“What happened?” asks the first person. Pedro. “Run into trouble?”
“You could say that,” answers Nash. “Question is…how bored are you two of sitting in your bunkers and basements?”
“Bored?” asks Pedro. “Wash your mouth out with soap. I’ve barely started rereading my twenty years of back issues ofGunsmith Monthly. And Trish has only threatened to divorce George eight times over his choice of contentious words in Scrabble.”
“It’s up to nine after this morning, and I mean it this time,” says a female voice. “I don’t care ifzais allowed or not. We don’t use it in our games!”
George gives a long-suffering sigh. “Okay, yes. We are bored as hell. We spent twenty years prepping for the end of the world. We prepared so well that now that it’s arrived, we have nothing that needs doing. What have you got on offer, Nash?”
“Oh, nothing,” he responds. “Just a good old-fashioned war.”
FRIDAY
The meeting was held the next day in a town on the coast. Somewhere that was unlikely to be of interest to Porter. Dean, Reema, Leon, and Nash were in attendance. It obviously went well, since the convoy returned under the cover of darkness. They made the drive here by the light of the full moon with no headlights on. Dean and Nash’s vehicle was up first, so no one would freak out and think we’re under attack. Not that it’seasy to see which vehicle is which. We communicated by radio throughout the day. They let us know to move the cars blocking the road. These are the times we live in.
And this situation with the town has got to be causing Dean actual physical pain. Letting so many new people in so quickly. But the worry of possible attack from within doesn’t beat the ticking time bomb that is Porter.
“What are preppers like?” Sophie stands beside me, holding my hand. She’s dressed in plaid pajamas and tennis shoes with a cardigan against the cool night air.
“I think they’re people who like to be organized. Who want to know that they have plans and supplies in case things go wrong. And doing that is a big part of their life.”
She thinks this over for a moment. “Things went really wrong.”
“Yeah,” I say. “They sure did.”
“Do you think they might have some of that freeze-dried ice cream?” she asks. “Bowie wants to try some.”
Bowie sits on the grass nearby, listening to our conversation and tossing a tennis ball into the air. He wasn’t happy about not going to the meeting today. But Nash thought he was safer here. I hate how Bowie is sort of scared of us. Whatever treatment he endured at Porter’s camp makes my blood boil. He’s just a child. You’d have to be an asshole to hurt him. Just another good excuse to shoot Porter, in my opinion. Not something I thought I would ever be thinking. I cannot find it in me to regret it, however. The apocalypse makes certain issues very plain and simple.
“It sounds good,” says Bowie. Which is a miracle, given it’s the most he’s said to me all day.
“I don’t know if they’ll have any.” I give him a smile. “We can certainly ask, though. If anyone has some, it’ll be preppers.”
Avan gave the children a lesson in the importance of hygiene and basic wound treatment to stop infection. Then they tried out some of the craft sets from the hardware warehouse before helping us sort canned foods for a while. Everyone’s home has enough provisions for now, so we decided to convert one of the houses into our general storage space. It makes for a less obvious target in case people like Porter arrive, who are out to steal us and/or our supplies. And it keeps everything closer to us since the grocery store is out on the edge of town.
But now everyone is waiting to meet the new people. Most of them are gathered in Natalia and Leon’s house, out of the wind. Only Naomi and the two children and me are outside. Hazel gave up and went inside a while back.
We don’t risk any flashlights. My vision has adjusted well enough to the darkness, however. There are two SUVs and an RV, along with our two pickup trucks. The sounds of car doors opening and closing and muted conversation fills the night air. From out of the front of the RV comes an older white couple with gray hair. Wearing a dress and a rifle is a bold choice, but it works. The man is wiry, with his hair tied back in a ponytail. His gaze roves the town, taking note of everything. My guess is they’re Trisha and George.
“Dean!” shouts Sophie, and she’s off and running.
No one needs to know the immense relief I feel, having him back within reach. It can stay a secret between me and my foolish heart. Sophie collides with him at full speed. The smiles seem to come easier for him these days. Which is nice. He gives me a chin tip, and I nod in return. Everything is fine now.
Bowie is also on his feet and heading over to Nash. The tension seems to fall straight out of him at the sight of the man. One day he’s going to feel the same confidence and security all of the time.
Trisha wanders over to me, her gaze following the same path as mine. “Don’t you worry,” she says. “We’re going to help you keep these babies safe and sound.”
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
FRIDAY
“We thought we were just getting a week or two off school,” says Wyatt. “Then everyone actually goes and dies.”
Trisha and George have two grandsons. Eighteen-year-old twins, Wyatt and Jack. Both of them tall with long blond hair. Their parents died in a car accident a couple of years ago.
“Who could have guessed Grandma and Grandpa had a clue?” asks Jack.
Trisha gives them a patient smile. “I know it hurts your souls to admit that, boys.”
