the seclusion of the library instead. I can still access the Internet on a regular basis there. At home, the connection has become iffy so I’ve missed things—those “secret” things that aren’t covered by the cable news networks. Apparently, our dear president / dictator / whatever decided it’ll be a good idea to send as many Shamblers to their final death as possible by drone-bombing a particularly afflicted part of Detroit this morning.
I wonder if they made provisions for the uninfected to get out first. My gut is telling me no. Could they decide to do that sort of thing to Palm Dale?
Phalanx is probably pretty easy to get, if you’re the President of the United States. He doesn’t even have to buy it illegally.
We sit out there a while longer. Nick removes his pad from his satchel and sketches a fairy with transparent dragonfly wings and my face. I blush because that’s my standard reaction around Nick Thatcher.
Just as he’s shading in the shadows beneath Fairy Cindy’s ample breast (thanks, Nick!), someone calls, “You kids need to get yourselves home!” We both glance up, startled. There’s a security guard standing at the bottom of the bleachers. “I don’t want to tell you more than once. You know it’s dangerous these days.”
“It is getting late,” I say, stuffing the wads of wax paper and used napkins back into my lunchbag.
“You need a ride?” Nick asks.
I shake my head. “I brought Audrey’s car.”
Just before I start away, he tears out the drawing of the Fairy Cindy and gives it to me. “Be careful,” he says. He jogs toward his Jeep on the other side of the parking area before I can respond.
Chapter 13
November 24
Cindy
It’s been two weeks since Audrey was bitten. Dad’s put all the money we have into those black market Phalanx vaccines. But Audrey’s hanging in there. We’re all hanging in there, I suppose. Dad’s at the hospital almost around the clock, now. Sometimes he sleeps there. He’s kept the knowledge of the vaccine to himself, and I’ve shared it with nobody but Nick, who’ll keep it to himself. Everyone else who has been exposed to the virus has become a Shambler within a matter of hours.
Mom makes a showing of working, immersing herself in her office here at home, NPR playing soft in the background, a little jazz, a little classical, and too much bad news. People just aren’t into buying and selling real estate right now, she says, as if she needs to make excuses for the lack of business.
She drinks too much wine in the evening—the cases of the expensive red she bought at some auction to bring out only when we have “special” company is nearly gone. The boxes are empty and the few bottles left are tucked into the wine chiller beneath the kitchen counter.
She’s going to be in a hell of a fix when she runs out completely. Going to supermarket is a bitch already. People are stocking more and more, the supermarkets shipments are irregular, and usually garbage nobody wants to eat. I can tell you I’m sick and tired of Tuna Helper and Ragu Spaghetti. But we have enough of that kind of shit to last at least a year, so there’s no way we’re going to starve—unless it’s by choice.
With Audrey making an appearance at school at least a couple of times, and popping up on Instagram and Facetime (in low lighting—she still looks less than perfect), rumors are swirling that it’s Tommy Barker who lied.
We’re both getting more satisfaction from that than we probably should.
Still, something’s going on with Big Sis. She’s not the same. Dad’s says it probably some sort of side effect—the vaccine is untested, so we really don’t know what to expect. But I’m afraid it’s something worse. Maybe the vaccine just isn’t working. Sure, it’s slowed things down, but something’s still happening.
I think Audrey is turning.
I know that same thought is lying at the back of Dad’s mind, too. He’s just too afraid of
I wonder if they made provisions for the uninfected to get out first. My gut is telling me no. Could they decide to do that sort of thing to Palm Dale?
Phalanx is probably pretty easy to get, if you’re the President of the United States. He doesn’t even have to buy it illegally.
We sit out there a while longer. Nick removes his pad from his satchel and sketches a fairy with transparent dragonfly wings and my face. I blush because that’s my standard reaction around Nick Thatcher.
Just as he’s shading in the shadows beneath Fairy Cindy’s ample breast (thanks, Nick!), someone calls, “You kids need to get yourselves home!” We both glance up, startled. There’s a security guard standing at the bottom of the bleachers. “I don’t want to tell you more than once. You know it’s dangerous these days.”
“It is getting late,” I say, stuffing the wads of wax paper and used napkins back into my lunchbag.
“You need a ride?” Nick asks.
I shake my head. “I brought Audrey’s car.”
Just before I start away, he tears out the drawing of the Fairy Cindy and gives it to me. “Be careful,” he says. He jogs toward his Jeep on the other side of the parking area before I can respond.
Chapter 13
November 24
Cindy
It’s been two weeks since Audrey was bitten. Dad’s put all the money we have into those black market Phalanx vaccines. But Audrey’s hanging in there. We’re all hanging in there, I suppose. Dad’s at the hospital almost around the clock, now. Sometimes he sleeps there. He’s kept the knowledge of the vaccine to himself, and I’ve shared it with nobody but Nick, who’ll keep it to himself. Everyone else who has been exposed to the virus has become a Shambler within a matter of hours.
Mom makes a showing of working, immersing herself in her office here at home, NPR playing soft in the background, a little jazz, a little classical, and too much bad news. People just aren’t into buying and selling real estate right now, she says, as if she needs to make excuses for the lack of business.
She drinks too much wine in the evening—the cases of the expensive red she bought at some auction to bring out only when we have “special” company is nearly gone. The boxes are empty and the few bottles left are tucked into the wine chiller beneath the kitchen counter.
She’s going to be in a hell of a fix when she runs out completely. Going to supermarket is a bitch already. People are stocking more and more, the supermarkets shipments are irregular, and usually garbage nobody wants to eat. I can tell you I’m sick and tired of Tuna Helper and Ragu Spaghetti. But we have enough of that kind of shit to last at least a year, so there’s no way we’re going to starve—unless it’s by choice.
With Audrey making an appearance at school at least a couple of times, and popping up on Instagram and Facetime (in low lighting—she still looks less than perfect), rumors are swirling that it’s Tommy Barker who lied.
We’re both getting more satisfaction from that than we probably should.
Still, something’s going on with Big Sis. She’s not the same. Dad’s says it probably some sort of side effect—the vaccine is untested, so we really don’t know what to expect. But I’m afraid it’s something worse. Maybe the vaccine just isn’t working. Sure, it’s slowed things down, but something’s still happening.
I think Audrey is turning.
I know that same thought is lying at the back of Dad’s mind, too. He’s just too afraid of
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