Текст книги "Red Hill"

Автор книги: Jamie McGuire

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Текущая страница: 9 (всего у книги 20 страниц)

Chapter Thirteen

Scarlet

THE BACKGROUND NOISE OF MY escape from Anderson was intermittent gunfire as the patrols were likely panicking with the herd of undead roaming the streets. I had retraced my steps back to Tavia’s, planning on persuading Tobin to come with me to the doctor’s ranch.

Just as I crossed the intersection into my grandparents’ front lawn and the streetlight was behind me, I saw a dark form lying on the ground. “Tobin?” I said quietly. I still held out hope that it wasn’t my friend until I saw the cornrows poking out in every direction.

“Tobin?” I said, approaching carefully. He was lying on his side, facing away. I prepared myself to run if he moved toward me. I wasn’t sure what he was.

I glanced at Tavia’s house, noting the spray of bullet holes that had penetrated the siding, the windows, and the storm door. I leaned down, seeing that Tobin’s lifeless body was in the same tattered condition.

I choked back tears and vomit. The same bastards that had gunned down the family on the bridge had done the same to Tobin. I didn’t want to leave him in the yard, but what could I do? Just then a diesel engine gunned several blocks away. “I’m sorry, friend,” I said. Running once again as fast as I could, I raced back the way we came, not knowing which I dreaded more: getting caught, or escaping through the woods alone in the darkness.

Back through town, I had to chance running across the bridge and then down the road. It seemed safer than traveling through the tall grass by the river. The engines of the soldiers’ trucks couldn’t be heard, so I darted back across the highway and through the woods to my vehicle. I slammed the door and locked it, taking one quick glance around before bawling uncontrollably. I hadn’t prepared myself for what it might be like to leave Anderson without my children, or seeing Tobin’s body full of holes, or surviving something that made me feel an unbelievable amount of fear.

The headlights of the Jeep burned through the night as I flew down Highway 11. Less than half an hour after I turned north onto Highway 123, the high-pitched wail of a car alarm could be heard. The noise peaked and fell quickly, like the ray guns in the old science-fiction movies my mother used to watch.

I’m trying to watch a movie, Scarlet. Can’t you find something else to do other than to bug me all day? Can I never have time to myself? Go away! my mother would say.

My desperate, tiny, eight-year-old voice replayed perfectly in my ear. You’ve been working all day.

I’m trying to watch TV!

I’m lonely! I would cry softly. I didn’t want her to hear me. I wanted her to see me.

She would raise the remote in her hand and turn up the volume, a disgusted look on her face. Lost in Space might have been the one piece of happiness she had, between working three part-time jobs and raising me alone. My needing her attention appeared to have ruined her life.

You make me sick, Scarlet. You’re just like your father. One of the most selfish people I’ve ever met, she would say, nearly ruining mine.

The words were an afterthought, an outlet for her residual anger, but they burned through my clothes and charred my skin, leaving a brand so inexorable, it wore me even as I fought to survive the end of the world. Was I selfish for leaving Anderson? Should I have stayed and waited for them? Would that choice sentence me to a life without ever seeing their sweet faces again?

The Jeep’s headlights lit up dozens of shufflers. Like a herd of sheep, they meandered about in the middle of the road. I winced at the sight of children among them. Some with visible bites on their carotids. Some with mouthfuls of their skin and muscle missing; all covered in the blood of their former selves. Jenna’s and Halle’s faces flashed in my mind, and then were projected onto the faces of those children. Tears sizzled down my cheeks.

I slammed on the brake and gripped the steering wheel. If I chose to drive through them and was forced to stop, they could surround the Jeep. On one side was a grassy knoll. A rock with the town’s name, Shallot, carved into the stone sat at the crest of the small, gentle hill. The sun had begun to rise, so I could just barely see the shadows of more shufflers crossing the sign and making their way down to the road toward the noisy car. Noise attracted them.

The left side was field. Acres upon acres of wheat field, still saturated from the downpour the previous morning. If I wanted to make it to the ranch, I had two choices: drive through the herd, up that knoll and hope if I hit one of those things it didn’t crash through the windshield, or risk getting trapped in the muddy field.

