Jamison

THE PAST THREE DAYS HAVE BEEN THE easiest we’ve had since . . . honestly, I can’t remember when. Maybe since my first day out of the hospital in the Keys. Andrew and I spent that day walking around our neighborhood, meeting new people—it was the day we met Daphne because she had to be the first one to gossip about us to everyone. Cara kept to herself most of the day, but the three of us had dinner on the dock behind our house.

It was the first day since my mom had died that I felt hopeful.

Reallyhopeful. Not just wishing for something good to happen, but actually having good things happen to us—like it was a bridge being built before our eyes. On the other side of that bridge was supposed to be comfort and safety, but the longer we were there, the more I realized both sides were the same.

It’s not that the Nomads are trustworthy—I think this is just how we live our lives now, with hesitation and caution. I trust them as much as I trusted the people back at the Keys. They’re just trying to survive, like us, and they’re going to do what they need to do. But it’s nice having others around to watch our backs—at least for a while.

Also the driving.

Gasoline doesn’t burn as efficiently when it’s old and stale, so we have to stop a lot more often to find fuel. It’s also helpful having so many people with us because when we come to a roadblock—like an overturned truck or disabled vehicle—we can work together and try to clear a path. Otherwise we backtrack and find a new road.

I also notice a change in Andrew. I can still see the pain in his eyes, and sometimes he’ll wince and pull his injured arm to his chest, but he’s calmer now. Once we’ve passed the sign welcoming us to South Carolina—“The Palmetto State”—he seems to relax a bit. And maybe I do, too.

We’re taking the day off from travel so Rocky Horror and a few others can go out in search of fuel. We still haven’t found another vehicle, so we’ve been pretty cramped in the two RVs. It also doesn’t help that for the past two days it’s been raining, and Rocky Horror, Andrew, a few others, and I have been traveling in the beds of the pickup trucks. There were ponchos and tarps for us to huddle under, but it’s been getting chillier as we’ve headed north.

“The kids need some warm clothes, too,” Daphne says. She’s winded from chasing around Henri-Two and one of the other kids. The rest are playing with the Nomad kids—except for the Kid, who’s by himself with his stuffed hippo.

“The next town over might have a department store,” Cara says. She’s by one of the tents set up under an overhang. We stopped for the night in an amusement park parking lot because there are large, flat metal awnings over some of the parking spots at the back of the lot. There’s also a picnic area.

Cara gets out her road atlas to find our location and start mapping a route. Andrew is next to her, lying on the ground with his eyes closed.

“We can go check it out,” I say. “There might be some stuff we can use. Maybe they’ll let us take the other truck.”

Behind me I hear a snort. “Definitely not.”

Niki joins us. She and Jamar have been hanging with us a lot.

“They’re a little worried about gas,” she continues. “There’s no way they’re going to let you borrow a truck when they aren’t sure if there’s any gas around.”

“Cara, how far is it?” I ask.

She stares at the road atlas a little longer, then glances up at me. “Maybe five miles?”

The sky is overcast, but it’s still early afternoon. If we leave now, we can probably get into town, find a clothing store, and still get back a little after sunset. “Not too bad. Niki, you want to come along?”

She turns, looking at the groups of kids playing in the parking lot, probably trying to find her brother, who absolutely ran off with Taylor again. It was especially hard to tell the kids to stay away from the amusement park—Palmetto Park and Splash World Resort—so they made sure to station a few people in front of the park gates to keep them from trying to find a way in.

“I don’t know,” she says. “Do y’all know where Jamar and Taylor are?”

“They’re out by the road,” Andrew says without opening his eyes. I thought he was sleeping. “I saw them walk that way about twenty minutes ago.”

“Thanks. I’ll walk that way with you all, but I think I’ll pass on the trip to town.”

I grab our bags and dump the contents into my sleeping bag. Andrew sits up. His arm is still wrapped in gauze, and he keeps it in the sling despite claiming his shoulder doesn’t hurt anymore. He holds out his good arm for the backpack.

“Stay here and rest,” I say.

“I’m rested,” he says. “I’d rather get in some walking. This driving in the apocalypse shit is for the birds.”

“The birds are dead, sweetie. Resting, like you ought to be.”

