“You didn’t.”

“Didn’t what?”

“Do a bunch of crazy teenager shit.”

I gave a small shrug. “I’m not like most teenagers.”

Mike stared at me. “Yeah. I guess not.” He grabbed the field glasses and peered down the hill again, sweeping slowly from left to right. I lay next to him, chin on my hands, thinking about Sophia. Enough time passed I thought he had dropped the subject, so when he spoke, it startled me.

“I guess if there’s any guy I would want her to end up with,” he said. “It’d be you, Caleb. Just make sure you take good care of her.”

I looked at him, surprised. I had to swallow a few times before I could speak. “Thanks, Mike. That means a lot to me.”

He grunted and continued staring down the hill.

Nothing much happened in the settlement below as the sun stretched the shadows into afternoon. I was beginning to consider suggesting we head back and get the others when I heard the sound of a car approaching.

“Hand me the eyes,” Mike said. He had given me the field glasses so he could take a rest. I passed them back.

We watched a car pull up to the compound: a GMC pickup, loaded with supplies, two people seated in the cab. It stopped in front of a low-rider Cadillac that served as the settlement’s main gate. Two men climbed over the Caddy and approached the truck. A brief conversation followed, ending when one of the people in the truck handed something to a gate guard. The guard then ran into the main enclosure, disappeared into an RV, and came back out with a small box in his hands. After handing the box to the man in the truck, there was a quick round of conversation—thank-you-and-goodbye by the look of it—and the truck was off.

“Huh,” Mike said.

“Yeah.”

“Looked friendly enough.”

“Sure did. I’m thinking I might have an idea.”

The big Marine glanced at me warily. “Caleb …”

“What? These people might be able to help us. And I’m a lot less scary looking than you. Besides, if anything goes wrong, you’ll be up here on overwatch.”

He thought it over. “All right. But approach from the road. If things turn bad, signal me by scratching your right ear with your left hand. Got it?”

“Right ear, left hand. Got it.”

*****

I let them see me coming a long way off.

After backing down from the shallow hillside, I circled around in defilade and emerged at the base of another hill onto Highway 281. The lookouts at the settlement didn’t see me until I topped the rise and skylined myself.

I could see them in the distance, eyes peering through binoculars, rifles hung over their shoulders, faint echoes reaching me as they called to one another. Their posture seemed neither aggressive nor overly relaxed. They wanted to make it clear they were aware of my approach, but had no plans to get in my way.

I stopped in front of the Cadillac—a purple one, lots of after-market modifications, barely four inches off the ground—and waved at a guard standing atop an RV.

“Hello.”

The man nodded in my direction. He was a little shorter than me, heavyset, late thirties, big bushy moustache. He said, “Howdy.”

“Don’t suppose you have any water in there, do you?”

“Depends. What you got to trade?”

“What are you looking for?”

He reached in his back pocket and pulled out a list. As he did, a light wind kicked up, sending streamers of ash across the soot-stained parking lot. “Got any feminine hygiene products?”

“Um, no.”

“Antibiotics?”

“Sorry.”

“Pain medicine?”

“Afraid not.”

“Toilet paper?”

“No.”

“Booze?”

I chuckled at that one. “No.”

He stuffed the list back in his pocket. “Well, I guess that just leaves ammo.”

I patted the mag pouches on my vest. “I can spare some five-five-six and nine-mil.”

“How many rounds?”

“That depends. How much water are we talking about?”

One corner of the man’s mouth twitched upward. “You’re pretty sharp for a young fella.” He made a motion over the Caddy. “Come on in. Just hop right over the car there.”

As I obeyed, the guard turned and shouted to someone I couldn’t see. My feet hit the opposite side of the gate just in time to see several men and two women emerge from RVs, all carrying weapons. My hand tightened on the grip of my rifle, but I stayed relaxed, letting it dangle from its tactical sling. If things went south, after I signaled Mike, the rifle would be a distraction. While all eyes were focused on it, I would quick-draw my pistol and start gunning people down. At this range, the sidearm would be easier to bring to bear.

“What’s your name?” one of the men said. Tall, about my height, salt-and-pepper hair, mid to late forties, strong build, moved and spoke like a cop. By the way the others gravitated toward him, I figured him for the leader.

“Caleb Hicks,” I said, seeing no harm in giving my real name.

“Who are you with?” The man said, coming to a halt a few feet in front of me. His tone was not entirely hostile, just authoritarian, like he was accustomed to being answered when he posed a question, and being answered quickly.

“Me, myself, and I,” I said, looking around casually. “What is this place?”

“I’ll ask the questions.” I returned my gaze to him. He had dark brown eyes, focused and intense.

“What are you doing here?”

“Passing through. I need some water.” I lowered a hand slowly to my canteen and gave it a shake. It made a light splashing sound, indicating it was almost empty. I had actually drank most of it earlier, planning to use the empty canteen as an excuse for approaching the settlement. “Came across a house a day ago that hadn’t burned down, found a few liters left in the hot water heater. But I’ve just about burned through it. If you have any water to spare, I’m more than happy to trade for it. Can’t drink bullets, after all.”

“Where are you coming from?”

I hooked a thumb over my shoulder. “San Antonio. Or what’s left of it, anyway. When Houston went up like a road flare, I saw the writing on the wall. The highways were choked by then, so I left on foot. Had to hide out from the fires for a while, and now I’m trying to make my way to Colorado.”

The man looked from me to the guard standing on top of the RV. “We don’t normally let people inside the gate,” he said pointedly.

“Aw, come on, Travis,” the guard replied. “He’s just a kid. Stop being so damn paranoid and let him have some water. We got plenty for Christ’s sake.”

The leader, Travis, glared a moment longer, then returned his attention to me. “I suppose Jerry’s right. Leave your rifle and your sidearm at the gate, then go with Mabel here.” He gestured to a frumpy, fiftyish woman behind him. “She’ll get you some water.”

Travis walked off and disappeared into his RV. The others with him cast me a final, curious glance and then did the same. Mabel stepped closer, offering a doughy hand. I shook it.

“Nice to meet you Caleb.”

“Same to you, ma’am.”

“You’ll have to forgive Travis. He’s a good man, but a bit overprotective.”

Jerry climbed down from the RV and took my carbine and pistol, but didn’t ask for my ammo. Mabel began walking toward the gas station in the center of the ring of campers. I followed a few feet behind.

“How long have you been here?” I asked.

“Well, let’s see … it’s been a little over a month since what happened in Houston. Most everyone around these parts evacuated long before then. There were a bunch of us came up from San Antonio with the National Guard. Stopped here for gas, but while the soldiers were fueling up their trucks, they got orders to head back south. Commanding officer apologized, but said he had no choice.”

“So they just left you here?”

She nodded. “Sure did.”

“You don’t sound angry.”

“My husband was a soldier, God rest his soul. I know what orders are. Besides, we had Travis. He organized us, had us scavenge around for food, medicine, weapons, things like that. It was his idea to circle the campers and fill ‘em in with dirt. Does a good job of keeping the infected out.”