Andrew

WE’RE GOING TO LEAVE HENRI’S SOON. HENRI, Amy, and her sister have all decided to stay, regardless of whatever happens in Fort Caroline. Henri even gave a laugh and said she’d like to see them try to come here.

Amy said she’d cover for us, tell them we went to Connecticut. I even gave them my home address so she could pass it on to them.

The night before we’re planning to leave, Cara asks to talk with me outside.

“I’m going to stay here. Maybe not with Kristy and Amy, but close. Unless they don’t mind me staying. But we’re just three or four days’ walk from my hometown. I haven’t been since . . . August, the year of the flu. I’m not ready to go back yet, but I think I might be one day soon.”

“Do you want us to wait? We can go with you.” Maybe this is me trying to find an excuse not to go to Jamie’s cabin. I made the decision so firmly, but now it kind of scares me. Especially without Cara coming. We’re losing members of our fellowship left and right, and what if it’s just me soon? Alone.

“I don’t want you to go with me. I want—I have to go alone.” A fat tear spills over the edge of her eyelid. I put my good hand out to her, and she snatches it, holding tight. I try to put my injured hand gently over hers. The nerves shoot pain up to my shoulder and I try to hide the wince. She takes a deep, shaky breath before she speaks. And when she does, it’s like she’s practiced this for months.

“No one in my family got sick. My dad was a pediatric nurse, my mom was an oral surgeon, and when things got really bad, they both helped at the hospital as often as they could, but they still never got sick. All their patients died but they never did. When the hospital had to close and they came home, they didn’t get any of us sick. My grandmother was still living with us, my sister, my aunt Tracey. I knew they were trying to help people, but I was so scared they would catch it from someone.”

Cara pauses and I let her take whatever time she needs, because if I say anything she might retreat into silence, and I think she needs to get this out.

“Still, they were healthy. So were we. One morning in November, I heard from my neighbor that one of the grocery stores was getting a food shipment. This was after the internet stopped working and we were only hearing rumors from the other people left in our town. I left early, alone, because the last time we went things got a little crazy. Anyway, I managed to get a couple bags’ worth of canned food, and as I was walking back, I started smelling the smoke.”

She pauses for a long time.

“They set my house on fire. They burned them all alive because someone heard a rumor that they were asymptomatic carriers. My mom and dad had been in the hospital, trying to help, but people who’d lost their own loved ones were grieving. They started talking about how my family was fine and they said we were spreading the virus. That people like us who didn’t have symptoms just kept giving it to everyone else. Do you think that’s true?”

“No. That’s not what happened.”

She nods as though she might not believe me but wants to. “I know people were scared. All of us were, but they . . .” Her voice breaks, and she pulls her hands away from mine, pressing them to her eyes. “I want to . . . I hope that . . .”

She doesn’t seem to know what she wants to say next, like this is the part she didn’t practice. Then finally she gives a quick, short exhale.

“I want to go home. And I want to try and . . . forgive them. Even if they’re dead and there’s no one left, I want to be able to forgive them. I want to remember why they were so scared, and I want to be able to forgive them. Do you think that’s weird?”

I shake my head. “I think it’s brave.” Cara—who isn’t a hugger—wraps her arms around me, tight.

“Sure we can’t convince you to stay?” Amy asks as Henri-Two scrambles in her arms, reaching out for my hand.

“You have your hands full with this one,” I say. “You don’t need a bunch of orphans in your way, too.”

“Andrew.” Her voice is warning me that what I said is ridiculous and completely not true.

“I know, I’m ninety percent joking.” I don’t know what’s wrong with Henri-Prime, but judging by what she’s told me so far, she doesn’t think she has much time left. I’d rather she spend as much of it with her daughters and granddaughters as she can.

Taylor, Jamar, the Kid, and I will try to find our way back up to Jamie’s cabin. It’s a terrifying thought, waiting up there and hoping he’ll show. And the longer we wait, the more likely it will be that he’s dead. But I’m trying this new thing where I let myself hope for the best-case scenario—that he realized what a dummy he was and turned back around.

Of course, I was hoping he’d make it here by now, but it’s been four days. Four days of us eating Henri and Kristy’s food stores.