Courage came slowly. Each beat of my heart felt like an explosion as my hand rested against the center of the steering wheel, preparing to press down. I took a breath, and then honked the horn once. Dozens of dead slowly craned their necks in my direction. The explosions in my chest turned into the cadence of a thousand tiny sprinters. Even sitting still, I began to pant with fear. After a short pause, they began to hobble and limp toward the Jeep. Again, I honked and waited. Despite the shufflers being less than twenty yards away, I pressed the heel of my palm against the center of the steering wheel, holding it there, until every last one of those fuckers were moaning and reaching out for the meal seeming so eager to be had. My fear kept my hand down, waiting, hoping they would move faster so I could drive past them and in the opposite direction of their new path.

When the shufflers were just over an arm length away, I jerked the wheel to the left and headed toward the wheat field.

“Don’t get stuck. Don’t get stuck,” I repeated. My hands jerked the wheel right to make a large circle around the herd, and panicked when the Jeep struggled in the mud. “C’mon!” I yelled, my fingers digging into the padding of the steering wheel.

The Jeep weaved back and forth, fishtailing and threatening to lose control, but the mud tires clawed through the rain-swollen soil, and back onto the road. After turning into the skid more than once, the Jeep straightened out, and I was screaming in victory, barreling toward the white tower.

The sun had just peaked over the horizon when I saw the water tower looming above the trees. With Halle’s sweet singing in my mind, I turned the wheel, never so happy to hit dirt road. By the time I turned left at the cemetery, the night sky had cowered from the clear, bright blue sky. The storm clouds from the day before had moved on. If the world hadn’t gone to shit, it might have been considered a beautiful day. The Jeep took the right at the first mile section hard, but I couldn’t slow down. The closer I came to sanctuary, the more afraid I was. My foot was grinding the gas pedal to the floorboard, but the Jeep’s engine just growled louder instead of going faster. Maybe five minutes had passed since seeing the white tower, but it seemed to be taking an eternity.

Turning into the drive, my foot instinctively pulled away from the accelerator. Dr. Hayes’s truck was in the yard, and a silver Mercedes was parked next to it. He’d made it home.

I didn’t even bother to shut the Jeep door. The second my feet touched the ground, I broke into a sprint, only stopping until my hands hit the door.

“Dr. Hayes? It’s me! Scarlet!” The side of my fist pounded against the wooden frame of the screen door. “Dr. Hayes? It’s Scarlet! I’m not sick . . . please . . . please let me in.”

With every passing second, my relief and excitement turned to disappointment. He was a radiologist, for Christ’s sake, he had more than one beat-up pickup. Dr. Hayes and his girlfriend, Leah, only stayed there on his off week. The radiologists worked two weeks on, one week off, and they all had a farm or ranch they ran away to during those seven precious days. Leah was an attorney and lived two hours north. They usually had me clean the weekend before they met in the middle—the farmhouse. It was her Mercedes in the yard. They’d probably met here and then took the doctor’s car somewhere else. To get his daughters, maybe.

The light on the barn flickered and then turned off. I had nowhere else to go. I had to get inside.

I pulled open the door slowly, wincing at the loud creaking sound it made. The doorknob twisted and with caution, I pushed it open and listened. “Dr. Hayes?” I said softly, half hoping he wouldn’t hear me, and half hoping he would.

The house seemed untouched. When I’d checked every room and decided no one was home, I wandered to the back porch and hoisted myself onto the dryer, wondering what I needed to do to secure the house. Should I board up the windows? It wasn’t my house to alter, but even if Dr. Hayes made it back here with Miranda and Ashley, he might be glad some of the work had been done. My eyes drifted to the floor, and relief and fear hit almost simultaneously. There were muddy footprints in front of the door that led to the side patio. I hopped down off the dryer and looked out the Plexiglas that took up the top half of the door. Something was splattered on the concrete. Something sticky with chunks of something else—definitely vomit. The footprints led inside and to my right, down the stairs, and into the basement.

I’d cleaned the basement many times before. It was used for storage, was carpeted, painted, and not at all scary, but in that moment I was terrified to walk down those stairs.

I stared at the trail of mud and whatever else, and then finally took the first step. It complained under my foot, and I squeezed my eyes tight, hoping nothing jumped out at me as punishment for making a sound. When nothing happened, my eyes popped open, and I immediately searched for a weapon. The closest thing was a hammer sitting in a hand-held, red toolbox lying open on the floor. I quickly picked it up, making sure I had a good grip, and then descended the stairs, preparing myself for whatever might be down there.

