We had loaded as much food, ammo, water, and medical supplies as we could into the five vehicles, but decided to leave the stolen Army Humvee behind, figuring the big fuel-guzzler would have been too much of a strain on our limited diesel supply. However, we did relieve it of its weaponry, including an M-249 SAW, a box of frag grenades, two LAW rockets, and several thousand rounds of belted 5.56mm ammunition.

“Where are we going?” Sophia asked.

I glanced out the driver’s side window at the rolling hills of burned and blackened trees. They reminded me of bristles on a giant, coarse brush. “Colorado would be my guess,” I said. “I overheard my dad and Tyrel talking about Pike National Forest last week. I think the idea was to lay low in Canyon Lake until things settled down, then head north.”

“Would have been nice if they had disclosed that little tidbit of information.”

“I’m sure they had their reasons for keeping it quiet.”

“Of course they did. The wisdom of our collective parental units is incalculable.”

“Hey, we’re still alive, aren’t we?”

I felt her gaze on the side of my face. “I don’t like being kept in the dark,” she said.

“I don’t either, Sophia. But what else are we supposed to do?”

She was quiet for a couple of miles, then said, “I guess we don’t have much of a choice but to trust him.”

“Who?”

“Your father. He seems to be the one in charge.”

“Only because no one else wants the job.”

“Touché.”

“He knows what he’s doing.”

“I hope so. It would really ruin my day if he got us all killed.”

I turned my head and glared. “Careful. That’s my father you’re talking about.”

The heat in my voice made her eyes go wide. “Caleb, I didn’t mean …”

“Save it.” I put my focus back on the road.

We didn’t speak for a while after that. Miles rolled under the wheels and the ash gray expanse of Canyon Lake grew smaller to my left. I snuck a few glances at Sophia from the corner of my eye and felt the old defenses begin to weaken. I had always been touchy when it came to my father and what people had to say about him. If the tone was negative, I was quick to mine the fields and zero in the artillery and man the machine-gun nests. In most cases, it was overkill. And worse, I was sensible enough to know it.

Sophia sat with her legs folded in front of her, arms around her knees, face turned away from me. I studied the shadow under her jawline, the grace of it, the way it flowed seamlessly into the curve of long neck and delicate earlobe. Her hair was tied back, a few unbound strands falling loose along the side of her face, the tips barely touching her flawless skin. Looking at them made my hands tingle.

“Hey,” I said.

She looked at me, a vulnerability in her eyes I decided I never wanted to see again. “I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay.”

She put a hand on the center console, palm up. I covered it with mine and squeezed. “Let’s not do that anymore.”

“Deal.”

*****

When we drew near the 306 North junction with 281, Mike ordered the convoy to a halt. “I’m gonna recon ahead, see if the way is clear. Y’all stay here, ‘cept for Caleb. Acknowledge.”

I hesitated a moment, then keyed my radio. “Copy. On my way.”

As I walked to the lead Humvee, I kept expecting my father to raise some sort of protest, but he didn’t. I glanced back at him to see him seated in his truck. He gave me a thumbs-up and a strained smile that didn’t quite touch his eyes. Lauren, on the other hand, stared blankly ahead.

She had not taken the news of our departure well. She and Dad argued. Again. He finally won by telling her if we stayed, we would die. She started to say something, then stopped, looked at the ground, and said, “Fine. Let’s go.” Afterward, she climbed in the truck, buckled her seatbelt, and had not moved or spoken to anyone since.

“Let’s get moving,” I heard Mike say. “We’re burnin’ daylight.”

His face was impassive as I approached, dark chestnut-colored eyes so much like Sophia’s focused through a pair of field glasses. He had slung his big sniper-modified M1A battle rifle across his back, barrel pointed at the ground.

It occurred to me we were about the same height, but because he had roughly fifty pounds of muscle on me, I always felt like I was looking up at him. “Got everything you need?” he asked, not lowering the glasses.

I checked my canteen was full, ammo carriers stocked, round in the chamber on my carbine, safety on, Beretta in its customary drop holster. “I’m good, as long as we’re not gone for more than a few hours. Think I should bring some food?”

He lowered the binoculars and shook his head. “No. We won’t be gone that long. Come on.”

I followed Mike to the other side of the highway, which put us on the left of it as we headed west. The land around us was relatively flat, despite the fact we were in the Texas hill country. Highway 281 lay just short of a mile from where we stood, but despite the flat terrain, there was sufficient bend in the highway and denseness of dead forest ahead to obscure our view.

As we walked through the incinerated trees, the remains of a few houses were visible nearby, the occasional charred rafter or blackened section of frame reaching up from the scorched ground. We stayed low and kept well clear of the highway, paralleling it toward the junction. We saw no movement until halfway to our destination when we came upon the remnants of two large houses, a swimming pool filled with ashes, a few burned-out vehicles, and a flame-gutted camping trailer.

The nearest house lay in a blackened pile, fire-seared boards leaning against one another, roof caved in, a refrigerator, dishwasher, stove, and some squat thing I could not identify in a cluster as if holding a meeting among the ashes. The vehicles ahead sat sinking into the ground on bare rotors, tires melted away, upholstery incinerated, paint jobs scorched down to bare metal. I looked beyond them to the camping trailer, identifiable only by its shape. Reaching out a hand, I tapped Mike on the shoulder.

“Hey,” I whispered. “We should swing that way.” I pointed to my left. “Might be infected in that camper up there.”

He gave me a skeptical look. “Son, ain’t nothing could have survived these fires. Not even the dead. Now come on.”

He strode ahead, feet crunching on the crisp, dry ground. I ground my teeth and followed, eyes searching the trailer for signs of movement. Sure enough, when we were about fifty yards away, there was a thump and a clatter, and the trailer rocked on its rear suspension springs. Mike stopped and stared open-mouthed.

“Goddammit, Mike.”

It took a few seconds for the creature to find the door and make its way around the camper. Mike and I both drew in a breath at the sight of it.

It’s clothes were gone, burned away. So was its skin, a few outer layers of muscle tissue, and its eyes. Empty black sockets swiveled left and right as the ghoul cocked its head from one side to the other, turning first its left ear, then its right, in our direction.

“Holy shit,” Mike muttered.

I did a face-palm.

The creature stopped moving, empty hollow circles of black fixed squarely our way. It opened its skeletal mouth, bereft of skin and lips, and tried to moan, but only a dry scratching sound like sandpaper over rusty metal came out. Mike raised his rifle and began to sight in, but I reached out and forestalled him.

“Wait,” I said, and drew my knife.

“Why?”

“Haven’t you figured it out yet?”

“What?”

“They hunt by sound, Mike.”

He lowered his rifle and turned his gaze back to the ghoul. “Yeah, I kinda figured. Sorry. Wasn’t thinking.”

“They tend to have that effect on people.”

I approached the half-roasted ghoul with my knife held low at my side. The creature moved more slowly than the others I had seen, almost like stop-motion animation. The fire must have done something to what remained of its nerves, interfered with its motor skills. I considered it a lucky break. The thing’s lack of agility made my job that much easier.