dad was a survivalist nut. He was always afraid of the government collapsing so he learned to live off the land.” Pollard gazed into the distance at his truck stop citadel. “I guess, in a way, he was right.”
“Well,” I said, “it’s a good thing he showed you as much as he did, huh?”
“Yeah.” He didn’t sound too grateful. “Lucky.”
As we passed the gas pumps in the lavender dusk my gaze shifted automatically to the last spot I’d seen Ben. He hadn’t moved. Astonishing . What had interested him so strongly he couldn’t walk away from it? There was nothing here for him besides living flesh, which he could get in a hundred other places around town. So, why was he here?
Something on the pavement, a squiggle of color that didn’t belong, caught my eye. Curious, I got close enough to see what appeared to be writing. Another SOS maybe.
I deciphered my name and my chest constricted as I quickened my pace to read the entire message.
Mason,
I can’t forgive you, but I still love you.
Maya
“That wasn’t here yesterday,” Pollard said, trailing me. “What is it?”
I couldn’t say it aloud. It was too painful.
I remembered the exact moment I’d scribbled the note on the back of one of my school photos from the beginning of the year and mailed it to my brother in juvenile detention in a care package at Christmastime.
“I don’t understand,” I mumbled, scanning the surrounding area.
Ben loomed near the diesel gas pumps, fifty yards away, but even at that distance I detected the faint mist of white paint on his navy shirt.
“Did you do this?” Pollard pressed, suspicion darkening his blue eyes.
“No.” I gestured at Ben. “He did.”
Pollard’s frown deepened. “I don’t understand what’s going on.”
I don’t either. “I wrote this in a note to my brother.” I thought back to the most painful time in my life. “Over Christmas. Almost six months ago.” Because right after his incarceration I was in too much pain to write, but after months and months of grieving both Mom’s death and his arrest I sent him the message.
“Then how did it get here ?”
“Ben must have my picture.” My skin tingled unpleasantly. “There’s no other explanation.”
Pollard crouched and tested the paint. “He’s trying to communicate with you.”
But how had he found my picture?
Pollard added, “He’s not like the others, is he?”
“No.” I stared across the lot at Ben and then instinctively took a step in his direction.
Pollard grabbed hold of my upper arm. “You’re still not getting any closer. He’s infected. He’s dangerous.”
“But—“
“He can’t answer your questions anyway.” He dragged me away, off balance, but I didn’t struggle because my thoughts were muddier than any riverbank. If I sent my picture to Mason, how had it ended up in a zombie’s possession?
I didn’t know the answer, yet, but I was afraid when I learned the truth it wouldn’t be pleasant.
Knock-knock-knockety-knock. After a moment, Russell unlocked the front door and let us in.
“Let’s finish making dinner,” Pollard said, dumping his bag on the floor amid the mess in the dining room.
I checked on Hunny, who was playing cards with Simone, and then followed him into the kitchen, but my concentration was shattered. I hoped he didn’t need too much help in prepping the meal because I’d be useless.
Why didn’t Mason have my picture? How had Ben found it?
I dragged my feet into the kitchen. The six squirrel corpses were right where we’d left them. I pointed at the row of dead vermin as an idea occurred to me. “Can I have one?”
“I’ll cook them up. They’ll be ready to eat in a while.”
“Can I have one now?”
“They’re raw.”
“I know. Can I?”
He nodded, but added, “You’ll get sick.”
He assumed it was for me, and that was fine. He wouldn’t approve of my idea anyway. So let him think I liked raw flesh.
“Thank you.” Slightly grossed out
“Well,” I said, “it’s a good thing he showed you as much as he did, huh?”
“Yeah.” He didn’t sound too grateful. “Lucky.”
As we passed the gas pumps in the lavender dusk my gaze shifted automatically to the last spot I’d seen Ben. He hadn’t moved. Astonishing . What had interested him so strongly he couldn’t walk away from it? There was nothing here for him besides living flesh, which he could get in a hundred other places around town. So, why was he here?
Something on the pavement, a squiggle of color that didn’t belong, caught my eye. Curious, I got close enough to see what appeared to be writing. Another SOS maybe.
I deciphered my name and my chest constricted as I quickened my pace to read the entire message.
Mason,
I can’t forgive you, but I still love you.
Maya
“That wasn’t here yesterday,” Pollard said, trailing me. “What is it?”
I couldn’t say it aloud. It was too painful.
I remembered the exact moment I’d scribbled the note on the back of one of my school photos from the beginning of the year and mailed it to my brother in juvenile detention in a care package at Christmastime.
“I don’t understand,” I mumbled, scanning the surrounding area.
Ben loomed near the diesel gas pumps, fifty yards away, but even at that distance I detected the faint mist of white paint on his navy shirt.
“Did you do this?” Pollard pressed, suspicion darkening his blue eyes.
“No.” I gestured at Ben. “He did.”
Pollard’s frown deepened. “I don’t understand what’s going on.”
I don’t either. “I wrote this in a note to my brother.” I thought back to the most painful time in my life. “Over Christmas. Almost six months ago.” Because right after his incarceration I was in too much pain to write, but after months and months of grieving both Mom’s death and his arrest I sent him the message.
“Then how did it get here ?”
“Ben must have my picture.” My skin tingled unpleasantly. “There’s no other explanation.”
Pollard crouched and tested the paint. “He’s trying to communicate with you.”
But how had he found my picture?
Pollard added, “He’s not like the others, is he?”
“No.” I stared across the lot at Ben and then instinctively took a step in his direction.
Pollard grabbed hold of my upper arm. “You’re still not getting any closer. He’s infected. He’s dangerous.”
“But—“
“He can’t answer your questions anyway.” He dragged me away, off balance, but I didn’t struggle because my thoughts were muddier than any riverbank. If I sent my picture to Mason, how had it ended up in a zombie’s possession?
I didn’t know the answer, yet, but I was afraid when I learned the truth it wouldn’t be pleasant.
Knock-knock-knockety-knock. After a moment, Russell unlocked the front door and let us in.
“Let’s finish making dinner,” Pollard said, dumping his bag on the floor amid the mess in the dining room.
I checked on Hunny, who was playing cards with Simone, and then followed him into the kitchen, but my concentration was shattered. I hoped he didn’t need too much help in prepping the meal because I’d be useless.
Why didn’t Mason have my picture? How had Ben found it?
I dragged my feet into the kitchen. The six squirrel corpses were right where we’d left them. I pointed at the row of dead vermin as an idea occurred to me. “Can I have one?”
“I’ll cook them up. They’ll be ready to eat in a while.”
“Can I have one now?”
“They’re raw.”
“I know. Can I?”
He nodded, but added, “You’ll get sick.”
He assumed it was for me, and that was fine. He wouldn’t approve of my idea anyway. So let him think I liked raw flesh.
“Thank you.” Slightly grossed out
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