All Our Tomorrows Read Online Free PDF Page A

on the roof, but the wind has shifted to the south. We’re past the worst of it.”
    Ferguson doesn’t say anything. He looks through David rather than at him.
    “Dad?” David says, resting his hand on Ferguson’s knee as Olivia continues bathing the old man’s hands. In the soft light, she cleans grit out of his burns with a pair of tweezers.
    David glances at me as though he expects me to be able to get through to his dad, but I don’t know what he thinks I can do. I’m shattered. Every muscle aches. If Zee were to burst into the barn right now, I wouldn’t move. I couldn’t. I think I know what Ferguson feels. Like Marge, he’s carried the commune on his shoulders for almost a decade. He’s fought for all we have, and everything he worked for has been swept away in a single night. Everyone’s looking for him to lead, but he’s as human as the rest of us. He’s hurt. We all have our limits.
    “I’m going to help fortify the main door,” David says as though he’s responding to something Ferguson said. Ferguson doesn’t even blink. David disappears into the smoky haze. I gently massage Ferguson’s shoulder. He rocks slightly with the motion.
    It’s only then I see my dad sitting across from me. He’s been there all along but I’ve been so distraught I’ve only just realized he’s still looking out for me. He cradles his right arm, holding a dirty bandage over the stump on his wrist. There’s nothing he wouldn’t do for me. My dad knows what I’m going through, what I’m thinking as I sit here comforting Ferguson. I can see it in his dark eyes. He understands Ferguson has hit the wall, and he sees me comforting a man I once despised.
    Life cannot be shoved into a pigeonhole. Time moves on. Forgiveness is a breath of fresh air. No one can relive a single moment from the past. None of us can turn back time. I hated Ferguson. I hated his arrogance, his pigheaded stubborn attitude, his pride, his determination, and yet staring into my father’s eyes, I can see he knows. Ferguson was only trying to do what he thought was right. Ferguson was wrong, but I too understand what he was trying to do and why.
    Olivia has some kind of ointment or grease or healing balm in a jar. She rubs it gently on his palms before bandaging his hands.
    “You need to rest,” she says gently to him. “You have to get some sleep.”
    Ferguson murmurs and nods, which is the most coherent I’ve seen him since he sat next to me. A little tenderness is a wonder drug in itself.
    Olivia ruffles some sacking into a pillow and covers him with a musty old horse blanket. As he lies down, he whispers, “Thank you.” His body may be frail, his mind may ache, but he’s not giving up.
    Dad moves over and sits on the other side of me.
    “How are you holding up?” he asks.
    “Okay, I guess.”
    Neither of us say anything for a few minutes. Zombies growl in the darkness. Hands beat against the wood of the barn. Someone’s fighting Zee down below. I can hear them hacking at arms reaching in through shattered windows as they call for help. Hammers nail boards in place. Wood splinters and breaks. The barn shakes as the battle surges beneath us.
    “We’re not going to make it out of here are we?” I ask, suggesting I’ve already resigned myself to the answer.
    “There’s a lot of them,” Dad replies. I love my dad. I love the way he won’t lie to me just to try and make me feel a little better. Sometimes, though, it would be nice if he stretched the truth a bit, but I understand.
    “Marge is in contact with the outlying homes.”
    “Really?” I’m surprised. I naturally assumed all the houses within the commune had been overrun. “How?”
    “Morse code. Using lanterns. It’s primitive. It’s not very precise, but it works. The creatures have concentrated their attack on the homestead. For the most part, they’ve left the other buildings alone. Marge is trying to figure out how we can escape.”
    Creatures? Dad,