We can’t stay here any longer. We have no clue if Jamie and Niki would even come here or go straight to the cabin. Or something even worse. We could wait and wait and . . . I can’t think like that, though. I have to hope they’ll come to the cabin eventually.

I hug Amy goodbye and pretend to eat the side of Henri-Two’s face, which sets off a round of giggles just like it always does. Then move on to Kristy and Ellie before stopping in front of Henri.

“You could just move next door.” She hikes a thumb over her shoulder to the rancher next to her. “Help bring the property values back up.”

“That’s gentrification, Henri, and you’re better than that.”

Her laughter turns to coughs again, and I wait until she’s settled before hugging her.

“Take care of yourself,” she says. “And them, too.”

“I will.”

She gives me a long kiss on the cheek and cups my face in her warm, thin hands. “Thank you for bringing my girls back to me.”

I can’t even get a “you’re welcome” out because my throat is tight, so I just nod. They all walk us to the street, and as Henri unlocks the gate, I take the time to remind Cara where she can find us.

“Whenever you’re ready.”

She nods.

“Who’s that?” I look to see the Kid pointing down the street.

My heart leaps and I follow his finger to the horizon.

But it’s not a person and my shoulders slump. Three large brown beasts and a little baby beast trot behind a parked car and into a yard.

“Bison,” says Henri. “More Smithsonian animals, but I’m hoping they become a big old herd.” Then she lowers her voice so only the adults can hear. “Lots of meat on those suckers.”

“He’ll be here soon,” Cara whispers to me. She sounds so sure. “And I’ll send him after you.”

We finish our goodbyes, the Kid takes my good hand, and we head off in the direction of the bison—giving them a nice, wide berth. I don’t need any more zoo animal encounters, thank you very much.

Do you know how many “burgs” there are in Pennsylvania? I mean, obviously there’s Pittsburgh and Harrisburg—though one has an h and the other doesn’t. But there’s also Dillsburg, Mechanicsburg, Elysburg, and Bloomsburg. All of which we pass by in the two-week trip from Virginia to central-ish Pennsylvania. Like, did the person putting in I-81 have to name these places and just think “something-burg!”?

But now I’m at the part where things get a little hazy.

I was hoping that I’d recognize some landmarks along the way, a car or a highway that looked familiar. Unfortunately, everything looks different than it did the last time we came through. Maybe it’s the seasonal difference, but I assume by the time spring rolls around, this place will look even more different from the last time I saw it. Than it does now, even. That’s the reality these days—with every season that passes without humans to maintain things, once-familiar places will look newer and stranger.

“Maybe we should find a place to stop,” I say.

The sun is still in the sky, so it’s probably midafternoon. But I don’t want to be stuck out in the open at night.

Taylor stops and looks at me. “How much farther is it?”

“Uh, I’m not really sure. I’d have to look at the map to estimate.” Man, I wish Cara were here.

“I’ll get it.” Taylor starts to take off her backpack, but I hold out my hand.

“Why don’t we stop for the day and check out the map when we find shelter?”

“Because if we’re five miles away from the cabin, why wouldn’t we just walk the five miles and stay there?”

“I think it’s farther than that,” I say, trying to bluff. “And, honestly, the last time I was around here and wasn’t careful, I stepped in a bear trap. So it’s safer for us to find a place to stick it out for the night and get a fresh start tomorrow.”

Taylor shakes her head as though she’s disappointed in me. I almost ask her what that look is for, but I know the answer and I don’t need her to say it aloud.

She knows I have no idea where Jamie’s cabin is.

It’s kind of why I found it to begin with. At the time, I’d just had my first bad interaction with other survivors. So I got off the highway and started wandering aimlessly down side roads and less busy highways.

But then, passing through the town where I eventually found the cabin, I heard people. They were on ATVs or dirt bikes—I only heard the revving of their engines.

So I got off the road and went into the woods.

And that’s when I stepped in a bear trap.

I should tell the kids the story, but I can do that when we find the cabin.

If we find the cabin.

We’ll find the cabin. Right?

