We’ve taken a wide berth of cities, sticking to rural North Carolina. Getting out of Durham was tough. Deadly. Every step I take is just one more that surprises me. I shouldn’t be here. Not when so many others are gone.
To be honest, I don’t have a good idea on how many people are still out there and “normal.” By the time the media really caught on to what was going on and decided to get serious and not just sensationalize, the news programs were shut down—replaced by the endless and pointless emergency messages.
The trail ends and we come to the edge of the forest. A field stretches before us, filled with row after row of tobacco. From here I can see the small house positioned in the middle of the property. “See that barn?” I ask, pointing across the field. The house is a fair but walkable distance from the ancient looking barn. The walls are made of weathered gray planks, and the roof has rusty shingles. It looks like it’s been deserted for years.
Perfect.
“That should make an okay shelter tonight. Maybe we can find some food or at least water.”
“I can’t wait to sit down—even for a couple of hours,” she says. My mother isn’t old but walking ten miles a day over rocky terrain, in the middle of the summer has taken its toll, including a twisted and swollen ankle.
“Let’s try for a solid night’s sleep. I’ll take first shift.”
That brought some light to her gray eyes. “Thanks for taking care of me, Al. You’re kicking ass out here.”
“Thanks for making me go to Girl Scouts even though I refused to wear that stupid sash. Really? Who wears a sash? I mean, there’s a ninety-nine percent chance it will catch on fire while roasting marshmallows.”
My mother ignores me as she tends to do these days. We’re both tired, including of each other. I check the area carefully listening as much as looking. The Eaters are sneaky bastards—their brains may be fried but they still have some thinking parts up there and it sucks.
“Let’s go,” I say, leading the way down a flattened row between tobacco plants. The sandy dirt is soft under our feet and we move quickly toward the barn without incident getting there just before nightfall. We reach the massive door and I start to lift the rusted latch—Mom stops me by tugging on my pack.
“It’s not too late,” she reminds me for at least the fourth time today. Her voice quivers, sounding desperate. Panicked. She’s been up and down about this for weeks. I’m not sure how much longer she can take it.
“Mom,” I say trying not to get annoyed. “We promised.”
“There’s no way he could have known what would happen out here. He would want us to be at home, safe.”
I shake my head but keep quiet. She’s wrong. She just can’t bring herself to accept the truth. There is no home and there certainly isn’t any safe. Not now. Maybe not ever. But at least we have a mission. Something to get us moving every day. At least my father gave us that.
“Dad told us to go. He’s going to meet us. Leaving was what he wanted us to do. You know that.”
I see the change on her face—the one that happens when she’s not willing to accept reality. Denial has worked for her for many years but this time it won’t work. Reality is all we have—and our reality? It bites.
Chapter Four
~Before~
4 Months Ago
“Alex, your appointment time is at ten-thirty. Don’t be late.”
“I won’t, Dad.”
He’s talking to me from the other side of my bedroom door on his way to work at the lab. I’m barely awake, burrowed beneath my black and white patterned comforter. I fought the urge to shut my eyes again. I’d stayed up too late last night playing League of Mythmakers online.
“It’s important—don’t forget.”
“I won’t,” I say again. To be fair he normally just ignores me. I should be glad he’s taken an interest in something other than hook worms and ticks, right? “Promise.”
I arrive at the lab an hour later, early in fact. After a quick check-in at the desk, I go to the back and sit at one of the stations.
“How are you today?” the lab tech asks. I glance up and smile at my boyfriend, LabGuy. Okay, he’s not my boyfriend. Not by a longshot. I don’t know his name or anything else about him other than that he has a pair of bright blue eyes and the thickest, dark eyelashes I’ve ever seen on a guy. He wears a mask that covers his mouth and nose, making the rest of his face indistinguishable—but for some reason, that makes him even more enticing. His voice is deep and his hands are gentle. I wonder if they’re soft too but they’re wrapped in protective green gloves.
“I’m fine,” I say stifling a yawn. LabGuy takes my hand and wipes my finger with alcohol. I shiver but then he quickly stabs my finger with the prick “Mother-f—” I swear. Hurts every mother-f’ing time.
“Sorry,” he says, but I see the amusement in his eyes. He extracts a small, pin-sized vial of blood and then places a piece of cotton on my finger. My finger beats like a tiny drum when he wraps it with a Band-Aid.
“How much longer do we have to do this?” I ask feeling the pulsing heat at the tip of my finger.