If he’s alive, don’t hit him. Don’t just swing. Don’t just react. Those thoughts were on loop, getting louder with every step, which made it difficult to listen for anything that might signal I might actually need to swing in reaction.

The door opened, and I bent forward to look inside, immediately seeing a pair of legs lying flat on the floor. They were Leah’s, and even though I couldn’t see all of her, I could tell she was face down. After a quick glance to both sides, I stepped in, following the trail. Dr. Hayes was sitting back against the wall, a large wound in his neck, and a single gunshot hole in his temple. One of his many handguns was at his side, next to his open, lifeless hand. Leah also had a head wound, similar to Dr. Hayes’s, but her chin and chest were covered in blood, and the missing piece from Dr. Hayes’s neck was peeking from her mouth.

Blood was sprayed in several directions: on the open gun safe in the corner, the wall, and floor. From what I could tell, Dr. Hayes had come to the basement to get a gun for protection, but Leah had apparently caught him in the act, and attacked him. She must have turned quick. He must have been running from her. I imagined that he knew he was infected, so after shooting her, he’d killed himself. It made sense.

Suddenly I felt very alone. It hadn’t crossed my mind that the ranch would be devoid of anybody else. His daughters weren’t here. Leah was dead. Would the rest of his family try to make it to this safe haven? Miranda and Ashley were supposed to visit this weekend. Maybe they were already on their way. If not, maybe they would have the same idea I had and come here anyway with their mother. The ranch was obviously the best place to be, and even though they didn’t visit as often, Dr. Hayes, like every girl’s father, was their protector. It made sense for them to try to make it here. That was my hope, anyway.

Dr. Hayes was just smiling about his daughters visiting the morning before. I couldn’t believe he was sitting in a pool of his own blood just a few feet from me. It was so surreal, I couldn’t find an emotion to attach to the situation. I couldn’t pull my eyes away from the gruesome scene until it finally dawned on me that if the girls did reach the ranch, they could see their father like this.

“Damnit,” I said. My mind went on an inexplicable memory search for every time I’d seen the doctor eat a donut. He was a stout man, and I had no idea how I was going to pull him up the stairs.

I walked over to the mess and picked up the pistol off the floor. The safety was off. With my foot, I nudged Leah’s hip, pointing the gun at the back of her head. A rather large exit wound was visible, but I didn’t want any surprises. She rocked forward, and then didn’t move again, prompting me to click on the gun’s safety feature.

Satisfied they weren’t going to attack me, I walked upstairs—gun in hand—through the house to the front porch. I stood on the wood deck, taking stock of my surroundings, trying to decide what I should do first.

A sudden wave of exhaustion came over me, and I sat on the steps so hard that I hurt my ass. I’d made it. We had said this was the place to come if an apocalypse happened. It happened, and I was here. Without my girls.

I shook off the thought, refusing to shed another tear. They were on their way here, and I had to get this place ready for them. There was definitely plenty of work to do, but I knew I would collapse soon, and certain precautions needed to be taken so I could fall asleep safely. There were old boards in the barn, but the bull was in there, too. Securing the windows and the perimeter and burying Leah and the doctor would have to be done before I could sleep. All of that would likely take all day. I stood up and took a deep breath, wondering how much more I could push my body before it just couldn’t go any longer.

I walked around the back to the shed and found a shovel, and then found a nice spot under the big maple tree on the south side of the house, and began to dig.

Nathan

MY EYES BULGED AND I blinked, trying to clear them so I could figure out where we were. I’d just had the mother of all nightmares, and Zoe was still in my arms asleep, but I could tell from the musty smell that we weren’t home.

When the room finally came into focus, feelings of both relief and dread came over me. The dread overpowered the relief without effort. We were running for our lives. Jill was either dead or would be soon, my wife was gone, and Zoe and I were on the run.

To my right were the old couple, Walter and Joy. Walter was asleep in his recliner, snoring. He would suck air in through his nose, and then blow it out from his mouth, the air building up until it escaped from his lips. Joy was awake, watching me with a smile.

“He’s always done that,” she said quietly. “Used to drive me nuts. Now it’s relaxing.”

I sat up, careful not to wake Zoe. The sun lit up the room from the small rectangular windows near the ceiling. The television was on, but muted.

“I don’t think the news is going to come back on, but at least we still have electricity.”

I nodded, folding my arms across my chest. “Wonder if you’ll get a bill?”

Joy laughed once. “I doubt it. I saw my postman walk by yesterday afternoon.”