“Then resting is for the birds, too. Tell him to let me come with you, Cara.”

“Talking to either of you is for the birds,” she says.

“Birds don’t talk,” Andrew says, snatching the backpack from me with a little too much gusto. He flinches and I can tell it hurt his arm.

“Parrots do,” Niki says.

Cara puts away the atlas and joins us. “Parrots are smarter, too.” She pushes past me and heads toward the parking lot entrance. Niki and I laugh as Andrew acts indignant.

“You know, I am injured. You should be nicer to me.”

“I didn’t tell you to stick your hand in an alligator’s mouth,” Cara calls back. “Even parrots know not to do that.”

I wrap my arm around Andrew and kiss his temple as he humphs.

We find Taylor and Jamar sitting on a metal guardrail next to the road.

“Hey, guys,” Niki calls out. “Can you come back up to camp where we can see you?”

Taylor stands, but Jamar turns to look at his sister. “Why?”

“Because I asked you to.”

“That’s not a good reason, Niki.”

“It’s fine,” Taylor says.

But Jamar ignores her and addresses his sister. “We aren’t doing anything.”

“Then you can do nothing where I can see you better.”

“Why? You think a stranger’s going to roll up in his white van and offer us some candy?”

Andrew leans closer to me and lowers his voice. “I mean, it is the apocalypse. If that happened, I’d one thousand percent take the candy. Especially if it was Sour Patch Kids.”

“We’re not going to argue about this,” Niki says, crossing her arms. “Now get to camp. Both of you.”

Jamar finally stands, and Taylor moves to walk to the camp with him, but he puts his arm out in front of her. “No.”

“Jamar.”

“Nikita.”

The siblings stare at each other, neither blinking nor backing down. I’m curious to know if this is what Andrew and his younger sister were like. From the few stories he’s told me about his life before the end of the world, it seems very similar. Only maybe his younger sister was the one who was telling him what to do.

“I’m not going to talk about this anymore,” Niki says. “Get over to the camp or else.”

“Or else what? You gonna ground me? Take away my phone? Go figure out a better way to feel important and stop making me your project.”

Even Taylor seems shocked by his words. I can’t see Niki’s face, but I do see her start in surprise. She takes two strides toward him but stops. Jamar holds his ground and so does she. Then finally she turns around and looks at us. Her face is unreadable.

“Fine. I’m coming to town with you all,” she says.

“More the merrier,” says Andrew.

“Do you want to grab your bag?” Cara asks.

She shakes her head. “Nope. Let’s go.”

“I’m coming, too,” Taylor says. She gives Jamar a look, and I didn’t have a younger sister like Andrew, but I recognize it immediately.

“Wait,” Jamar says. “Why are you going?”

“Because you were rude to your sister,” Taylor says. “She just wanted to make sure you were okay and that she knew where you were, and you were rude. And I’m not in the mood to hang out with you when you’re being rude.” She walks around Jamar—whose face has dropped in confusion and shock—and follows Cara.

“Fine,” Jamar says. “I’ll come with you all.”

“No,” Taylor says, looking back. “You can stay here. With the kids.”

Niki smiles and turns back to her brother. She points at him. “Grounded.”

Then she follows Cara and Taylor. Jamar gives Andrew and me one last look of desperation, his eyes begging us to do something. Andrew manages to shrug with just his right arm and shoulder, and we follow the others.

Once we’re a good distance away, Taylor says to Niki, “I’m sorry about Jamar. I don’t know what’s gotten into him.”

Niki laughs. “Girl, don’t feel like you should apologize for him, because it’s not your fault. I’m honestly kinda okay with it.”

“Seriously?” Taylor asks.

“Yeah.” Niki sounds different, like she’s happy about it. “Ever since the world ended, he’s been stuck to my side like glue. Always doing what I said without a word, looking for permission for every little thing. Once our mom was gone, I had to step up and take care of him and my grandma.” I glance back at them, and Niki’s smile drops before she continues. “But now he’s a little more like he was before the flu. Defiant little asshole.”

Taylor chuckles.

“I think it’s a good thing,” Niki continues. “Means he feels comfortable. Safe, maybe.” Her voice turns serious again. “Now, that doesn’t mean he can get away with talking to me like that. But it’s still kinda nice.”

