Rudy wrote out the words, and then Hope signed her name. Rudy showed D.J. how to make the letters of his name, and then, with the awkward unpracticed motor skills of a young child, he scrawled the letters "D" and "J" on the paper. When it was done, they stuck the paper next to the broken window and weighted it down with a can of food so the children's parents would find it.
When that was done, they packed their gear, climbed out the window, and ran.
****
Amanda hopped over the fence. She had never been a climber. She had never joined her friends when they had climbed trees as a child. She hadn't climbed the poles at school and refused to climb the rope in gym class, but she was getting pretty good at it.
She stood on the other side of the wrought-iron fence, a clock ticking in her head. They had run for the west side of the fence, the least populated by the dead. Now the dead were coming for them.
Amanda reached up and put her hands around the little girl. She was lighter than she should be for her age, malnourished perhaps. That would explain why her stupid ass mother and father had been out finding food. They must have run out at some point. She placed the little girl on the ground, and Hope stood looking around her, her eyes big and afraid.
Amanda wondered if the girl had ever been out in the world since it had changed. The soldiers said they had found them at their home. She didn't think it was likely that Hope's parents had taken her out into the real world. They would be insane if they had.
"It's ok, Hope. They can't get you. Not while we're here," Amanda said.
The little girl nodded, and Amanda set D.J. on the ground next to her. The clock in her head was ticking again. The dead moved like a wave, crunching through the snow. Rudy landed with a thump, and then the rest of the soldiers hopped the fence. Amanda and Hope ran west, following in the broken trail of the soldiers. They were babysitters now, her and Rudy. He had volunteered them for the duty, despite the fact that she knew nothing about children. When they had first shown up, everyone had looked to her as if she could do something about their crying. The fact was she had never dreamed of having children, never wanted them, and didn't actually want to look after D.J. and Hope. So when the soldiers had looked to her to stop their crying, she had simply shrugged her shoulders, and they had dropped the issue.
She wasn't going to be their mom; she didn't even know how to play at such a thing. She could have killed Rudy when he volunteered them to watch the kids. It had been bad enough being on Tejada duty, dragging the old man along through the snow. Now, they had to worry about kids, kids that would be too scared to even say anything if something was wrong. She had some sympathy for them, but it only extended so far. She would much rather be walking through the snow with her baseball bat in her hands and no extra responsibilities to weigh her down.
On the bright side of things, the weather had shifted. The snow was slowly being melted by a drizzle that was a shade above freezing. On the downside of things, everyone was soaked. Those without rainproof jackets wished they had them. Amanda wished she had rainproof boots. The ones she wore, scavenged off a dead woman from inside the Nike compound and treated liberally with disinfectant spray, were not as warm as she would like. Socks, thick, fluffy socks, that's what she wanted right then.
They plowed through the snow, picking up the children when they could no longer move. The survivors didn't move as fast now, and the tail behind them grew in numbers as it gained ground.
Even though it was still barely above freezing, Amanda found herself wishing she could take off her jacket. Her body burned from dragging D.J. along. The little boy did what he was told without complaint. He didn't whine. He didn't say he couldn't do things, which she had fully expected. He was silent as a mouse and dutifully moved his feet forward. When he slowed, Amanda picked him up and carried him for as long as she could until he regained his strength.
Still, carrying the child drained her of her own minimal energy reserves. Her lower back ached, and her legs felt rubbery an hour into their journey as they rushed through the wet snow, plugging along, each step taking them closer and closer to the beach. They paralleled the highway now, looking to their right, waiting for the stalled cars to thin and disappear so they could use the big road to get to the beach. That was the plan; keep it in sight until it was clear, and then it would all be smooth sailing.
They passed by another Fred Meyer on their left, but they didn't consider it with the children in tow. They had barely made it through the last one unharmed. They rose and dipped, moving over rougher terrain, taking their time to cross drainage ditches and dips in the ground. This was when their tail came closer, and for a while, the survivors found their bodies renewed by fear, the fear of being overrun and eaten by the dead.
They ran more, until they came to an empty stadium. The layout of the stadium told her that it had been built for baseball, but she didn't know that Portland even had a baseball team. In the winter snow, it looked cold and desolate, uninviting. They skirted around