We come to a quiet small-town street that either looks familiar or it’s my own hopeful mind playing games with me. It’s easier to not be optimistic because then shit like this doesn’t happen. My mind doesn’t say “Hey! This might be the place!” But lately I really have been trying to be more optimistic.

I think it’s because of the others. How they agreed to stay with me even though we were going to a strange place where they had no idea what was waiting for them. They became the optimists because they trusted me.

Yeah, maybe I should have been a little more honest that I needed to do some exploring to find Jamie’s cabin again. But it’s nice that they trusted me! We’re here, we have time. It will be fine.

See? Optimistic.

It’s not too cold, so we should be okay in any building, even one without a fireplace.

“How ’bout there?” Jamar points to a two-story house painted pink with purple shutters. The supports and handrails on the wraparound porch are also purple, but the spindles in the railing have been painted pink. There’s a crooked sign swinging in the breeze. It’s hanging from one hook, the chain on the other side scraping the top of the purple railing.

The sign reads: “Marnie’s Kitchen Café.”

“Why not?” I say, happy with anything that gives me a little more time to check the road atlas and see if there’s a town or a street or anything that sounds familiar.

We go up onto the porch and try the front door, but it’s locked.

“Try around back?” Taylor says.

I hold out my hand to the Kid, who takes it and lets me lead him around the side of the porch, where there’s another door. But that one’s locked, too.

“What kind of lunatic locks doors during the apocalypse?” I ask.

“Maybe this is someone’s house,” the Kid answers.

“I think it used to be a house,” I say. “But then someone named Marnie turned it into a restaurant.”

“It’s a restaurant?” The Kid sounds impressed, and I realize he probably thinks Marnie is still around and turned it into a restaurant postapocalypse.

“I mean before the bug, Kid. It’s not anymore. Not a great time to start a business, with the collapse of civilization and all.”

“Yeah,” the Kid says, as if he understands the fall of capitalism. We climb down from the porch and continue toward the back of the house.

“Hey, can you try this window?” I ask, pointing to a window about six feet off the ground.

“I can’t reach!” The Kid uses Bobo—who is looking in deep need of professional cleaning—to point up at it.

“Yeah, dude, I was gonna lift you.”

He raises his arms, letting me pick him up. First with my good arm only. I’m trying not to put too much weight onto my injured arm until I need to. He senses this and manages to climb onto my right shoulder, letting me hold his legs steady.

“Try and push it up if you can.” Ahead of us, Jamar is rounding the corner as Taylor hangs back and watches us with a smirk. I know the Kid’s not going to be able to open the window, but I just like giving him things to do sometimes. Makes him feel like he’s an integral part of the team.

But the window does open.

“Holy shit!” I say.

“Holy shit!” repeats the Kid, surprised himself.

“Don’t say shit. Can you push it open any farther?”

He puts his little fingers in the opening and grunts. It moves about half an inch, then stops.

“Put your hand under the window and I’ll push you up, just keep your arms straight, okay?”

“Okay!”

He does as I say, and I push up on my tippy-toes, using my shoulder as leverage. The window slides up with a loud groan. It’s just big enough for him to slip through. But I pull him back down and put his feet firmly on the ground as Jamar comes back around the corner.

“Okay, I need a break,” I say. My left arm is starting to throb.

“Back door is locked, too,” Jamar says.

I point up at the window. “Kid opened the window for us.”

“Good job!” He puts out his hand and the Kid high-fives it.

I crouch down to him. “If I boost you up there, think you can go in and unlock the front door for us?”

He nods and puts his hands in the air again.

“I can do it,” Taylor says.

“The Kid’s got it.” I kinda want him to be able to celebrate the win here. She seems to get that—and that she can be the backup if he can’t figure out the door or there’s a bolt that’s out of his reach—so she shrugs and nods.

I lift him up using only my good arm and supporting his feet with my injured arm, and he climbs into the window. Rising to my tippy-toes, I hold on to his feet as he slips inside.

“You good if I let go?”

“Yeah!” the Kid calls back. I let go of one foot, then the other. There’s a loud bump that makes me worried that I just dropped him on his head—I have no clue how far the drop is on the other side. But then the Kid’s smiling face pops up in the window and he waves. Taylor laughs and tells him to go to the front door, and he disappears into the darkness.

