“Sure. The zombie apocalypse.” Amy had looked over at him and said, So what do we do when the dead rise? They’d spent hours talking about what to pack, where to go. How they’d want to hit a camping store, load up: water purification tablets, first aid supplies, matches, good knives, a tent, a shotgun and ammo if possible. Whether an isolated farmhouse would be ideal, or whether it would be better to steal a boat. How the key would be to act fast, to recognize that things had changed. It was a universal fantasy, a game everyone had played to while away the hours.
“Well, it’s not zombies. But it’s time to start thinking that way.”
He looked over at his wife, their daughter in her arms, standing on the porch of their lovely home, the first they’d owned together. A place they’d bought for Violet before she even existed, imagining her playing in the backyard, walking to school. Their little slice of the American pie.
“Cleveland is not Manhattan,” he said, slowly. “You can’t hold a couple of bridges and tunnels and lock everyone in.”
“Right. Before we tried the highway. Probably the first thing they closed. But they can’t watch everything all the time.”
“They can watch the streets.”
“Then we get off the streets. They can’t lock arms around the whole metro area.”
“I saw helicopters,” he said. “They probably have more now. They’ll be using them to watch for people leaving.”
“It’s a lot of space. And helicopters make noise. We pack light, drive as far as we dare, and then we walk.”
“You know what we’re talking about, right? Abandoning everything. Becoming refugees.”
“Better that than waiting for the riots to reach us. ‘Normal’ is gone, hon. We’re on our own.”
He thought of the day before, the insanity of it. How a conversation had turned to violence over a few words and a book.
Mostly he thought of Lou, lying in a halo of broken glass, a gun in his hand.
“Let’s get packed.”
He’d have laughed if he had the heart.
When they’d tried to leave a couple of days ago, they had crammed the Honda to the roof. Two suitcases filled with clothing and luxuries, Violet’s travel swing, a lockbox of documents, on and on. All things that seemed necessary.
Funny how flexible a standard “necessary” was turning out to be.
They’d culled all the obvious stuff quickly. If they had any chance at getting out, it would be on foot, and that meant none of the plastic crap, the baby accessories that had taken over their home. No pack-and-play, no bathtub. No picture books, no monitor, no musical seahorse.
Food. Water. His tent, musty from disuse. Winter jackets and good walking shoes and a couple of changes of clothes. Matches and a flashlight and batteries. A first aid kit. Diapers and wipes and rash cream. Sleeping bags.
He found his old backpack in the basement, the same one he’d worn across Europe two decades before. It took three minutes to realize it was too small.
Okay. No spare clothes, just socks. The bulk of the diapers went next. They were light, but they took up a lot of space. He kept twenty, which was maybe three days’ worth. Batteries were the opposite problem, little space but too much weight, and he swapped the big flashlight for a small Maglite and AA batteries.
The canned food would last but weighed a ton. He trimmed it down to the remaining evaporated milk for Violet, the jerky, a few cans of soup, and a container of peanut butter. A can opener.
One sleeping bag; they’d have to share, use the winter coats as blankets.
Amy joined him as Ethan was hoisting the pack onto his back and tightening the straps. Forty pounds, maybe? A solid load, but doable. It would be better if they could both manage full packs, but one of them needed to be wearing their daughter.
“What about Gregor?”
“Shit.” Ethan looked at the cat, splayed out on an easy chair, oblivious. His buddy for years, lap-warmer and near-constant companion. “We can’t take him.”
“We could try,” she said, her voice empty of conviction.
For a moment, he considered it. Bringing the little guy, bearing him in their arms as they walked. Packing food for him.
The key to surviving the apocalypse is to recognize that things have changed.
Ethan knelt down beside the cat, rubbed his head. “I’m sorry, buddy. I’m afraid you’re going to have to take care of yourself for a little while.” Whenever Gregor saw birds and squirrels, the cat went nuts. He’d finally get his chance at them. Ethan stood up before emotion could paralyze him, opened the back door and the screen, and left them agape.
“Is that everything?”
“Almost.” Amy held up the gun.
He looked at her, at it. Nodded. “Let’s go.”
They threw the bags in the back of the Honda, strapped Violet into her car seat, and then got in themselves. Ethan stared out the driver’s side at the house. Normal really is gone.
“Ethan.” Amy pointed.
Jack Ford was walking toward them. Lou was two steps behind.
Something cold settled in his belly. For a moment, he just stared. Then he reached over to the glove box and withdrew the pistol. He set it on his lap as he rolled the window down.
His neighbor stared at him, a haunted look in his eyes. “You guys are leaving?”
“No. Just going for a drive.” The lie coming awkwardly. “See if we can find some food.”
Jack’s eyes flicked to the back of the truck; he must have seen them putting the backpack in. Lou moved up alongside, all tension and clenched muscles. Ethan’s hand on the gun felt wet.
“Listen,” Jack said. “About yesterday.”
“We’ve got to go.” He put the truck in reverse.
“Wait.” Jack put a hand on the doorframe. His other hand was behind his back. Ethan tensed. Voices screamed silently in his head.
“Here,” Jack said, and raised his other hand, revealing a small cardboard box. He held it out. “Just in case.”
Ethan looked at him, then at Lou, the man’s face expressionless. The same face he’d seen on the other side of a gun barrel.
Then he reached out and took the box of ammunition. “Thanks.”
“Thank you,” Lou said. “I almost. Yesterday.”
In the backseat, Violet let out a sudden startled cry, and all four of them jumped. Ethan said, “We’ve got to go.”
“Good luck,” Jack said. “We’ll watch your house.”
“Keep an eye out for my cat, would you?”
“Sure.”
Ethan rolled up his window and pulled away. The two men stood in his rearview mirror, and beyond them, columns of smoke rose while helicopters darted between them.
Was I just prepared to shoot my neighbor?
Yes. Yes, he had been.
No more normal.
CHAPTER 17
On the monitor, Cleveland was burning.
Cooper watched the president watch it. Lionel Clay’s face was drawn, his shoulders tight beneath his dress shirt. He stood like a man caught in a spotlight.
“The situation’s getting worse.” Owen Leahy pressed a button, and the image shifted, an overhead view of a government building. Cold stone and columns, it was a gray island encircled by a sea of people, thousands of them, a mass of rough currents that formed no pattern. The secretary of defense continued, “City hall is surrounded. The national guardsmen who were already on scene have secured the building, but they’re having trouble getting reinforcements in. Cleveland PD has a riot team en route, but the mob is making it slow going.”
“Where did the fire start?” The president spoke without looking from the screen.