Quietly as I could, I called to Tobin. “I’m over! Really lean back, it’s farther than I thought!”
A second later, I heard another vehicle, and I kneeled down in the tall reeds. I glanced over to see where Tobin was, and at the same time, saw that he was coming my way on the rope.
“Drop!” I said as loudly as I could without the soldiers hearing.
Tobin made a clumsy departure from the rope and fell to his knees. The spotlight danced over the water, and then highlighted the swinging rope. Voices shouted to each other, and doors slammed. They were going to search the area.
I scrambled to my feet, bringing Tobin with me. “We have to go,” I whispered. “C’mon!”
Tobin limped into the trees, and then we crawled on our bellies until we reached the border of where the streetlights touched the woods. A house stood maybe twenty yards away with a makeshift fence. I tried to remember who lived there, and if they had dogs. They probably did. Everyone in this town had a f**king dog. Most of them tied up outside so their owners could ignore them.
A muffled sound came from Tobin’s throat.
“You hurt?” I asked.
“If I said I might’ve hurt my ankle when I fell, would you leave me here to die?”
“Yes.”
“Then no, I’m fine.”
I smiled and helped Tobin to his feet. “Where does your sister live?”
“I’ve never come into town from this way. I’m not sure how to get there from here.”
“Do you know what street?”
“Padon. I think.”
“East or West?”
“I’m not sure, I . . .”
I sighed. “Tell me how you get there from the other side of town, and I’ll guess.”
“Just come in on the main road, see,” he said, talking with his hands, “and then turn right at that old armory, and then I go until I get to her street and take a left, and then I usually hit a stoplight right there. I’m not sure why there’s a stoplight. Ain’t no traffic in this damn town.”
“Tobin . . .”
He nodded once. “Right. I’m sorry. I go through the light and pass a grocery store, and she’s the second house on the right.”
“Weird.”
“Why?”
“That’s right next to my grandparents’ house.”
“Really?”
“Yes. We’re going to go straight down this street about five blocks and then hang a left. I’m going to drop you off at your sister’s, check on my grandparents, and then I’m going to get my daughters.”
“And then where are you going?”
“Red Hill Ranch.”
Nathan
Jill was crumpled against Skeeter, holding her bleeding, mangled arm up against her chest. She had it bent at the elbow, so I couldn’t tell exactly how bad her injuries were. Glass had broken just before she screamed, so I hoped over and over that she had just been cut and not bitten. Everything we knew about the walking dead told us that a bite was fatal.
Zoe had a hard time keeping up with Skeeter’s pace, so I pulled her up into my arms. Her little legs bounced as I chased Skeeter and Jill across the street and down the block to the First Baptist church. Its wooden exterior was in need of another coat of white paint. I couldn’t imagine why it hadn’t been done; the church was the size of Skeeter’s house.
“Heads up!” Skeeter said, raising his rifle.
A woman was walking toward Zoe and me. I wasn’t sure what to do. I was holding Zoe with both hands, and called out to Skeeter, running as fast as my legs could move. He stood still for a moment so he could let go of Jill long enough to aim and fire, and then he wrapped his arm around his wife again. I didn’t wait to see if Skeeter had hit his target. I didn’t have to. I’d never seen the man miss. After one more glance around, he took off into a sprint for the backside of the church.
Several of those things were following us, and the fear and adrenaline made me feel I could jump to the roof with Zoe in my arms if I had to.
Skeeter beat on the door with the side of his fist, and it immediately opened. A short man with white hair and matching complexion stepped to the side so we could file in, and then he shut it tight, and turned the bolt lock. Another man, bald and wearing a blue leisure suit, helped him pull a solid wood pulpit in front of the door before they turned to Skeeter.
Skeeter nodded his head to the short man. “Reverend Mathis.” He looked to the other, and his eyebrows pulled in. “Where’s Esther?” The man just looked to the floor, and it was then that I noticed a boy about eleven or twelve standing behind him.
Reverend Mathis put his hand on the man’s shoulder. “Bob and Evan tried to get to her. They had to leave her behind.”
Evan, the young boy behind Bob, sniffed and wiped his cheek, but kept his eyes on the floor. He was so still, as if moving would mean what was happening was real.
Skeeter offered a small smile. “You got your grandson here safe, Bob. Esther would be glad for that.”
Someone was hammering away in the next room, the knocking echoing throughout the building.
A few people Skeeter and Jill seemed to be familiar with were gathered together, all wide-eyed and as frightened as we were. The room we stood in was obviously a kitchen, albeit a small one. Canary-yellow paint complemented the dated speckled countertops and metal cabinets. The seats and springs of the faucet were just one more thing that needed to be repaired in this place, made obvious by the steady drip of water from the spout. The only thing not some shade of yellow was the faded blue carpet; at least it was until Jill started bleeding all over it.
“Christ almighty, Jill, what happened to you?” a woman said, helping Skeeter to sit his wife in a folding chair.
Jill sniffed. “I was getting a few changes of clothes for me and Skeeter. I heard something outside, so I opened the curtain and Shawn Burgess was standing right next to the window. He didn’t seem right, Doris.” Tears fell down her cheek while Doris wrapped her arm with a damp towel. “Next thing I know, he’s charging me like a bull. He broke through the window and less than a second later he had me on the ground.”
“Shawn Burgess? Denise’s son?” Doris said, looking to Skeeter. When Skeeter didn’t respond, she pulled back the towel to reveal a large gouge in Jill’s arm. I was expecting a set of bite marks, like a toddler might leave, but an entire section of her skin and muscle had been ripped away. “Oh my Lord, honey. You’re going to need stitches.”