“Hey, look.” Niki points ahead, past a tractor trailer parked across a sidewalk. There’s a big sign for a shopping center that lists all the stores in it. Big Lots, Kroger, and all the way near the top, Dick’s Sporting Goods.

Across the street is another shopping center. This one has several fast-casual food joints, two chain restaurants, a Best Buy, and a Kohl’s.

“Let’s check the Dick’s,” Andrew says. “Because, one, I’m immature and just wanted to say that—”

“Naturally,” Cara says with a frown.

“And two, they’re bound to have some stuff we can use. Ammo, camping gear, maybe even some freeze-dried food.”

“But the Kohl’s is going to have more clothes,” Niki says. “And we came for winter clothes.”

“You three head to Kohl’s,” I say. “Andrew and I will take the Dick’s.”

Andrew snorts and Cara rolls her eyes as Taylor shakes her head. But no one argues, and Cara tells us to meet back by the overturned truck when we’re done.

As we head for the Dick’s, Andrew smiles up at me. “Did you make the inappropriate joke just to cheer me up?”

“Did it work?”

“Maybe.”

“Then yes.”

The store’s automatic front doors have been smashed in by some kind of vehicle, but it looks like they must have been able to drive away afterward.

Inside, dead leaves gather in piles against endcaps and register aisles. Every once in a while, the breeze makes a leaf skitter across the floor. It’s dark since the only light comes from the broken front doors and the sun is behind a thick layer of low-lying clouds. I take out my flashlight, and Andrew and I head for the clothing. There are overturned racks of yoga pants, shirts, and shorts. The sports jerseys on the far wall have been ripped down and only a few less-than-stellar teams remain.

I can’t help myself and pick through a few on the floor, looking for a Phillies jersey or even an Eagles shirt. Of course they aren’t there, which means either they were never here in the first place or the people of this town had good taste.

There are pillars of dark television screens that have been smashed to bits, and old signs ripped and thrown about. Andrew finds an empty circular rack and shines his flashlight on the ground beneath it.

“Here are some jackets.”

I join him, picking up a bright green puffer jacket on top of the pile. Feathers tumble out and something moves.

No, several somethings move.

Andrew screams as a nest of rats the size of my forearm scatter, squealing and running in all directions. I shriek and jump as one tumbles over my foot. Throwing the jacket across the room, Andrew and I sprint in the opposite direction.

My flesh crawls and I jump up and down, groaning, as Andrew “yeesh”-es and clutches his arm to his chest.

“Shit!” I shout. “Ugh.”

Andrew laughs. “I fucking hate the apocalypse.”

“Hard same.” I cringe again as the rats continue to scamper somewhere else in the store.

“Do we go back and see if any of the jackets are salvageable?”

I shine my flashlight over to the pile of jackets and down feathers. “If even some of them are okay, it might be worth it. And we can always wash them.”

Andrew pushes me forward. “Cool, you go look. I’ll check over here.”

I shudder again and head back to the pile of clothes. I pick them up, one by one, examining each as I hold it between my thumb and forefinger. They’re tattered and gutted. Down litters the floor, along with rat shit and shredded nylon. Still, I might be able to stitch some of these together.

“Jamie! Over here!”

I drop the coat in my hand and walk over to the children’s section. Andrew has thrown several coats on top of a rack.

“Most of these aren’t rat infested. Think they’ll fit the kids?”

“If not, they’ll grow into them.” And maybe one or two that don’t fit can be used to patch the larger ones. Then something clicks. “Oh. Wait here.”

I run up to the front of the store—a rat skittering away from me makes me jump—but there’s only leaves and more mess. This time it’s shredded bags of impulse-buy candy and snacks from near the registers.

I point my flashlight down the aisles as I walk until I spot an empty dark green cart. I grab it and pull it farther down the aisle to the baseball equipment section. There are plenty of gloves left on the floor, ripped from their boxes. As my light flashes across it, more rodents scurry away. But there’s a metal baseball bat on the floor. I take it and throw it in the cart.

On my way back to Andrew, I stop at the hunting section. There’s a plastic deer on the ground that’s been beaten to bits, its head halfway across the cordoned-off area and riddled with bullet holes and neon-feathered arrows.

“Jamie! What are you doing?”

