She sighted her rifle on Alex’s chest. “Don’t.”
33
“Is she dead?” asked Ellie.
“I can’t tell.” They’d backed Alex and Ellie away from the truck, and Alex had to crane her head to peer into the high grass. She could just make out the dog sprawled on the snow-dusted ground and wished she’d known the command for shut up. Unfortunately, she hadn’t, and when the dog wouldn’t stop barking, one of the two men—who were both pretty old, about Larry’s age, Alex thought—had decided his rifle made for a great baseball bat, too. Maybe that was good. A wallop to the head, the dog stood a chance. A bullet, and it would’ve been over. Alex saw the dog’s chest struggle to rise and then fall, and then rise again. “No, she’s breathing. They just knocked her out.”
“They made me blow the whistle.” Ellie glared up at the woman. “She said they’d shoot Mina if I didn’t.”
From behind her rifle, the woman said, “I still might, you don’t shut up.”
“It’s okay, Ellie.” Alex turned her attention to Tom, who was breaking down the big tent. The older of the two men kept a rifle trained on Tom’s back as he worked. The one who’d clocked Mina had already packed up the pup tent and was now rooting around the flatbed. They’d found all the weapons, except the boot knife and her Glock still snugged in its paddle holster at her waist beneath the sheepskin jacket she’d taken from the ranger station. She prayed that no one thought to make her unbutton the jacket. Most of their ammo was in a separate soft pack they’d taken from the gun safe, and she watched now as the younger old guy dug out the ammo pack.
“Found it.” The guy had a face that looked as if someone had taken an iron to it when he was a baby. “Gotchyer forty-five cal, gotchyer nine mils, gotchyer twenty-twos for the Buck Mark.”
“What about for the rifle and shotgun?” the woman called over her shoulder.
“It’s all here.” Iron Face zipped up the soft pack. “I get the Winchester. I’m sick of this pissant twenty-two. Like to pitch the thing.”
“We’re not pitching anything,” the older guy rumbled. He was bald, round, and florid, his jowls covered with thick gray stubble and a road map of angry capillaries. “Never can tell when something’s gonna come in handy. We take it all, what we carried in and what they got.”
“Then you’re killing us,” Tom said. He cinched up the tent’s carry bag. “You take everything—our food, our weapons, the truck—and you’re as good as shooting us right here and now.”
“You want, we can do that,” Iron Face said. “Better off without your kind around anyway.”
Tom ignored him. “Please, leave us a gun or the bow and one of our packs,” he said to the bald guy. “Man, you think I’m going to shoot out the tires with an arrow? You’re taking everything else. At least give us a fighting chance.”
Alex saw the indecision in the older guy’s face. Iron Face must’ve sensed this as well, because he said, “Hey, shut the f**k up. Don’t listen to him, Brett.”
“Please,” Tom said.
“I said for you to shut up.”
“I’m sorry, but I can’t help you,” Brett said. “I would if I could, but I can’t. There are three of us, and we got a long way to go to get us down south. I heard they got an army refugee camp there. If you’re smart, that’s where you’ll head, too.”
“With what? You’re taking everything,” said Tom.
“You hoof it then, same as we have,” Iron Face said. “Plenty of farms, plenty of dead people, thanks to you and your kind.”
Ellie’s cheeks were flushed. “We didn’t do anything. My grandpa died. You’re just bullies with guns!”
Alex saw the look of shame cross Brett’s face, which Tom must also have seen, because he said, “Brett, that little girl’s dad was a soldier. KIA in Iraq. He served his country, and you’re going to kill his kid?”
“Brett,” the woman warned.
“You can’t leave her here, Brett,” Tom said. “You’re not that kind of man.”
Brett’s face wavered. “We could take her. Might be a good thing. Didn’t those guys say the army got to let you in if you got a kid who hasn’t changed?”
“And there’s Rule,” said Iron Face. “Remember, we heard they’re taking people in, whether you got kids or not. Kids is better, though.”
“What?” Ellie cried.
“No,” said Tom, inching a step closer. “You know that’s not right, Brett. You want the truck, take it. But leave us some supplies. Other than the truck, we’ll be no better or worse off than you are right now. Everyone will run out sooner or later, anyway.”
Brett shook his head. “That’s not what I heard. I heard the government set up these camps. They’re bringing in supplies, like they done in New Orleans.”
“How? Brett, you’ve heard stuff, but so have we. There’s no government. The East Coast is gone, man. Nothing works.”
“Your truck runs.”
“Because it’s very old. I know the military might have hardened some of its equipment against this kind of attack, but that’s all untested, and if you want the honest truth, I don’t think it’ll stand up. Brett, things are not going back to normal anytime soon.”
“Don’t tell me what I already know.” Brett’s face darkened. “When that thing hit, Harlan’s wife dropped dead. A day later, I lost my Jenny to one of your kind.”
“I’m sorry for your loss,” Tom said. “But we haven’t changed.”
“Not yet you haven’t. Soon as you do, all this stuff you got won’t do you a damn bit of good.”
“But what if we don’t? It’s been weeks. If it’s true that they’re letting people with kids into camps and towns, then they know not every kid’s going to change.”
“See, Brett, this is what I’m telling you,” said the grandmotherly woman. “Army’s got to let you in if you got a kid. These older ones, they’re no good; they’ll just cause trouble, but the little girl …”
“No,” Alex said. Ellie was shrinking against her. Larry’s words came floating back: You might be worth your weight in gold. “You can’t have her.”