He gulped. “Um, no. I had campers to check on and other work to do, so I just went back to my post.”
“What about your family?” George pressed. “Did you try to call them, too?”
The ranger frowned, likely uncomfortable with such personal inquiries—especially since he should’ve been the one asking the questions.
“I got no family. My folks are dead. So’s my older brother… And I never married.”
What a shocker that was.
Jill, likely too sick to care about the conversation’s shift in focus, opened her mouth—and once again made the situation worse. “Oh, why don’t you just shoot him already so we can all get outta here?”
I wasn’t sure if she’d intended that remark for the ranger or her son-in-law. Since my gun presently lay out of reach, I had a pretty good guess.
“Jesus, Jill,” I implored, “please shut the hell up.”
When no one seconded my plea, I glanced at Clare, expecting to catch a scornful pout directed at yours truly.
But instead, she leaned around me, fixing a disapproving stare at her mother. “Mom, please stop making things worse.”
I fixed my own gaze on the quivering gun now targeting my crotch. “Ranger Roberts, I swear we aren’t lying to you. The virus that spread around the country—actually, around the world—is bringing people back as zombies. Millions, maybe even billions of people have been killed. That’s why we’re fleeing the cities, heading north.”
In a nanosecond, the ranger’s facial expression morphed from one of apprehension and confusion to one of anger, fear, and determination, and the blinding flashlight beam swung back in my face. Along with the deadly end of his Glock.
So much for our fleeting chance to convince Ranger Birdbrain that we weren’t a diabolical threat. Apparently, the z-word was simply too much for him to swallow.
“That’s it! All y’all, move slowly to my car.” Without lowering his trembling weapon, he nodded backward toward the gravel driveway, where he’d parked his SUV.
I glanced at Clare and considered, for an instant, rushing the guy and ending the inconvenient charade. Though armed, he was even more out of shape than I was.
But a subtle shake of her head convinced me to stand down. She’d likely noticed the ranger’s tremulous hands and feared that, if we tried to ambush him, one of us would end up dead. Probably me.
Chapter
9
“’Cause if anything happens to her, I mean, anything… I’ll kill your waxy ass.” – Gus Elizalde, The Strain (2014)
With an audible groan, I cautiously advanced toward the official-looking vehicle, and the ladies followed suit. Ranger Dipshit, meanwhile, walked backwards toward the gravel path, leading the way and keeping his gun trained on me.
Is it too much to hope that he trips over the beer cans and accidentally shoots himself?
Perhaps reading my mind, he glanced backward just long enough to step over the makeshift tripwire and then, with his gaze fixated on my face, unlocked and opened the back door. As he retreated a few paces to give us a wide berth, I spotted the U.S. Forest Service insignia on the open door, along with the words LAW ENFORCEMENT.
I almost laughed at the ridiculousness of the situation. How the hell had Ranger Dumbass landed such a tough-guy job? Had the pickings been that slim in southern Mississippi?
Then again, he had managed to prod three zombie-slaying adults and one snarky old lady toward his vehicle without an exchange of gunfire, so perhaps I’d underestimated his abilities—or my own reluctance to get myself or my companions shot.
Near the open door, I hesitated and turned to beckon the three women ahead of me. The longer I lingered outside, the more chance I had to wrestle the ranger’s gun from his shaky hands.
But once again, I’d underestimated the fool.
“No way, mister,” he barked. “You get in first.”
George grimaced, likely suspecting my plan. “Chivalry really is dead.”
“Mom, why don’t you get in first,” Clare suggested. “You know, in case you have to throw up again.” She shot a pointed look at the ranger. “Might want to open the windows, too. Unless you’d like your vehicle to get messy.”
Flustered, the ranger mumbled his assent, and Jill slowly inched her way across the seat, followed by a concerned Clare and a seething George. Before I climbed aboard, I gave serious consideration to kicking the ranger in his useless gonads, but he stepped out of reach. Perhaps he really could read my mind.
With a heavy sigh, I ventured toward the backseat, but before I slipped inside, the ranger halted me with a question.
“Anyone else in the campsite?”
George’s face appeared in my peripheral vision. She’d turned toward me, as if silently willing me not to mention her son, whom we’d left high above and out of sight. Perhaps she didn’t know me well enough yet, but I had no intention of ratting him out. I liked the kid too much to jeopardize his safety (well, beyond urging him to climb a hundred-foot-tall pine tree).
Besides, if he stayed out of custody, he’d be the only one able to spring the rest of us.
I shook my head. “No, sir. This is it.” Then, I squeezed beside George, muttering a curse.
I felt like such a fucking dolt. If any of us got hurt or killed because of one ignorant jackass, I would really regret my lack of action.
With a smug grin, the ranger slammed the back door shut and returned to our campsite to collect the weapons I’d piled on the floor of the van.
“What a mess,” Clare lamented.
“No kidding,” George replied, turning toward me. “Thanks for not saying anything about Casey.”
“No problem.”
She grimaced. “But I really wish one of us had jumped the jackass. I sure wanted to.”
“So did I. And I think he knew it.”
Smiling halfheartedly, Clare reached across George’s lap and patted my thigh. “It’s OK, honey. I wanted to brain the guy myself. But his hands were shaking