That struck me as funny, even though it was morbid as hell, and I couldn’t stop the laughter that bubbled to the service. Joy began to giggle, too. We were trying not to wake Walter and Zoe, so our laughter consisted of breathing and shuddering. Joy’s eyes began to water, and then she stood. “I’m going to make a cup of coffee. Want one?”

I nodded. “I better go with you.”

I made sure Zoe was still snugly tucked into the blanket, and then I followed Joy upstairs. She started a pot in silence, and I checked outside. There were no broken windows or open doors, and I didn’t see any of the sick, either. I stepped onto the porch. In the distance, I could barely make out the sound of the alarm from the highway. It was still going off. Skeeter, Jill, and even Aubrey crossed my mind: where they were, if they were safe, if they got any rest the night before. Other people from my life flooded my thoughts as well. My boss, who was a huge asshole, but his wife and children were very sweet; my cousin Brandon and his six kids; our neighbors; Mrs. Grace, my second grade teacher. It was possible that almost everyone I’d ever known was dead. Or . . . a version of dead.

Joy was just pouring the steaming, dark coffee into a mug when I returned to the kitchen. “I meant what I said last night,” she said, encouraging me to sit. “You and Zoe are welcome here for as long as you like.”

I added creamer and sugar to my cup and swirled it around with a spoon. “I appreciate that. But don’t you think it’s dangerous to try to see this through in town? We just came from Fairview. We were inside the church with several other people. The sick were trying to tear it apart. I left with Zoe because it’s only a matter of time before they got in.”

“I couldn’t imagine leaving here. I don’t know where we’d go.”

“Do you know anyone with some land near here? Out of the way? That’s what I was hoping we would come across.”

Joy thought for a minute. Instead of answering, she took a sip of coffee. Her eyes were kind, the light blue in her irises even more pronounced bordered by her silver hair, but they also gave her away. She was holding something back. I didn’t know these people, but if I had a chance of learning whatever it was that she was keeping from me, it was in that moment, while I had Joy alone.

“I understand. You don’t know me or Zoe. I didn’t mean to pry.”

Joy frowned, clearly conflicted. “Oh, it’s not that, Nathan. I’m just not sure.”

“Sure of what?”

The basement door opened. “Your little girl is awake, Nathan. I tried talking to her, but I think she’s confused. You might get down there before she gets too upset,” Walter said. “Bring her up for some breakfast. We’ll try to keep her mind off things.”

I nodded with an appreciative smile, and then left the table, hoping that wasn’t my only chance.

Chapter Fourteen

Scarlet

THE FRIDGE HAD AN ENTIRE case of bottled water inside. I took the first bottle, unscrewed the lid, and chugged it. Just two days before it would have taken an entire morning at work for me to finish that amount, but I felt like I hadn’t had anything to drink in weeks. I opened another, and sucked the water down until only a quarter was left in the bottle.

It had taken me most of the morning to dig one hole, I still had one more to dig, and a dozen other things to do before I could rest. It had been more than twenty-four hours since I’d slept. I was physically, mentally, and emotionally exhausted.

I trudged back to the backyard, staring at the bodies of Dr. Hayes and his girlfriend, Leah, lying side by side. Dragging him up the stairs was almost the hardest thing I’d ever done, second only to giving birth. At the halfway point on the stairs, I paused to rest and nearly let him go. The only thing that kept me going was weighing the alternative: to dismember him and carry the smaller bits upstairs. Easier, yes, but a whole hell of a lot messier.

I leaned against the tree, feeling lightheaded. My body was screaming for rest. Before I was passed out and vulnerable outside, my sense of self-preservation told me to retreat inside the house. With only one objective in mind, I stumbled into the laundry room, descended the stairs, and shut myself in the basement, pulling the old loveseat against the door with the last bit of my energy. My body collapsed onto the scratchy cushions, and before I could have another thought, I lost consciousness.

• • •

WHEN I FIRST PEELED MY eyes open, I saw tan, soiled carpet and the adjacent wall going in and out of focus. Everything was devoid of sound, even the air. My line of sight followed the carpet until the chunky remnants from the tussle with the doctor and Leah came into view.

It was then that my heart broke into a million pieces. I wasn’t sure what time it was, or what day it was, but I knew I was in hell. My children were somewhere else where I couldn’t protect them, and I was alone. It took longer that time to recover from mourning my situation, but I gave myself adequate time to cry, and then I went to the doctor’s gun safe. It was one of many, but it was the only one open. A rifle stood out to me, and fit well in my hands, so it accompanied me upstairs.

