Michelle stepped off the bus. She limped toward Kia, falling in line behind the other zombies already after the woman.

“Kia!”

Something grabbed my arm. I shrugged my way free. I took a step and then brought my arm around. The guy was bald. Decaying. Ugly as sin. My hand held the knife tightly. The blade slit the thing’s throat. The head bobbled and fell backward. It hung onto the shoulders by a thin thread of flesh before pulling free and dropping onto the pavement. I don’t know why it looked like a bowling ball; like you would place your thumb in his mouth and fingers in his eye sockets.

Charlene aided Kia. She cut the zombies off at the shins. They dropped one after the other. It didn’t stop them from dragging themselves forward, but their threat was less serious.

With relentless stamina, my daughter fought the creatures and only hesitated when she reached Michelle. Only hesitated, but then cut her legs away and when Michelle fell, she swung as if the head were a ball on a tee.

Kia managed to load her weapon. She fired again, impressing me with her accuracy.

“Get to the car!” I said. “The car!”

I hobbled toward the vehicle and climbed into the driver’s side. I closed the door, and backed away from the bus, backed over lumbering zombies. The car bounced and shook, and utilized the shocks more than they’d been tested before, I was sure.

Charlene climbed in beside me.

Kia reached for the back door and was gone.

Charlene opened her door. She got out of the car.

I couldn’t see anything. I heard the struggle. Something had Kia. Charlene used her sword, driving it down into something, over and over. She got back into the car. Closed her door a second time.

“Drive,” she said.

I didn’t ask. Didn’t need to.

I drove.

Chapter Twenty-Nine

1111 Hours

We drove in silence for miles. The miles turned into hours.

We needed gas. I got off the Interstate and found a gas station. “Stay in the car,” I said.

Charlene did not say a word.

I unfastened my seatbelt and got out of the car. I looked around. The neighborhood resembled a ghost town. I hoped the sputtering of the engine hadn’t attracted attention.

It hurt to stand. My leg felt numb. The wound itched. I wanted to scratch at it like crazy. Instead, I removed the gas cap and inserted the pump arm into the hole.

The tank needed to be activated from inside the store.

I shuffled around the back of the car.

The passenger door opened. “I got it.”

“Stay in the car,” I said.

Charlene stared at me. I’d swear all I could see was anger in her eyes. She didn’t respond, nor did she obey. She held her sword in one hand and crossed the lot, entering the store.

The pump switched on. The numbers went to zero. I began filling the tank.

Charlene came out with a bag full of supplies. “They had some bottled water.”

“I’m thirsty,” I said.

She put the bag in the car, left the door open and leaned across the hood. “Your ankle’s not twisted, is it, Dad?”

I swallowed. Making eye contact was difficult, but I forced myself. “No, honey. It’s not.”

She nodded. Her fingers were laced together. She lowered her head into her hands. When she stood up straight, I braced myself. I didn’t know if she would yell at me, come at me, or as I wished, just hug me.

Charlene did none of the above. She got back into the car and closed her door.

I replaced the cap.

I gave the area one last look around and got into the car, too.

We pulled out of the station, and I found a way back onto the Interstate. I closed my eyes against the sunlight. It hurt my head. The brilliance made me think my brain had come loose from the inside walls of the skull and was bouncing around free inside my head.

“Were you going to tell me?” she said. She sat with her arms folded. It was the Charlene I knew very well. The young teenager. Not the warrior she’d become.

“Of course,” I said.

“Yeah? When?”

I had no answer. There would never have been a right time.

I saw signs for Mexico. We were close to the Rio Grande. We were almost to the border.

My eyes closed.

I heard Charlene scream. The car swerved. I opened my eyes. She had the steering wheel.

“Pull over, Dad!” She said this over and over.

I applied the brakes. The car came to a stop. We were in the center lane.

“Dad,” she said.

The virus was coursing inside me like a fire. Both legs throbbed. My gut and chest ached. My arms felt numb. I pushed opened the car door and fell out.

I threw up, and tried to roll away from my vomit.

I managed to get onto my back.

The sun was so bright. I squinted against the light.

I squinted against the light until all I saw was darkness.

#  #  #

My head was on her lap. She ran her fingers through my hair like a comb, keeping strands from getting into my eyes. Sweat kept the hair off my face.

“You can’t do this, Dad. I don’t want to be here without you,” she said.

“It’s okay,” I said. “It’s okay.”

“Stop it, alright? Just stop it. You can’t fix this. It’s not going to be okay. And I can’t do this. I can’t leave you.”

“You have to,” I said. My throat was dry. The fire was inside my lungs and mouth, inside my entire face and head. I opened my eyes. The sun was behind Charlene’s head. She was a simple silhouette. “I love you, you know.”

She cried. “You’re not leaving.”

“Get to Mexico, okay. Get across that border.”

I hoped there was something there. Something for her.

“I’m not leaving you. We’re going to turn this around somehow. I’m going to save you. I’m going to keep you with me,” she said.

The fire in my throat wasn’t the virus. It was the cry I held back. The lump in my throat was the pain I kept inside. “I love you,” I said again.

“You’re not going anywhere.”

I closed my eyes.

#  #  #

When I opened them, I felt shocked. It was day time. The sun did not hurt my head. I was able to see the sun stream through stained glass windows. I was in the back of the church. The rows of pews were filled with people in suits and elegant dresses.

There was a buzz to the day. It swelled my chest. I stood by the back doors peeking in. Candle flames danced all around on stands set around the church. I watched the priest by the altar prepare for the upcoming ceremony.

Julie, my ex-wife walked in from outside. The summer sun was brilliant in a blue and cloudless sky. She was with her newest husband, Donald, or Douglas, or whatever his name was. They were dressed to the T’s. Julie in a long and off-white dress that complemented her aging figure.

“How are you, Chase?” She said.

I nodded. Maybe I said something. I couldn’t tell if my mouth was working. It still seemed dry, very dry.

“Where is Cash?” She said.

She didn’t know. I’d not had the chance to tell her. How could I not have told her that our son had been shot and that he died after surgery? It was going to crush her. It still crushed me, mashed my heart to a pulp inside my chest.

The door that Julie and Donald just came through opened again, and in a dark suit with a crisp pressed white shirt and necktie was Cash.

“Hey, Mom, Dad,” Cash said.

Cash.

He was dead. I buried him. I’d held him, and placed him in a hole I’d dug in the ground.

I dropped to my knees. I spread my arms wide and he ran into them. “You look so handsome,” I said.

“Thank you,” he said, pulled out of the hug and fixed the knot on his tie.

I still wanted to hug him. I didn’t want the embrace to be over. Not yet, not while he was here. With me.

“Have you seen, Charlene? She looks beautiful.” My ex-wife was smiling. How could she look so happy?