“Just a sec!” I jump over the counter and almost land on a body. I try to right myself so I don’t step on them, tumbling against the empty racks where the guns usually would be. The body is face down and wearing a backpack.

“You okay?” Andrew’s voice calls out.

“Yeah. I just tripped.”

“Please stop being so clumsy. We can’t both be injured. The Nomads will put us out to pasture.”

I have no idea why I lied to him. It’s not like it’s strange to find a dead body these days. But maybe it’s because of how this person is dressed. As though he was on the road, long after the superflu burned out. And maybe because he still smells. Sweet and rotten like the basement neo-Nazi.

I slip his backpack off, but it’s already light and unzipped. When I place it on the counter and look inside, there’s no food or bullets, only clothes. And not even winter clothes.

I turn the body over and see the four bullet holes in his chest. His hands are empty, but I check his pockets. There’s lint and a small pocketknife in one, and only a folded-up piece of paper in the other. I put the pocketknife on the counter. There’s ink on both sides of the paper, but it bleeds out around the edges as if it’s been stamped.

My blood runs cold.

On the back of the paper is a small square image that looks carved from a makeshift rubber stamp. It’s a map that shows a convergence of highways and roads. In the center of the map is a black ink spot.

Above the spot are the words FORT CAROLINE.

Below the map is another stamp, but this one has ugly carved letters with instructions on how to reach Fort Caroline by any of the major highways. There’s more ink on the back of the page.

I flip it over to find I’m wrong—this is the front page. This is what people would see first if these pieces of paper were plastered around a certain area.

The stamped letters at the top of the paper say WANTED.

Below that, someone has lined up several stamps carved with sentences that have no punctuation. Each stamp cants at different directions and the margins aren’t lined up.

Fort Caroline is on the hunt for an escaped fugitive who goes by the name of Jamison

He is 17 years old 6 foot 3 inches a large build light-brown hair blue eyes

Jamison is wanted for the assassination of selectmans assistant Harvey Rosewood

He is armed and should be considered extremely dangerous

Fort Caroline will reward anyone with information that leads to capture

Or if Jamison is brought to us we will pay handsomely with food shelter and more

Then, at the bottom, in the same size font as the WANTED above it is the word ALIVE.

Shit. They made wanted posters for me.

“Jamie!”

I flinch and almost rip the paper in half.

“Andrew, I’m looking for bullets. Stop yelling.” But my voice sounds shaky. My hands, my whole body in fact, are buzzing with adrenaline and fear.

“We don’t need them. The Nomads have plenty.”

He’s right. I quickly fold up the paper and put it in my backpack with the pocketknife. I look back down at the body one last time, wondering where he came from, and where he found this wanted poster. We drove all through Georgia and didn’t see any. Part of me wants to show Andrew, but I don’t want him to worry.

Then another thought comes to me.

What if Cal and the Nomads found one of these? We’re already past Fort Caroline, but they could be talking to them on a radio and agreeing to another rendezvous point farther ahead.

For now I’ll just keep this quiet. Maybe this guy was from Fort Caroline, and that’s the only reason he had the paper in his pocket. I grab the cart—and another that’s shoved against the counter—and head back to Andrew.

He smirks. “Why is there always a cart with one janky wheel?”

“It’s store policy.” I try to keep my voice steady.

We start loading up the kids’ jackets.

“How are you feeling?” I ask. But before he can snap at me for asking about his arm, I clarify, “I mean about us being on the road. With the Nomads.” Now, after finding the wanted poster, I want to be back in the cabin with him more than ever. Away from the roads and people and Fort Caroline.

He holds up one jacket, checking both sides for rat bites or some other kind of rodent holes. “Okay, I guess. I mean, it’s hard to find things to complain about when we’re being chauffeured around.”

“Do you miss the Keys?”

He stops and looks up at me. “Do you?”

“No, but I know you were hoping things would be different.”

He moves over to a display of hiking and camping clothes and starts picking up things from the floor.

“I was.” He throws some gloves and hats in the cart, then stops and approaches me. In the dim light I can see the sadness on his face, and it answers all my questions about how he felt leaving the Keys. “I just—I know you were scared. And I know why. You got shot and you almost died. That’s enough to royally screw up anyone’s trust.”