The position of the sun confused me at first. It was higher in the eastern sky than it was when I decided to rest. It’s not possible, I thought. But that I had slept the rest of my first day at the ranch and through the entire night was the only explanation.

The doctor’s bloody shirt was damp with dew. The thought of being out for so long was disturbing, and a flood of emotions came over me. What had the girls been doing the day before and all night? Irrational feelings like the fear that they wouldn’t survive if I hadn’t worried about them every minute of every hour crept into my mind.

Unable to process any more, I rolled Leah into her grave, and grabbed the shovel to fill the hole. As I covered her with dirt, my hands began to burn and complain from the digging the day before. Leah lay face down, slowly disappearing beneath the soil. Once I filled one hole, I began to dig another. I was sure to make Dr. Hayes’s hole a little wider, and a little deeper. I dug until the clay was too difficult, and then I rolled him into his hole, too. His leg managed to prop, so I had to bend it so he would lie right.

By noon, I had said a few words about my friends, made myself a sandwich, and found rope, twine, and Leah’s stash of recycled cans. The plan was to line the perimeter with the cans so if any shufflers crossed the cans, the noise would be a warning. Not foolproof, but it kept me busy.

Two days passed before I saw the first shuffler. He was only wearing a robe, stumbling down the road unaccompanied. The barrel of my gun followed him until he was out of sight. Shooting him crossed my mind, but because I’d seen the shufflers react to the car alarm in Shallot, I was afraid the noise would attract more. I let him pass, praying my cowardice wasn’t freeing him to attack someone else down the road.

Every day I watched the road for the girls. To pass the time I cleaned, rearranged, reorganized, and wrote down how the food and water should be rationed. The girls were coming, and I had to make sure there were plenty of supplies for them when they arrived, especially the mac and cheese for Halle, and the double butter popcorn for Jenna.

Day four was depressing. A part of me wanted to believe the girls would come straight to the ranch, but with each passing day it became obvious that wasn’t going to happen. I wasn’t sure why they hadn’t come. Refusing to entertain the worst scenario, I told myself Andrew was taking his time to keep our children safe. Still, the waiting was agonizing. Before the outbreak, there was never enough time. Now, the days dragged on, and I felt more and more alone, wondering if I was the only person left alive. That led to more uneasy thoughts: If Christy leaving early had helped her and her daughter Kate find someplace safe, if David and his family were okay, if David had made it out of the hospital at all. If he was working Mrs. Sisney’s code and she was attacking people outside . . . I shuddered, shaking the likely scene from my mind, only to think of other, less settling things. My mother was home alone, and so was my neighbor, Mrs. Chebesky. I wanted to call them to see if they were all right. I’d tried the doctor’s landline the first evening and every day after, but an automated response turned into weird, incessant beeps, and then there was no dial tone at all.

The next day, I saw another shuffler. Part of me wanted to use her for target practice, but again I was afraid the noise would attract others. I hid inside the house and she passed, across the neighboring field, without event.

A sense of pride swelled inside of me that my theory had been right. The doctor’s ranch was the perfect place to survive the end of the world. But it wasn’t surviving unless my girls were there with me. So I watched the road, sometimes looking so hard I could almost see them.

But on Thursday morning, it wasn’t on the road that I saw someone. It was over the hill.

Nathan

“DADDY!” ZOE SAID, HALF AFRAID, half angry. She was using her scolding voice, the one she used to parent Aubrey and me when we were breaking a rule. “You left me!” she said, her eyes already puffy and wet from tears. “You left me!”

“I didn’t leave,” I said, rushing to my knees in front of her on the couch. I kept my voice calm and soothing. “I was just upstairs talking to Miss Joy.”

It was irresponsible of me to let Zoe wake up alone in a strange place. My daughter was sensitive to many things—fabric, noise, situations—and our routine had kept her calm for the most part. A year had almost passed since Zoe’s last “episode,” as her school counselor called them, but I could always tell when she was working up to one.

Knowing we needed to be quiet to survive, Zoe couldn’t release an overstimulation like she used to. I refused to make it a rule, though. Not before she found another outlet. “Zoe,” I said, letting my voice slide over the back of my tongue. Aubrey didn’t have the patience for this, but she also didn’t have a butter voice, as she called it. Zoe responded much better to the silky smooth tone I used for these moments.

