“Where’s the cap?” Andy said.

Dave pointed. “That it?”

I shrugged. “Could be.”

Melissa stuck her head out of the driver’s side window. “How we doing?”

“Have it running in no time,” Andy said. Dave and I looked at him. “What? We can fix it, can’t we?”

I bit my lip. I knew shit about vehicles, and even less shit about repairs. I could put gas in the tank. Air in the tires. Wiper fluid in the reserve. “I hate to use up the last of our water.”

“We have three hundred, three hundred fifty miles to go, still. I’d rather be a little thirsty on a bus for the next six hours

“Well, this is the radiator right here in front,” Dave said. “The cap is, it’s . . . there it is.” His light caught a cap on the side of the radiator. “We let it cool down a little, add a gallon of water or two, and we should be good.”

“If it is just the radiator,” Andy said.

“It’s just the radiator,” I said. “Let’s close the hood and get back on the bus.”

We were already on Interstate 35. This road led right to the bridge at the border. Three hundred and some-miles was tasteable, that’s how close we were. It was near impossible not to imagine getting across the Rio and into Mexico and everything just being rosy and wonderful.

It wouldn’t be.

I wasn’t stupid. It just helped to think that way. It helped keep me focused, I guess. Helped keep me motivated to move forward. I had mourning that needed to be done. Desperately. I was holding off as best I could. I wouldn’t be able to hold off much longer. My heart felt shredded.

“Back on the bus, then?” Dave said.

“Yeah.” I switched off my flashlight. We didn’t need to attract attention. For the most part, we were stranded. Sitting ducks. I think we all knew it. No one said it though. Seemed if you left things unsaid, they couldn’t possibly be true. Apply liberal sarcasm, but it is what it is.

Once on the bus, we closed and locked the door.

“What’s going on?” Charlene sat near the front. She kept the folded map in her hand. “You can’t fix it?”

“We need to wait for the radiator to cool down. We’ll add water to it, and be on our way,” I said.

“How long until it’s cool?”

It was warmer in Texas than it had been in Pennsylvania, but it was night time. The sun was gone, so it was still somewhat cold out. “Shouldn’t be long.”

“What do we do in the meantime?” Melissa sat in the seat behind my daughter.

“Maybe relax,” Andy said. It was a lovely thought. Wouldn’t happen. Like I said, we were fucking sitting ducks.

“How is Michelle doing?”

“She has a fever,” Melissa said. “Kia is back with her now. She’s lost a lot of blood. This trip isn’t helping. There’s still a bullet in her leg somewhere. We’re going to have to get that out. If we don’t, she’s going to die.”

I didn’t want to see anyone else die. We’ve all suffered horrible losses. I didn’t know how Melissa was holding herself together. For that matter, I didn’t know how I was.

We’d traveled a long distance in a short period of time. “We could look for a hotel, or house, and try to operate on her,” I said.

Dave sighed. He didn’t say a word. I knew what he was thinking, or thought I did. Three hundred miles. We were so close.

“Or we keep driving,” I said. “We get across the border and let a doctor help Michelle.”

“A doctor?” Andy said. “I don’t think crossing the border is going to just fix everything, Chase. I know this is the plan. I can’t help feeling like going to Mexico is just something to…do. We could just as easily be headed to California or Oregon, but we’re not. We’re going to Mexico. I’m sorry. I am. I just don’t think anywhere is going to be that much different from here, or anywhere else. I mean, I saw the chaos on the news last week. This is global. This outbreak is everywhere. Those things, those zombies are infecting everyone, man. The few who didn’t get vaccinated, or the fewer still that were immune to the vaccination were far and few between. Far and fucking few between. The monsters are fucking spreading the disease. Biting people. Swapping fluids. Who knows how else the virus spreads, but Mexico? Mexico isn’t an answer, or a cure, or a safe haven. It’s a fucking different country with fucking zombies. That’s what it is. That’s all it is. And what is worse is no one is working on a cure. No one is out there trying to find a way to turn this mess around. We’re on our own. A wall at a border isn’t going to mean shit if the apocalypse is raging on the other side, too. And it is. You know it. We all know it. We’re all just either going to fucking die like Gene, or we’re going to become fucking zombies. Those are the choices, Chase. Those are the only two choices we really have.”

Melissa sobbed silently. Her shoulders shook. Charlene reached over the seat back between them and set a hand on her shoulder. I doubt it helped, but at least she was trying, at least she showed empathy and sympathy.

Now it had been said. There was no unsaying it, no unhearing it.

Andy wasn’t wrong.

#  #  #

While it felt like hours dragging by, the engine had cooled considerably in just fifteen minutes. Dave removed the radiator cap.

“Andy can’t have those outbursts. Not in front of everyone. You want me to say something to him?” He said. “I think we should say something. He’s going to freak everyone out. You know that.”

I held the flashlight in place, and stuck a funnel into the radiator. “We’re all feeling the stress. I know he’s worried about Michelle and Melissa. Those are his people. He wants to take care of them. I respect that. I’m keeping us on the road. He wants to remove the bullet.”

“We should remove the bullet.”

“Do you know how to do that? Because, I don’t know if I can.” I twisted open a plastic jug of water. “I watched them work on Cash, Dave. I watched the bullet get pulled out of my son, and he still died. He fucking died.”

“But Michelle won’t stand a chance if we don’t try. She’ll die for sure if we leave it in her. It’s been in there a long time, man. We’ve got to do something.” Dave took the jug and started pouring water into the radiator. “Hold that light steady.”

“I don’t think I could do it.” I thought of chopping off Alley’s arm. All measures to help people have ended in death. “You think I should give it a shot?”

“I think someone has to,” he said.

“But not you?”

“No way. Not me.”

I almost laughed. The situation was too dire. “Fuck it. Fine. I’ll try it. But we can’t do it on the bus. There’s going to be a lot of blood.”

“I don’t see how. She’s lost so much. She might need a transfusion.”

I spun around. “I mean what the fuck.”

“I need the light.”

“Dave, I don’t know shit about a transfusion.”

“I’m not saying you do. I’m saying she lost a lot of blood. She’s going to need more,” he said.

More blood. It felt like we were planning out a way to feed a suffering vampire. “We cut into her leg, fish around for a slug, she’s going to bleed more. God forbid we nick something and can’t stop the bleeding. Do we just run a line of blood from one person to her? What makes the blood syphon off the right person and flow into her? We need to watch a fucking YouTube video, like Gene did, or something.”

“I really need the light. I can’t see shit.”

I steadied the light on the radiator. Dave finished pouring the first gallon. “That look like enough?”

“Maybe a little more. The water should come to the top, right?”

“I think that is only if the engine is on.”

“Forget the transfusion,” Dave said as he opened the second gallon of water and tossed the blue cap onto the street. “The slug, we’ve got to do something about.”

“She’s going to die,” I said. “We operate on her, she won’t make it.”

“You think we should wait?”

It was a decision I didn’t want the responsibility of making. “I think we wait. We find someone who can help us. Right now, I’m worried more about her infection. And mine.”