Hearing him say that out loud gives me a sudden sense of relief. It’s such a comfort to know he understood where I was coming from. It means we haven’t drifted apart like I was scared we had. I start to reach for the wanted sign in my pocket, but he speaks and it stops me in my tracks.

“But,” he says, “I hope you know there’s more people you can trust besides me. And Cara, too. Things have changed since the bug destroyed everything, but there are still good people who survived.”

There’s that worry again, though. That maybe the Nomads know Fort Caroline is looking for me. I can’t get rid of it entirely.

“What if I fully trust only you and Cara, and hang on to the smallest bit of doubt about everyone else, to keep us safe?”

There’s sadness in his eyes. He puts his good hand up to my chest. “It’s not your responsibility to keep us safe. We have an equal share in that, and no one is ever one hundred percent safe. Even before the bug.”

No, but post-superflu America is still more dangerous than it was before. Especially when we have two settlements out there looking for us now. And who knows how many people in between who have wanted posters with my name and description on them.

He gets up on the tips of his toes and kisses me gently.

“We’ll be okay,” he says.

I nod and he turns his attention back to the rats’ nest of coats on the floor. He grabs a few of the least torn adult jackets.

“And you can sew these into a Postapocalyptic Coat of Many Colors.”

“It’s going to be hideous,” I say, looking at the neon-green jacket with a shredded arm.

“Absolutely. I love it already.”

We finish grabbing the best of the coats and take the cart out to the road. Cara, Niki, and Taylor are waiting for us with their own haul of clothes but not nearly as much winter stuff, so maybe it is good we split up.

Before either party can say anything, we hear a strange sound drifting through the quiet, supposedly empty town. It’s music. And it’s being played through speakers. It’s a tinkly version of . . .

“Is that the Mexican hat dance?” Niki asks.

I turn my head toward it, listening to the music echoing through the dead town. Immediately I’m on edge, because that music is being played by a machine—it sounds as if it’s being piped from an ice cream truck. Someone could be playing the music across town to distract us into thinking we’re safe here while they’re watching us from around the corner. My eyes dart everywhere, looking for more wanted signs, people crouched down, guns.

“I think we might have just ended up in a horror movie,” Andrew says. The Mexican hat dance stops playing, but then seconds later, it starts over again.

“Then let’s not stick around,” I say. Taylor’s eyes are wide and worried, and she’s probably regretting making this trip with us. She and Cara are the first to turn and head back toward the highway.

I focus on every shadow, trying to discern movement. But the Mexican hat dance doesn’t follow us, and by the time we’re on the highway, we don’t hear it anymore.

Back at the camp, Niki says she’s going to tell Cal and the others to keep an eye out. Their ears, too—though I doubt whoever was playing the music would play it if they wanted to sneak up on us. Unless it really was a diversion. Or a way to draw people in.

“We should tell Daphne and Kelly, too,” Andrew says. “Figure out the best way to tell the kids without scaring them.”

“Then you shouldn’t do it,” I say, nudging him playfully. “I’ll go find Daphne.”

The sky above us finally gives up the ghost and a misty drizzle falls. We head toward the covered parking spots where we’ve set up our camp. Amy is following Henri-Two as she teeters around. Behind her the Kid sits quietly, still not playing with the others.

“Is the Kid okay?” I ask Andrew.

He looks sad when he answers. “He’s always been kind of a loner. He got pretty close with Taylor after Frank died, but I think she’s been a little distracted.”

Taylor has, in fact, already run over to Jamar, no doubt to tell him all about our near miss with a slasher movie. I make a mental note to talk with Daphne and Kelly about how we can get the Kid to hang out with the others; I feel bad, seeing him sitting on his own.

When we reach Amy, Henri-Two looks up and does her clumsy half walk a few steps to us—Amy following and holding her hands at either side of her—then she stops just short and smiles up at us before turning back to her mom. Andrew follows, knowing the game well enough, and tickles Henri-Two’s legs as Amy scoops her up so she can be at his height. Henri-Two squeals, babbles something, and buries her face in Amy’s shoulder.

“Where’s Daphne?” I ask as Andrew keeps making baby noises and tries in vain to get Henri-Two to look at him.