We head back up to the porch, rounding the corner to the front of the restaurant—

And there’s a man there. He’s a stout white guy, a little older than me, with a brown-and-red beard. He wears a bright yellow beanie and a green puffer coat.

And he has a rifle pointed at us.

“Who are you?” he asks. “What are you doing here?”

My hands go up, not to the rifle on my shoulder. “Just looking for shelter. I used to live in a cabin around here, but we’re stopping for the night. We’re not here to hurt anyone.”

“What cabin? I know everyone in the area, and I never seen any of you before.”

“We came from a settlement down in Florida. We got hit by a hurricane and the settlement was destroyed, so I brought everyone up to the cabin.”

“Where’s the cabin?”

Oh shit. This isn’t going to sound great for us.

“I . . . kind of forget.”

“Andrew!” Taylor says my name like she’s my mother scolding me.

Then the lock on the front door of the restaurant pops and the door opens.

The man turns.

“No!” I yell. My legs move on their own, pushing past the guy. The rifle falls off my shoulder onto the ground and I wrap my arms around the Kid. Taylor screams.

The man falls on his ass and when I turn to look, he points his gun in my face and pulls the trigger.

CLICK.

I open my eyes to see the look on the guy’s face. Like he’s the one surprised that he doesn’t have ammo. Did he forget?

He looks at the end of the gun for a second before his eyes drift down to Jamie’s rifle.

The rifle that is loaded.

I turn to grab it, but he swings the end of his rifle around, smacking me in the side of the face. The pain is sharp and makes the world flip and go blurry. I fall back, bracing myself with my hands, and pain shoots up from my chewed-up left arm. Taylor calls out my name and I hear the Kid crying.

Warm blood drips down the side of my face onto the porch. I put my hand up, and it comes away covered in red. I can taste iron. My tongue moves to the side of my mouth to feel a chunk of flesh where I bit my cheek.

Next to me the Kid is crying, his arm across my chest. Blood drips from my chin onto Bobo’s nose. The guy in the yellow beanie shouts at the others to stay back, but he’s the one backing away from us, Jamie’s rifle in his hands.

“Just go,” I say, though it comes out a little messy because my face is starting to swell.

“No,” he says. “All of you down here, now.”

“We don’t have anything useful for you,” Taylor says. “Just take the gun and go. We’re not going to follow you.”

“There’s three groups in the area!” he shouts. “You don’t come from any of those groups because we all know each other, so you’re coming with me until we sort all this out.”

“What’s there to sort, man?” I ask. “We said we’re coming through looking for shelter. We’re not going to hurt you. The Kid is seven, those two are thirteen—” I thumb back in Jamar and Taylor’s direction. “We’re all just kids.”

He looks at us like he’s not sure he believes me. Then he shakes his head. When he speaks, he sounds a little less frantic.

“I’m sorry. But I need you all to come with me, okay? Please?”

“Are you going to shoot us if we don’t?” I ask.

“I can’t let you go.”

“So, because you can’t let us go, your only option is to shoot a bunch of unarmed kids?”

“Please.” He sounds panicked and he moves his whole body when he says it, like he’s begging us without getting on his knees. “Just come with me and the others can figure it out.”

“Okay,” Taylor says. I turn back to look at her. She gives me a slight nod that says either I have a plan or what other option do we have?

I stand, feeling a little dizzy, and Taylor comes over to catch me.

“Bring my rifle,” the man says. Taylor grabs it and slings it over her shoulder.

I reach down for the Kid and pick him up, my bad arm again throbbing with pain. I glance down at it to see one of the healing scars has ripped open a bit and blood trickles down my hand. The Kid cries into my neck—on the side of my face that isn’t bleeding—and we take the steps down the porch as the guy backs away.

When we come to a stop in front of him, he points to the road with the rifle.

“That way, go on. I’ll tell you where.”

We turn and go back to the road, where he tells us to turn right. He follows behind us, keeping Jamie’s rifle pointed at our backs.

I can’t help but return to my pessimism. Wondering if this would have happened if I’d known how to get to the cabin without Jamie.