Yes, our cat, Azazel, had returned from wherever she’d gone, and she was darting straight for the open doors of our home-on-wheels.
The discomforting node of guilt, fear, and worry brewing in the pit of my stomach abruptly dissipated. Glancing at Clare, I discerned the same relief in her watery eyes.
“Where do you suppose she’s been?” Casey asked me.
Azazel halted in her tracks, gazed up at me and the kid, and offered us a casual meow. I noticed a pink ribbon tied around her neck.
“That’s new,” I said, utterly perplexed as to how our cat had managed to accessorize while we were preoccupied with the moronic ranger.
Naturally, I didn’t have time to wonder for long. We needed to stow the rest of our gear and get our asses out of there. Seeing my precious furbaby also reminded me that I still had to switch my shoes. The last thing I needed was to drag Ranger Bob’s tainted blood across the floor of my vehicle.
So, once Azazel had leapt into the van, vaulted over the pile of weapons, and strolled toward her half-filled water dish, I crawled over to the closet, tucked my goo-coated sneakers inside a garbage bag already half-filled with my contaminated clothing, and slipped on another pair.
After double-knotting my laces, I hopped down from the van and retrieved the shortwave radio from the spot where Casey had set it before embarking on his daring rescue. Unfortunately, it was still attached to the wireless antenna that he’d affixed to the pine tree. I couldn’t fault the kid for leaving it behind. He’d been too focused on saving his mom (and us, too).
With zombified scouts breathing down our collective necks, I knew I’d have to detach the antenna and leave it hanging from the tree. Luckily, though, I’d stowed two extra spools in a kitchen cabinet—for just such a dilemma.
Two shots from George’s rifle snapped me back to the present. A couple of eager zombies had wandered down the driveway.
“Joe,” Clare screamed from inside the van, “get your ass in here!”
She and Casey, who’d retrieved the last of his belongings from the defunct station wagon, had already clambered inside the vehicle. George, remaining on guard near the open doors, and I were the only ones left outside.
I’d just managed to lug the radio back to the van and set it beside our pile of firearms when the damn thing crackled to life.
“This is John, calling Joe. Hey, little brother, are you out there?”
“Holy shit!”
Although I’d unplugged the shortwave from the exterior outlet, I hadn’t yet turned it off. Obviously, its battery had enough juice to operate the device.
I grabbed the mic. “John, oh, my god, I can’t believe it.”
“Man, it’s good to hear your voice. Where are you guys?”
“We’re still in Mississippi, heading your way.”
“Negative, don’t come to Saint Louis. Laney and I are already headed up north.”
I grinned. Up north. A phrase that likely meant nothing to people who’d never lived in the Great Lakes State. But to Michiganders—or former Michiganders—it wasn’t simply a direction; it was a place. A sacred place, referring to our summertime haunts in the Upper Peninsula or northern counties of the Lower Peninsula. The family “cottage,” so to speak. Typically near or on one of the state’s eleven thousand lakes.
“Where are you now?” I asked.
Clare tugged my sleeve. “Come on, baby,” she whispered, nodding toward the ever-noisier road behind me. “Time to go.”
“We’re in Indiana,” John continued. “Stopped for the night in the middle of some farmland. Thought I should try the radio to see if you or James were on.”
“Glad you did,” I replied, ignoring my wife’s insistent yanking. “So, have you heard from him?”
“Not yet. The Detroit area got hit pretty damn hard.”
My chest tightened at his comment. The news wasn’t surprising, of course, just difficult to hear.
Clare, meanwhile, ceased being polite. She leaned over the shortwave, grabbed my shoulders, and spun me around, so fast that I dropped the mic.
One look, and her interruption made total sense. Several undead scouts had jogged into the campsite. A mere fifty feet of dirt and grass lay between the van and their hungry maws, and the creatures were closing much faster than I’d anticipated, especially based on how lazy and sluggish many of them had seemed on the road. Perhaps they’d decided to jack up the pace after sensing their next meal was escaping.
George, who’d already climbed into the van, picked off a few of the closest creatures, but she wouldn’t be able to stop them all.
OK, enough fucking around.
I needed to get myself and my companions out of harm’s way. Hastily, I grabbed the dangling mic, scurried into the van, and shut one of the rear doors.
“Crap, John, we have to go,” I told my brother. “There’s a massive horde of zombie boys and girls headed our way.”
“Sorry?”
“Uh, yeah,” I replied, struggling to close the other door. “We ran into some kind of camping retreat with three hundred zombie scouts and their chaperones.”
“That’s fucked up.”
“Tell me about it. Listen, we’re hoping to make it to Big Bear in three days.”
Clare signaled for me to wrap it up. The kids were close. Too close.
“Be safe, I’ll…”
Before he could finish his thought, I yanked out the wire antenna, tossed it onto the ground, and secured the rear doors. Clare dashed toward the front of the van, and I rapidly followed.
Jill frowned as I darted past the sofa. “Nothing like waiting till the last minute, huh?”
Ignoring her, I slipped into the driver’s seat, fished the keys out of my jacket pocket, and fired up the rig. The engine rumbled to life just as several undead children propelled themselves against the rear and sides of the van.
Although I’d never admit it to my mother-in-law, she was right about my poor timing. If I hadn’t been so sore and drained of energy, so relieved to get Azazel back, and
