expect government aide to come through soon, probably by next month.”
“ I wouldn’t count on it.” Daylon took a pack from his pocket and tapped out a cigarette.
“ You should think about heading south,” Maureen added.
I’d constantly considered the prospect of hitting the road versus staying in Durbinville. On the road there’d be more zombies, maybe armed gangs, and an uncertain future. I wasn’t quite ready to commit to leaving the known and the safe just yet no matter how restless I felt.
Daylon pushed back his chair and rose. “I’m gonna check on the others.” He strode from the room trailing smoke.
The rest of us lingered over instant coffee and a discussion of what the future might be like. There wasn’t much small talk these days. Water cooler chats about sports or movies were a thing of the past.
Soon after, I made my own excuse to leave the table. I decided to follow Daylon to the neighboring houses to see if everyone had what they needed. Plus, I needed some time alone. There were too many people in my house, too much talking, too much distracting leg-rubbing underneath the table. I just wanted to breathe for a few minutes.
With the sun down, it was cold outside. As I crunched through fallen leaves under the maple tree in my yard, I looked around the neighborhood where I’d grown up and thought of the people who used to live there; the Grovers with all their kids, the Baileys whose dog used to run everywhere and drive crotchety Mr. Henderson crazy. Almost everyone was dead now. Weak light spilled from only a few windows, barely illuminating the deserted street.
The hair on my neck rose as I scanned the shadows for danger, but the comforting weight of the scabbard holding my long knife bumped against my thigh. These days I didn’t go anywhere unarmed. The town may have been zombie-free for months, but I didn’t think I’d ever fully relax again.
I walked to the Henderson house first, up the pale stone pathway the old man had always kept impeccably weed-free, now stained a deep brown from dried blood. No one answered my knock on the door so I pushed it open and went inside.
A murmur of voices drew me down the hallway, past the formal dining room where remnants of a meal littered the table, to the living room, a place as stiff and formal as Mr. Henderson had been. I hesitated in the doorway. The tense postures of the people grouped around the sofa warned me there was something wrong. They weren’t aware of my presence and my instinct was to melt back out of sight before I was caught spying. Spying? Why was that the word that came to mind?
Daylon’s leather-clad back blocked my view. “All we can do is wait and see. These folks don’t have a doctorWe’ll have to take care of the boy ourselves.”
“ He needs medical help,” a woman’s voice protested. “Maybe there’s someone with a little experience who can do something—or at least tell if it’s A7 or not.”
Daylon shifted aside and I saw the woman sitting by the couch. She saw me at the same time and her eyes widened. Then everyone turned and looked at me.
“ I came to see if you need anything.” I decided not to pretend I was ignorant that something was going on. I approached the couch and glimpsed the top of someone’s head on a pillow. “You have an sick person in your group.”
“ Didn’t think your council lady would let us in if she knew so we kept it to ourselves.”
“ You’re right. She wouldn’t have.” I met his stare, letting him know I could be just as hard-assed as he. “And she’s right. You got a sick person you should be in quarantine or outside the wall.”
“ With no running water, electricity or food,” the woman said. “He’s just a little boy. He deserves to lie in a clean, warm place. All we know is that he has a fever. It could be some normal virus, meningitis or God knows what.”
A thin, middle-aged
“ I wouldn’t count on it.” Daylon took a pack from his pocket and tapped out a cigarette.
“ You should think about heading south,” Maureen added.
I’d constantly considered the prospect of hitting the road versus staying in Durbinville. On the road there’d be more zombies, maybe armed gangs, and an uncertain future. I wasn’t quite ready to commit to leaving the known and the safe just yet no matter how restless I felt.
Daylon pushed back his chair and rose. “I’m gonna check on the others.” He strode from the room trailing smoke.
The rest of us lingered over instant coffee and a discussion of what the future might be like. There wasn’t much small talk these days. Water cooler chats about sports or movies were a thing of the past.
Soon after, I made my own excuse to leave the table. I decided to follow Daylon to the neighboring houses to see if everyone had what they needed. Plus, I needed some time alone. There were too many people in my house, too much talking, too much distracting leg-rubbing underneath the table. I just wanted to breathe for a few minutes.
With the sun down, it was cold outside. As I crunched through fallen leaves under the maple tree in my yard, I looked around the neighborhood where I’d grown up and thought of the people who used to live there; the Grovers with all their kids, the Baileys whose dog used to run everywhere and drive crotchety Mr. Henderson crazy. Almost everyone was dead now. Weak light spilled from only a few windows, barely illuminating the deserted street.
The hair on my neck rose as I scanned the shadows for danger, but the comforting weight of the scabbard holding my long knife bumped against my thigh. These days I didn’t go anywhere unarmed. The town may have been zombie-free for months, but I didn’t think I’d ever fully relax again.
I walked to the Henderson house first, up the pale stone pathway the old man had always kept impeccably weed-free, now stained a deep brown from dried blood. No one answered my knock on the door so I pushed it open and went inside.
A murmur of voices drew me down the hallway, past the formal dining room where remnants of a meal littered the table, to the living room, a place as stiff and formal as Mr. Henderson had been. I hesitated in the doorway. The tense postures of the people grouped around the sofa warned me there was something wrong. They weren’t aware of my presence and my instinct was to melt back out of sight before I was caught spying. Spying? Why was that the word that came to mind?
Daylon’s leather-clad back blocked my view. “All we can do is wait and see. These folks don’t have a doctorWe’ll have to take care of the boy ourselves.”
“ He needs medical help,” a woman’s voice protested. “Maybe there’s someone with a little experience who can do something—or at least tell if it’s A7 or not.”
Daylon shifted aside and I saw the woman sitting by the couch. She saw me at the same time and her eyes widened. Then everyone turned and looked at me.
“ I came to see if you need anything.” I decided not to pretend I was ignorant that something was going on. I approached the couch and glimpsed the top of someone’s head on a pillow. “You have an sick person in your group.”
“ Didn’t think your council lady would let us in if she knew so we kept it to ourselves.”
“ You’re right. She wouldn’t have.” I met his stare, letting him know I could be just as hard-assed as he. “And she’s right. You got a sick person you should be in quarantine or outside the wall.”
“ With no running water, electricity or food,” the woman said. “He’s just a little boy. He deserves to lie in a clean, warm place. All we know is that he has a fever. It could be some normal virus, meningitis or God knows what.”
A thin, middle-aged
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