Amy smiles as Henri-Two giggles. “She’s lying down.” She nods to the grass, where I see Daphne lying beneath a blanket. “She didn’t look too great, so I told her to take a nap. But we might want to wake her. It’s starting to rain, and also we should get the kids fed and start the bedtime routines.”

I nod. “I’ll go.”

Amy thanks me and I head over to Daphne and gently shake her shoulder. She opens her eyes slowly, looking up at me, not seeing me, then focusing.

“Oh, when did it start raining?” she asks.

“A couple minutes ago. We should try and get everyone covered up and ready for bed.”

She sits up with a little help from me. “I miss the rainy days at my computer. A cup of tea and a steamy open-door scene at the ready. You know how many different ways I had to think of to say erect penis?”

“Please tell me all of them,” I say as she stands. “I need a new way to make Andrew blush.”

She laughs and winces, rubbing at her shoulder.

“You good?”

“Yeah. My muscles have been aching these last few days.” She winces again, rubbing at her shoulder and neck. “Go ahead, make sure the kids get under cover while I pick up this stuff.”

I nod and turn to go. Just as I do, I hear her cry out a soft “oh!” When I turn, she’s bent over, her knees on the ground.

“You all right, Daph?”

She falls onto her side.

“Daphne!”

I crouch next to her. She’s looking up at me, surprised, blinking against the light rain.

“What’s wrong? What is it?”

But she isn’t rubbing her shoulder anymore. She’s clutching at her chest. Her breath is quick, and she’s paler than I’ve ever seen her.

“Hey!” I shout at whoever will hear me. “Help! Someone help!” Rocky Horror sees what’s happening and shouts that he’s getting Dr. Jenn. Andrew is immediately at my side.

“What happened?”

“She fell,” I say.

She manages to gasp, “Get the . . . kids away.”

I turn to see a group of them watching us, their faces masks of fear and worry.

“Andrew, the kids.”

He turns and sees exactly what she means. “Stay with her.”

“I will.”

And he’s gone. I hear him, Amy, and Cara trying to calm the kids behind me, but I’m more focused on Daphne.

“It’s okay,” I say to her. “Dr. Jenn will be here soon, okay?” I hold her hand. It’s wet, and her grasp seems so strong.

She looks at me, her eyes wide and her skin gray and wet from the rain. Her breathing comes in sharp inhalations. Then one long exhale.

She doesn’t breathe in again. Her hand goes limp in mine.

“No, Daphne, wait!” I place the heel of my hand on her chest and start compressing. This was something my mom taught me well before the superflu, in case anyone ever collapsed near me when I was on the bus or subway on the way to school. She gave me a list of songs that were between 100 and 120 beats per minute and taught me how to do chest compressions until help got there, and to teach someone else when I got tired.

I thought it would be funny choosing “Crazy in Love” by Beyoncé, but it’s not. I listen to the beat of the song in my head as I push down on Daphne’s chest.

“I’m here!” Dr. Jenn slides to a stop, crouching down across from me in the rain, which is growing heavier. “Did you see what happened?”

“She was asleep, I helped her stand, and she seemed fine but then she fell.”

“Was she complaining of any pain?” She reaches out and grabs my hand, stopping me as she puts two fingers against Daphne’s throat.

“Her shoulder and neck. She said it was from sleeping on the ground.”

She points a flashlight in Daphne’s eyes and lets go of my hand. I take that to mean I can continue compressions, but Dr. Jenn grabs my hands again.

“She’s gone, Jamie.” She reaches out to close Daphne’s eyes, then sits back on her heels and lets out a long sigh. “She might have thought it was from sleeping on the ground, but it sounds like she had a heart attack.”

A heart attack. That’s so . . . mundane. We all survived a superflu—a superflu with a near-100-percent mortality rate, in which we were in direct contact with people who died from it. Most survivors believe we’re immune. We’re supposed to worry about escaped zoo animals and other survivors with guns and natural disasters and serial killers playing the Mexican hat dance. Not something as simple as a heart attack.

Dr. Jenn stands up and puts a hand on my shoulder. “I’m sorry.”

I thank her and stand, then walk over to Andrew. He already knows what I’m going to say before I say it, and his face scrunches up into a look of grief. I pull him into a hug and let him cry into my chest as I whisper over and over that I’m sorry.