“Brett,” Tom said, “I’m Army, and I’m telling you that their first concern is going to be taking care of themselves, not kids and not anyone who isn’t one of them.”
Now Brett looked uncertain. “You a soldier? You been to Iraq?”
“Afghanistan.”
“What are you doing here? Why aren’t you over there?”
“I was on leave.”
“Yeah?” Iron Face—Harlan—said. “Well, your leave’s canceled, soldier. Isn’t it when things go to hell you’re supposed to be helping? There’s no army up north.” To Brett: “He’s running away is what he’s doing.”
“I’m trying to keep my people safe,” Tom said, but Alex heard a new note in his voice she couldn’t decipher, and then she picked up that stinging, sharply chemical scent and thought, Tom’s not just scared. He’s lying.
“Brett,” Tom said, “going due south or east isn’t safe. There’s only one base south of us, and it’s going to be overrun with refugees. I’ve seen when crowds get out of control. You don’t want to be in that, man.”
“He’s just scared,” said Harlan. “He’s a damn deserter is what he is.”
“No,” Tom said.
But Alex heard—she smelled—Yes.
“How do you know east isn’t safe?” asked Brett.
“The radio on the flatbed.” Tom gave a hurried summary, then said, “Going east would be the worst thing to do. Brett, the moon is blue. It’s green. That can only happen when there’s crap in the air.”
“When was the last time you heard anything?”
“About two weeks ago.”
“Well, hell,” said Harlan, “a lot can happen in two weeks. You said you heard people from Europe? Well, how would anyone way the hell in France know what’s going on over here? Remember what those bastards did when it come to Iraq. Saved their own sorry butts.”
“Harlan’s got a point,” said the woman.
“Brett.” Tom took another step toward the older man. “Come on, man, you’re not a kill—”
The crack of the rifle sent a bolt of fear racing up Alex’s throat. Ellie let out a little yip. Tom stopped dead in his tracks. From his place on the flatbed, Harlan said, “Next time I tell you to shut up, Tom, you’ll shut up, or I won’t be wasting a bullet.”
For a moment, Alex thought Tom might defy him, but then Tom shook his head, and her heart fell. If Tom couldn’t save them …
“Now that’s settled,” Harlan said, “bring me the damn tent.” When Tom tossed the tent onto the flatbed, Harlan grinned through a jostle of stained teeth that Alex could smell from twenty feet away: years of chewing tobacco and Jim Beam. “Keys.”
They’re really going to leave us here. With a kind of detached disbelief, Alex watched as Tom let the truck’s keys fall with a muted, metallic tinkle to the thin snow. They’re going to strand us in the snow, in the middle of nowhere. We’ve got to do something.
“Whose dog is that?” When Alex didn’t answer, the old woman nudged her head back with the rifle. “I’m not going to ask again. It yours?”
“No, she’s mine,” said Ellie. “She was my dad’s and then my grandpa’s, but she’s really mine.”
“All right then,” the woman said. She smiled up at Harlan. “Twofers.”
Harlan was nodding. “Yeah. Taking ’em both’s the best thing.”
“What?” Alex cried.
“I don’t know, Marjorie,” Brett said.
“Brett, if we take the dog, there won’t be as many questions, right? Everyone’s got dogs,” Marjorie said. “Dogs and kids is good.”
“Why?” asked Tom. “What are you talking about?”
Brett hunched a shoulder. “Couple guys we run into said dogs can tell who’s going to change.”
“Did you rob them, too?” Ellie spat.
Brett flushed, and Alex thought maybe Ellie nailed it. “We don’t know that’s true,” he said to Tom. “Just what we heard. There’s all kind of talk.”
“A dog and a kid,” Marjorie pressed. “We got them, they’ll have to take us in, too.”
“No.” Tom started toward Alex and Ellie, who was cringing against Alex’s hip. “You can’t have either of them.”
“Hold up, Tom,” said Harlan.
“I won’t help you,” Ellie said to Marjorie. “I’ll tell Mina to kill you.”
“Fine,” said Marjorie, sighting along her rifle. “Then I’ll just kill the dog now and we still got—”
“No!” Tom and Alex cried at the same moment, and then Tom lunged. Marjorie saw him coming, tried bringing the gun around, but Tom ducked under and crowded in, got his hands out, got his hand around the barrel. He gave the rifle a vicious jerk. Gasping, Alex tumbled into Ellie, pushing her into the snow as Marjorie squeezed the trigger. The rifle cracked, the bullet whizzing over their heads, and then Marjorie was backpedaling, off-balance, and Tom had the rifle and he was slotting it against his shoulder, already swinging, bringing the rifle up just as Alex saw Harlan, on the flatbed, pivot—
“Tom!” she screamed.
34
Three days later, Alex eased up until her eyes just cleared the ridge of freshly fallen snow mantled over a high stack of firewood. A gust of wind flung snow into her face, and her eyes watered with the sting. Blinking away tears, she peered across an expanse of asphalt parking lot and past a trio of gas pumps. Slotted next to one pump was some flavor of Toyota sedan, abandoned when the power to the gas pump had died and the sedan refused to start. The driver’s-side door was open, as were, inexplicably, both the driver and passenger side windows in the front. A drift of snow feathered the front seat and dashboard. Another vehicle—a Dodge Caravan—had cut out as the driver was making a turn into the station, both front doors standing open like giant ears. From her vantage point, Alex could see that the panel doors had been slid back on their tracks. There was an empty child’s safety seat, and Alex saw the limp, furry red leg of an Elmo doll dragging from the footwell. Her chest hurt at the sight, and she thought, again, of Ellie.
“What do you see?”
“No bodies.” She looked down at Tom, his back propped against the woodpile. He’d looked worse this morning, feverish and ill, and she didn’t think the beads of moisture on his face were snowmelt. Harlan’s twenty-two really had been pretty pissant. The bullet hadn’t shattered bone, but it hadn’t exited either, and was still lodged deep in Tom’s right thigh. She saw with dismay that the strip of flannel shirt she’d used to bind his wound was dark. “You’re bleeding again.”