More static. “I don’t think--”

“Sherpa, this is Boeing seven-four-seven, over.”

My hand went to my stomach. Thought I might heave. I knew we weren’t alone, the only non-infected humans left on the planet, but for a moment, I did believe we might be the only ones in the sky.

“Boeing, we have you in sight. Over.”

“And we see you, Sherpa. How many souls on board? Over.”

“Seven, seven total. You? Over.”

“Forty-eight, Sherpa. We have a total of forty-eight. Over.”

Palmeri looked back at me, nodding. “Damn.”

“Boeing, what is your destination? Over.”

Silence. Static.

“Sherpa, no offense meant, but our destination is confidential. We don’t know you. Based on things we’ve seen, we’re inclined to keep pertinent information to ourselves. Over.”

“They don’t trust us. Worried we might follow them. Attack their family,” I said.

“Trust is going to be an issue for a while,” Erway said.

I thought about Josh, Dave’s brother. He’d been shot and killed. Shot. A senseless death by someone with a gun. I’d still love to get my hands on the ones responsible. Part of me believed we should be gathering as survivors and joining forces. At some point in time, we’d need to rebuild. Install government. Figure out how to regain electricity, power and run nuclear plants, and operate water purification plants. Holy shit. It was going to be a daunting task. “I don’t blame them.”

“Sherpa to Boeing, we copy. Wish you a safe flight. Safe landing. Over.”

A pause. Static. “We extend our best wishes your way, as well, Sherpa. Be safe. Out.”

Palmeri set the hand-held down. Kept her hand on it. “I think I’d have felt better not having seen them.”

“Why is that?” I said.

“I kind of want to join them,” she said.

“We don’t know where they’re headed,” Erway said.

“And they don’t want us,” I said.

“How are we going to make it out of this,” Palmeri said. “I mean, they’re flying north. We’re headed south-west. They think the grass is greener in Canada or the North Pole, and we think the equator. There are probably survivors in Georgia headed to Seattle, and people in L.A. trekking toward Manhattan. Who’s right, you know? Who’s wrong?”

There was some comfort in knowing these thoughts and that the questions didn’t just run through my mind. The bad part was that no one had any answers. The Boeing might have an idea flying north. Colder temperatures might slow the zombies down. Rain and water seemed to annoy them. There was a good chance snow might be a hundred times better as a natural weapon. I couldn’t deny it. Boeing had me second guessing Mexico.

I mean, Mexico. The thought came to me over a week ago, back when this all started. When Allison and I were fleeing the 9-1-1 Center. It was something someone had said on a radio station about how Mexico might be a safe bet because they didn’t have flu vaccinations to inoculate their people, not like America had. Then there was the wall. The one we’d built to keep illegal immigrants out of our country. That would be an awesome fortress to keep us safe, once on the Mexican side, from the infected Americans.

That’s what I’d thought then. It was the one thing that I held onto. “I don’t know why we’re going to Mexico. I really don’t.”

“You told us why. We agree with you,” Erway said. “If I didn’t think you were on to something, I’d not have hung around.”

I bit my lip. “You don’t get it though. I could be wrong. As wrong as the Boeing headed north, or the L.A. people going to Manhattan. Mexico might not be any safer than it was for us up along the St. Lawrence. This thing, this disease, it keeps spreading. For all I know, we’re going to cross that border, God willing, and it will end up like stepping across the threshold into hell.”

“We won’t blame you for trying,” Palmeri said. “I’ve got nothing better, no more answers than anyone else, but like Erway said, there’s something solid about your plan. Way I see it, the way we see it because we talked about it while you were back there, the key to surviving might be just to keep moving. This disease, or infection isn’t going to end anytime soon. The millions affected, we have to get rid of them. How do you get rid of millions of people? Where to you dispose of them? They’re going to need to be disposed of, aren’t they? And the thing is, I don’t think it’s gotten as bad as it’s going to get. I think, we think, moving, as long as we keep moving, is going to be the only way to make it. And right now, we’re headed to Mexico.”

“That’s, ah, that’s a lot I hadn’t thought of,” I said. I remembered the things about the zombies, the almost human-like qualities exhibited, and that I still needed to share all of that with the others. We’d not had the time to sit around and talk.

I walked out of the cockpit area and held a hand out, placing it against the bathroom door for balance. It wasn’t Palmeri’s flying that had me wobbling. My mind was in the midst of a whirlwind of so many thoughts that I thought my legs might give out.

I needed to pare down the things in my brain. I whittled it away to just two as best I could. The other thoughts were still there, whipping around like debris in the funnel of a tornado, but I was able to focus. What I concentrated on were blankets and water.

Chapter Eight

Seemed like there had been more than two large wooden boxes in the hold. There were just the two set at the end of the rows of seats.

“Need a hand?” Allison stood.

“Stay buckled up. I just want to see if there’s any supplies we can use on this plane,” I said. I thought about telling the others about the Boeing. I wasn’t sure if that would boost or cripple morale. For now, the best thing to do seemed to be keeping it to myself.

On top of one crate was a crowbar. Both crates were strapped to pallets. I loosened the straps on one and drove the curved end of the bar into the top. I pried at the lid, working my way around each side. The board creaked and moaned in protest.

“Chase,” Allison said.

“I got it,” I said. “It’s giving.”

“Chase,” she said, again.

“Dad!”

I turned around.

Dave unbuckled his seatbelt. He knelt in front of Sues. “No,” he said. “No, no. No.”

Ah shit. I kept the crowbar in my hand. Sues had been dying for some time now, slowly. She must have been in pain. She’d lost a lot of blood, both on the tarmac, and while we’d been on the plane. The pool puddled below her seat made that apparent. I don’t know how long it took once a person died before they turned. I still wasn’t convinced it happened to everyone upon death. My experience with this aspect of the disease was limited. “Dave, are you all right?”

“It shouldn’t have happened to her. She shouldn’t have been out there driving that thing, pulling us out of the hangar. What had I been thinking? I mean, fuck. Fuck!”

“It’s not your fault, buddy. There’s nothing we could have done.”

Dave stood up. Sues’ head fell forward. Blood, thick and dark, oozed from her gaping mouth. “There is something I could have done.” He pointed a finger hard against his chest. “She didn’t have to be the one to drive that buggy. I could have done it. I could have opened the door. I could have pulled the plane out. I should have. Me.”

We’d had this talk. I felt the same way. I thought I should be doing everything, and felt responsible for everyone. “Dave,” I said.

“No, Chase. No.”

“Dad, she’s moving,” Charlene said. She unbuckled her belt.

I held up a hand, stopping her. “Dave,” I said.

He wasn’t listening to me. He stared at Sues. Her eyes opened. Her head slowly rose off her chest. She snarled and screamed. Her hands shot forward, fingers reaching for a catch on Dave.