ain’t gonna happen here. Not on my watch.”
What a dilemma. On the one hand, I knew that George and I could easily overtake the guy. Even Clare seemed ready and motivated to remove the impediment between us and her mother. On the other hand, though, I wasn’t certain that, in his nervousness, he wouldn’t accidentally—or intentionally—shoot one of us. I couldn’t risk the chance of getting Clare killed, but I certainly didn’t want such an idiot to best us either.
Before I could make up my mind, Ol’ Bob spotted my holster. “You! Put your hands up!” Then, he noticed the implements of destruction my companions were clutching. “You, too! All y’all toss your weapons on the ground and put your hands up!”
While Clare and George reluctantly complied—and I silently wished for a roving zombie to show up and put an abrupt end to our problems—the ranger shifted his gaze to Jill.
“And I don’t care if you’re sick! Get outta the van and walk over to your pals!”
The roly-poly ranger had suddenly morphed into an extremely twitchy version of Dirty Harry. Not a great combination.
His widened eyes flitted between Jill, who grumbled but slowly climbed down from the van, and my untouched holster. Although George’s tire iron and pistol lay on the ground beside Clare’s hammer, I had yet to give up my own weapon.
“Mister,” Ranger Bob commanded, gesturing his gun toward me, “I told ya to drop the gun!”
With a heavy sigh, I carefully drew my weapon and tossed it beside the others. A part of me hoped it would inadvertently discharge and shoot Ranger Nitwit in the shin.
Evidently, the fool believed our ragtag group was actually a cabal of domestic terrorists, aiming to do him and his country—or at least his forest—some major harm. Guess that made more sense to his wee brain than the zombie invasion I’d ranted about.
“Wow,” Jill quipped as she joined George and Clare, who had shuffled forward to flank me, “he’s even dumber than you.”
I glanced at her. “Don’t give him a reason to do anything stupid.” Slowly, I lifted my arms and faced my palms outward.
Jill pursed her colorless lips. “Too late for that.”
Clare shot her a pleading look bordering on annoyance.
“Listen, Ranger Roberts,” I said, hoping my use of his formal title would indicate some measure of respect and help to diffuse the tense situation, “you must’ve heard the reports. All of the government agencies—local, state, and federal—have been broadcasting evacuation instructions for the past three days.”
“Fat lotta good that did,” Jill grumbled.
Ignoring her snippy comment, Ranger Bob took a few steps forward. “My radio’s been out for the past week.”
Although he still pointed his Glock and flashlight toward me, I noted a subtle furrow in his brow. Had he begun to doubt the terrorism explanation? None of us really looked the part—though the gore all over my van didn’t help our case much.
“If you don’t mind me asking,” I ventured as politely as I could, “where’ve you been for the past three days? Somewhere without a TV?”
The furrow deepened. “When my shift ended on Halloween, Harry didn’t show up to relieve me. I couldn’t reach him at home. Or any of the other rangers either. Figured they all had the flu or something, so I just stayed.”
Jill scoffed. “Or something is right.”
His gaze shifted to her, his brow wrinkling even more. Perhaps her nasty vomiting routine had him rethinking the situation.
“Didn’t you find that odd? That you couldn’t reach anyone?”
He looked at me again, the flashlight and gun sinking a few inches. “Well, yeah. I mean, I even drove over to the ranger station in Meadville, but it was empty.”
George,
