Linda revs up the engine and guns it, the car lurching forward, tires screeching as she blasts into the rows of undeads, plowing through them, dead bodies flying off to the sides, the roof of the car scraping against the garage door.
“Fucking bitch!” Chris bellows after the car as it leaves a trail of busted-up zombies behind. The ones not getting hit are entering the garage, reaching out eagerly for the three of them all just standing there.
Iver can’t move. He’s stunned with horror. All he can do is stare as death comes waddling right at him …
THIRTY-ONE
Dennis watches the sun go down, fondles the gris-gris and tries to imagine he’s back home and that everything is normal.
Sitting in the upstairs room of Holger’s house, he can almost fool himself. There are no dead people visible from up here. No one pointing guns at each other.
Yet he can hardly recall what “normal” feels like. For the past week, nothing about the world has been normal. And Dennis doubts it will ever be so again. Everything has been tainted by something new and crazy.
Like the gris-gris. Just touching it reminds him of how he risked his life getting it back.
Or this very room he’s sitting in. It was the room that he and Mom carried Holger’s body to, so that Dennis could push him out of the window.
He glances down at the windowsill. Next to the gun he sees the brownish stain. Holger’s blood.
He looks back out and sees Silas and Jonas’s truck. It’s still there, a few miles up road, lying on its roof, abandoned. He can just make it out in the twilight.
Dennis takes a deep breath and looks back out at the horizon, to the place where the sun went down. It’s weird how the sun is still going about its business, rising and setting exactly like it’s always done. Come to think of it, it’s probably the only thing still acting normal, and that’s probably why Dennis has been sitting here for the past hour, just watching the sun dip slowly in the sky. He feels comforted just looking at it.
Footsteps from the stairs. The door creaks open behind him.
“Dennis?”
He turns his head to look at Mom standing in the doorway. She’s wearing her nightgown, her hair pulled up in a knot.
“It’s late. We should go to bed.”
“I know, Mom. I just … want to sit here a little longer. Is that okay?”
He asks the question without really thinking about it; it’s old habit, really, asking Mom permission for even the smallest things.
Yet something in Dennis’s voice reveals that he isn’t really asking. Mom can hear it too; Dennis can tell from her face.
“What are you doing up here, anyway?” she asks.
“I’m just …” Dennis shrugs, then realizes Mom is looking at the gris-gris. “Praying,” he finishes.
Mom raises her eyebrows. “Oh. When did you begin doing that?”
“When everything changed, I guess.”
Mom nods slowly. “Good. I’m glad.” She breathes deeply. “Well, try not to stay up too late. We’ve got work to do tomorrow. I need you well rested.”
“Sure, Mom,” Dennis says, thinking to himself that Mom has no idea what kind of work they might be doing tomorrow. “I’ll come down as soon as I’m done praying.”
This time, when he uses the word, it sounds a lot more like a lie. Like he’s telling Mom something she wants to hear to avoid telling the truth.
Dennis has never taken to Mom’s beliefs. It’s obviously very important to Mom, but for some reason she has never tried to push it on Dennis. Dennis always assumed she wanted him to find the interest himself when he was ready, but at the same time, he often gets the feeling that Mom is somehow private about it. Not that she’s keeping anything secret from him or hiding the rituals or prayers, but there’s a subtle sense of her wanting not to share it with him, almost like she’s protecting him from something. Like it’s a bad habit she doesn’t want him to catch.
“Mom?” Dennis says, just as she’s about to close the door.
She looks in at him. “Yes, Dennis?”
“You don’t need to look out for me anymore. I can take care of myself now. Actually, I can take care of both of us.”
Mom eyes him for a moment, then glances at the gun in the window, then back at Dennis. “Okay,” she simply says. There’s no good or bad in her tone. No concern and no encouragement.
Then she closes the door and leaves Dennis to himself.
Dennis looks down at his bag. The satellite phone is in there. He’s kept it with him all day, waiting for it to ring. Mom probably hasn’t noticed it missing from the dock down in the bunker.
It hasn’t rung, though.
And now it’s almost midnight.
The guy—Dan—told Dennis they would be here today. Maybe he lied. Maybe it was all one big prank.
But Dennis doesn’t think so. Dan sounded very honest.
“You need to trust me,” he said, and something in his voice made Dennis believe him.
But maybe he was wrong. Maybe the guy was a very good actor. Dennis is no stranger to being pranked and bullied. He’s well aware of how mean people can be.
Dennis glances at his watch. It’s eleven forty-five now. Only fifteen minutes left of the day. Fifteen minutes for the guy to keep his promise.
And then he sees it. A few miles up road, close to where the truck is. Another car comes this way.
It could be anybody, of course, but it’s the first car Dennis has seen all night.
It stops next to the flipped-over truck. Dennis squints. He can see someone getting out. The person just stands there, next to the car.
Then there’s a ringing from the bag.
Dennis jumps and grabs for it, fumbling out the satellite phone. He stares at the display, recognizing