Zoe balled up her fist and hit my shoulder. It didn’t hurt. She didn’t mean for it to, she was just releasing the overwhelming emotions she couldn’t process any other way. “Never leave me!”

“I wouldn’t. I would never leave you. I’m sorry you were afraid when you woke up. That’s my fault.”

She used her other hand to hit my chest. “I was! I was afraid!”

“That’s it,” I said, encouraging her. “Use your words.”

Zoe took a deep breath, always a good sign. “I was having a bad dream! I didn’t know where I was! I thought you were dead!”

I nodded. Her eyes were wild and her body trembled, a signal that she wasn’t quite on the down slope, but she was peaking.

“Never again!”

“You know I can’t make promises, Zoe.”

“No, you promise!” she screamed.

I nodded. “What I can promise is to never leave without telling you again. You’ll always know where I am. Deal?”

Zoe took in a staggering breath, and then breathed out. She blinked a few times, and then her eyes relaxed. I held out my arms for her to hug me. She wouldn’t have allowed me to before she was ready, anyway. I’d learned over the years to just offer and wait.

When her tiny body was nuzzled up against mine, I wrapped my arms around her. “I’m sorry, baby. I’m here. You’re safe and loved. Safe and loved.”

Zoe melted against me and whimpered. It was exhausting and frightening for her when she lost control, and if she hadn’t just woke up, she probably would have lied down for a nap. I wiped her eyes and took her hand.

“Miss Joy made breakfast.”

I led her up the stairs, unable to ignore the looks from Walter and Joy. I had become accustomed to them. People who happened to be around during an episode were usually either annoyed or sympathetic, with no in-between. A woman at the mall once approached Aubrey to advise us that Zoe just needed a good spanking. It seemed like everyone who didn’t understand always knew how to parent Zoe better than we did. Even if they didn’t say it, they let us know with their expressions. Zoe never seemed to notice. I hoped she never would.

“Here you go, Zoe. I hope you like cinnamon rolls.”

“Oh, I do,” Zoe said, her eyes big and her smile wide. She followed the plate until it was in front of her, and didn’t hesitate to pick one up with both hands and shove it into her mouth.

Joy smiled. “I didn’t figure she’d want a fork.”

“Nope,” I said. “I can’t thank you enough.”

“Daddy? Where’s Mommy?” Zoe asked through a mouthful of bread.

“She’s uh . . .” I stuttered, looking to Joy. “She went on a trip.”

“Is she coming back? How will she find us?”

My mouth pulled to the side. “I don’t know, baby.”

Zoe looked down at her cinnamon roll, clearly trying to process the news.

A small dog began to yap. Just a few times at first, and then consistently. Joy smiled. “That’s Princess. She belongs to the Carsons next door. I’ve been feeding her and letting her out in the backyard. Would you like to help me feed Princess, Zoe?”

Zoe nodded emphatically, shoving the rest of the cinnamon roll in her mouth as she pushed her chair away from the table. The chair screeched against the floor as she did so, and I closed one eye tight, recoiling from the noise.

Walter smiled. “This floor has survived three grandchildren, two of ’em boys. I think it can stand up to Zoe.”

We spent the rest of the day talking and watching the road. After she and Zoe returned from feeding Princess, Joy found a few board games and some cards, and played Go Fish with Zoe. It was quiet, but once in a while, someone from Shallot would shuffle by, their eyes milky white, and always with a wound. I wondered if people that had been bitten were slowly turning and making their way out to the road.

Walter and I returned to the porch to sit in twin wooden rockers after the last dead person wandered by. Joy brought us sandwiches and apple slices. I thanked her, wondering when my next chance would come to ask her about what she didn’t say that morning.

“That was Jesse Biggins,” Walter said, biting off a piece of apple. He shook his head. “He’s a big hunter. Has quite a few guns at his place. Maybe we should visit?”

“Does he have any family?”

Walter shook his head. “His wife died several years back. His kids moved to the city. It’d be a worth a try.”

I nodded. “Maybe we should hit a couple of places for supplies?”

“We just have the one general store. Not much a store, really, but it’s all we got. I don’t know who else isn’t sick. Maybe everything is already gone.”

“How many people live here? Just a ballpark figure.”

Walter breathed from his nose while he thought. “A hundred. That’s a generous number.”