Zocopalypse (Death Fields 1)

He shook his head. “And there’s no cure or anything?”

I touch the pouch under my shirt. “Not that anyone knows about. I don’t know how long they can survive after they’re infected. Do they need food? Or will they just decompose on their own? Or God knows, maybe something worse.”

“So the “I don’t knows” are bigger than anything else.”

“Yeah, I guess so. I suppose the end of the world was never meant to be logical.”

Wyatt rubs his chin. It’s covered in several days scruff but not a full beard. He must have shaved at the house he’d been holed up in a couple of days ago. His nails rake against the scratchy whiskers, his eyes deep in thought. I’m about to fall over from exhaustion and I say, “I guess I’ll take the back room, if that’s okay?”

“Yeah, sure,” he replies absently.

I get my pack and carry it through the small living room, making sure to have my gun and hatchet with me. It’s not that I don’t trust Wyatt…I mean, I don’t but life has changed. We sleep with weapons. We scavenge for food. Thinking about it too much makes my head—and heart—hurt.

“Alex,” he says when I’m halfway through the bedroom door. “Thanks for making dinner.”

He gives me a smile—or something close to one. I nod in return, holding my hatchet close to my side, thankful for his smile—for that one, very human gesture. At least we still have that.

Chapter Twenty-Two

~Before~

Seven Weeks Earlier

My dad calls me to his office, the one down the hall from my bedroom. I pass my mom who can’t even pretend things are okay. That’s my first signal this isn’t going to go well. The next sign is the look on my father’s face when I enter the room. He’s pulled down his face mask, probably in direct violation of all policies, and held his arms out to me. I’m not the biggest daddy’s girl. I’m more of a can’t-wait-to-get-out-of-the-house kind of girl, but all of this is imploding. Like, the world is imploding and this may be the only chance I may get.

He hugs me tight and starts talking. And talking. We’re like this for minutes, his mouth close to my ear. He tells me everything he knows. That the infection is spreading, it’s an epidemic, and it will kill nearly everyone. Stay away from people. If they’re bitten, run. If you are around someone and their eyes turn black, run. That’s the final sign. That’s the part that means they’re contagious.

“What do we do?” I whisper.

He continues explaining that the military is fighting—building shelters, keeping people safe—but not to go there.

“Wait here for me,” he whispers.

“What if they make us go?” This has happened. Some communities have already crumbled. People aren’t take the end of the world well.

“Even then. Don’t go. I’m close to solving this.”

“What happens then? When you solve it? Does everything go back to normal?”

“That depends on the military and the government and how quickly they act. How quickly they choose to act. If there’s more coming,” he rambled sounding increasingly distressed. “It has mutated fast and it’s unpredictable. You’ve got to stay with your mother. Wait for me here.”

“And what if you don’t come back?” There’s a reason I’m valedictorian.

“Give me two weeks. Then head south. Find your sister. It’s imperative.”

He pulls something from his pocket, a small rectangular pouch with a string attached to both ends. He loops it over my head and gestures for me to wear it under my shirt. “That is half of a greater whole. Your sister has the other half.”

“You saw her? How did you get it to her? Is she okay?”

“The last time I spoke to her she was okay. She’ll meet you outside Atlanta.” The address is in the pouch. We’re to go find her and wait.

I nod at my father but narrow my eyes, looking for signs of cracks. Is he making this up? Losing his mind? He’s been under pressure for weeks—if not months. He’s brilliant, a genius even, but right now I’m not sure. He’s talking crazy. He sounds like a conspiracy theorist.

He sounds a lot like me.

There’s nothing I can do but agree to his requests. “Two weeks,” I whisper, wondering who is listening. LabGuy? The security person? Do they care?

He hugs me tight and makes me promise one more time.