"This is a self-fulfilling prophesy with you," continued Matt, following her. "Don't you see? He knows you. He knows exactly which button to push. This is why you two were no good for each other."
Kelly dug to the back of the closet, tossing out two old tennis rackets in her way, hitting Matt on the feet for talking like that in front of Zack. "It's not like that. I believe him."
"He's a wanted man, Kel. He's having some sort of breakdown, a collapse. All these so-called geniuses are basically fragile. Like those sunflowers you're always trying to grow out along the back fence-heads too big, collapsing underneath their own weight." Kelly sent a winter boot out, flying near his shins, but this one he dodged. "This is all about you, you know. He's pathological. Can't let go. This whole thing is about keeping you close."
She stopped, turning on all fours, staring at him through the bottom of the coats. "Are you really that clueless?"
"Men don't like to lose. They won't give in."
She backed out hauling her big American Tourister. "Is that why you won't leave now?"
"I won't leave because I have to go to work. If I thought I could use your daffy husband's end-of-the-world excuse to get out of this floor-to-computer inventory, I would, believe me. But in the real world, when you don't show up at your job, you lose it."
She turned, burning at his obstinacy. "Eph said to go. He's never acted that way before, never talked like that. This is real."
"It's eclipse hysteria, they were talking about it on TV. People freaking out. If I was going to flee New York because of all the crazies, I'd have been out of here years ago." Matt reached for her shoulders. She shook him off at first, then let him hold her for a moment. "I'll check in with the electronics department now and then, the TVs there, to see if anything's happening. But the world keeps turning, all right? For those of us with real jobs. I mean-you're just going to leave your classroom?"
Her students' needs pulled on her, but everybody and everything else came second to Zack. "Maybe they'll cancel school for a few days. Come to think of it, I had a lot of unexplained absences today-"
"These are kids, Kel. Flu."
"I think it's actually the eclipse," said Zack, from across the room. "Fred Falin told me in school. Everyone who looked at the moon without glasses? It cooked their brains."
Kelly said, "What is this fascination with you and zombies?"
"They're out there," he said. "Gotta be prepared. I'll bet you don't even know the two most important things you need in order to survive a zombie invasion."
Kelly ignored him. Matt said, "I give up."
"A machete and a helicopter."
"Machete, huh?" Matt shook his head. "I think I'd rather have a shotgun.""Wrong," said Zack. "You don't have to reload a machete."
Matt conceded the point, turning to Kelly. "This Fred Falin kid really knows his stuff."
"Guys-I've HAD it!" Being ganged up on by them wasn't something she was used to. Any other time, she might have been happy seeing Zack and Matt pulling together. "Zack-you're talking nonsense. This is a virus, and it's real. We need to get out of here."
Matt stood there while Kelly carried the empty suitcase to the other bags. "Kel, relax. Okay?" He pulled his car keys out of his pocket, twirling them around his finger. "Take a bath, catch your breath. Be rational about this-please. Taking into account the source of your 'inside' info." He went to the front door. "I'll check in with you later."
He went out. Kelly stood staring at the closed door.
Zack came over to her with his head cocked slightly to one side, the way he used to when he'd ask what death meant or why some men held hands. "What did Dad say to you about this?"
"He just...he wants the best for us."
Kelly rubbed her forehead in a way that hid her eyes. Should she alarm Zack too? Could she pack up Zack and leave here solely on Eph's word, without Matt? Should she? And-if she believed Eph, didn't she have a moral obligation to warn others in turn?
The Heinsons' dog started barking next door. Not her usual angry yipping, but a high-pitched noise, sounding almost scared. It was enough to bring Kelly into the back sunroom, where she found that the motion light over the backyard deck had come on.
She stood there with arms crossed, watching the yard for movement. Everything looked still. But the dog kept going, until Mrs. Heinson went out and brought it-still barking-inside.
"Mom?"
Kelly jumped, scared by her son's touch, totally losing her cool.
"You okay?" Zack said.
"I hate this," she said, walking him back into the living room. "Just hate it."
She would pack, for her and for Zack and for Matt.
And she would watch.
And she would wait.
Bronxville
THIRTY MINUTES NORTH of Manhattan, Roger Luss sat poking at his iPhone inside the oak-paneled bar room of the Siwanoy Country Club, awaiting his first martini. He had instructed the Town Car driver to let him off at the club rather than take him straight home. He needed a little reentry time. If Joan was sick, as the nanny's voice mail message seemed to indicate, then the kids probably had it by now, and he could be walking into a real mess. More than enough reason to extend his business trip by one or two more hours.
The dining room overlooking the golf course was completely empty at the dinner hour. The server came with his three-olive martini on a tray covered in white linen. Not Roger's usual waiter. He was Mexican, like the fellows who parked cars out in front. His shirt was shrugged up out of his waistband in the back, and he wore no belt. His nails were dirty. Roger would have a talk with the club manager first thing in the morning. "There she is," said Roger, the olives sunk at the bottom of the V-shaped cocktail glass, like beady little eyeballs preserved in a pickling vinegar. "Where is everyone tonight?" he asked in his usual booming voice. "What is it, a holiday? The market closed today? President died?"
Shrug.
"Where are all the regular staff?"
He shook his head. Roger realized now that the man looked scared.
Then Roger recognized him. The barman's uniform had thrown Roger off. "Groundskeeper, right? Usually out trimming the greens."
The groundskeeper in the barman's uniform nodded nervously and shambled off to the front lobby.
Damn peculiar. Roger lifted his martini glass and looked around, but there was nobody to toast or nod to, no town politicking to be done. And so, with no eyes on him, Roger Luss slurped the cocktail, downing half of it in two great swallows. It hit his stomach and he let go a low purr in greeting. He speared one of the olives, tapping it dry on the edge of the glass before popping it into his mouth, swishing it around for a thoughtful moment, then squishing it between his back molars.