Zoe was standing in the doorway, her eyes fixed on her aunt Jill. I kneeled beside my daughter and pulled her against my side. There wasn’t really anything I could say; no point in asking if she was all right. None of us were.

Skeeter kneeled down to speak soft, comforting words to Jill. Unable to watch, I walked into the sanctuary. Broken glass lined the carpet next to all three walls. The townspeople of Fairview were clawing and batting at the boards Eric and Gary had nailed across the windows. The boards wouldn’t last forever, just like the small amounts of food Skeeter and a few others had thought to bring along with them.

Reverend Mathis was praying with Barb and Ms. Kay, but paused to watch me approach the windows. I peeked through, trying to gauge how far my car was from the church. I didn’t see any of the sick around Skeeter’s house, or even between there and the church, but that didn’t mean there weren’t any. Still, the hardest part would be walking out the door.

I walked into the kitchen, pulling my car keys from my pocket. “I’m going to make a run for it with Zoe. I have a car down the block. We’ve got two, maybe three empty seats, but we’re going to need a diversion to get outside.”

“But I don’t wanna leave Aunt Jill, Daddy,” Zoe said.

Doris shook her head. “I’m not going out there.”

Bob frowned. “Why don’t you just stay here? It’s as safe as anywhere.”

I covered Zoe’s ears and spoke softly. “Because Annabelle left a trail of blood leading to the church, and it’s smeared on the west wall. Skeeter and I were just on the roof. The church is surrounded, and more are coming. Who knows when they’ll go away, or if they ever will?”

Skeeter nodded. “You’ll need a gun. Something light but with a lot of stopping power. Grab the AR out of my bag there. The two twenty-three. Don’t forget the clips. I’ll cover you.”

A long, camouflage duffle bag holding nearly every gun Skeeter owned was tucked under the church’s kitchen table. I kneeled to pull the nylon across the worn linoleum, and found the squat-barreled rifle that was smaller, but looked just as ferocious as anything else in the bag. “I’ve never shot a semiautomatic rifle, Skeeter. I’m not sure I can handle this.”

Skeeter laughed once, but he couldn’t quite smile. “Zoe could handle it. And you should let her practice when y’all get somewhere safe. Just in case.”

The thought of something happening to me and Zoe then being left alone made my world stop. She was so little, and if we left Skeeter and Jill, I would be all she had. “Maybe we should stay?” I said, my gaze floating to the sanctuary. The things outside were still trying to get in, pulling and banging against the boards.

Skeeter looked at his wife, and then back at me. “No. You shouldn’t.” I pulled a 9mm from the bag and a box of ammo. “Can I take this, too?” Skeeter’s eyes touched on Zoe for just a moment. He knew why I wanted it. I couldn’t leave her alone to fend for herself.

“Of course, brother.”

I nodded in thanks, and then stood. “But we still need a distraction.”

Doris set Connor in the chair that Jill was in. “Maybe we’ll get lucky and someone will pass through town. Will they follow a car?”

Zoe tugged on my pant leg. “I don’t want to go outside, Daddy.”

I leaned down, looking her in the eyes. “I know you don’t. It’s scary out there, isn’t it?”

Zoe nodded.

“But this isn’t the safest place for us. We have to find somewhere else.”

Zoe’s lips formed a hard line, and a tiny indentation appeared between her eyebrows, but she didn’t argue.

“You should take Connor and Evan,” Skeeter said.

Evan looked to Bob with fear in his eyes. Connor shook his head and hid behind Doris.

Doris shook her head, too. “I can’t stop him from taking his daughter, Skeeter, but I won’t let him take these boys outside with those things.”

“Connor,” Skeeter said. “I think you should go with Nathan. We’re going to work to keep those things out but I’m not sure that you’ll be safe here, little man.”

I could barely see Connor’s head shake in protest as he stood behind Doris. I wasn’t going to force him, and really, I couldn’t blame him after what he’d just been through.

“Bob?” Skeeter said. “You sure you don’t want to give Evan a chance?”

Evan stared at Bob, his eyes pleading to stay. Bob patted the boy’s shoulder, and then shook his head.

Barb located a plastic grocery sack, and I put a few boxes of bullets and five bottles of water inside, and then stuffed the 9mm in the waist of my pants. If someone were to tell me the day before that I would be doing anything close to this, I would have laughed them out of the office. I’d been hunting and shooting with Skeeter a handful of times, but owning a gun was not a priority for me, and I wasn’t opposed to gun control.

Now that the undead had taken over the earth, I imagined any member of the NRA was doing better than most.

Just as I hooked the handles of the sack in the crook of my elbow, the sound of salvation echoed through the church: a car horn.

Scarlet

Most houses were dark, letting the streetlights cast ominous shadows over everything. The army was on patrol, and Tobin and I had to leap behind bushes or into the shadows once in a while, slowing down our pace. In addition to Tobin’s injured ankle slowing us down. I wondered if anyone was still in their homes, or if the army had taken them all somewhere. That thought was pushed out by sheer will; that would mean my girls would be in a place nearly impossible to reach, with murderous armed guards.

Refusing to believe that, I pulled Tobin along, pushing back when his limp forced more of his bodyweight on me. I tried to encourage him through the pain. His ankle was swollen, and getting more so by the minute. The walking wasn’t helping. He needed ibuprofen and an ice pack at the very least.

“It’s not far now,” I said.

Tobin had been holding his breath with each step for the last three or four blocks, but he didn’t complain.

“You think she’s there?” he said.

“I hope so.”

“Doesn’t look like anyone’s home. Is there a public shelter around here? Maybe they were all moved there?”

“It’s possible. Maybe the hospital, or the elementary school. It has an old fallout shelter.”

“She has a little boy, did I tell you that?”

I smiled up at him. “You said she was a single mom. What’s her name?”

“Tavia. And my nephew’s name is Tobin.”

“Wow. Namesake.”

“Yeah,” he said, beaming with pride even though his face was dripping with sweat. “He’s a good kid, too. Athletic. Polite. She’s done a helluva job. I don’t think I’ve ever told her that.”

“You will,” I said, praying it was true.

An army Humvee turned the corner, and I pulled Tobin to the dark side of the closest house. A small pop came from Tobin’s ankle. He grimaced and let out a small grunt.

Tobin tried to keep his labored breathing quiet. “They’re armed, too. I don’t get it. Why would . . . why would they be patrolling the streets if they’re just trying to keep—what do you call ’em?”

“Shufflers.”

“Yeah, shufflers. Why patrol inside the city limits if they’re just trying to keep shufflers out? Maybe they’re looking for survivors? Maybe they’re just gathering people to take to a shelter?”

“I don’t know that we should walk out and ask them for help,” I said, pulling him along once the Humvee passed.

“A black man can get shot sneaking around in the dark, that’s what I know.”

I offered a half smile. “C’mon. We’re almost there.”

Tobin’s limp became more pronounced. A block away from Tavia’s, he was in agony. He moaned and groaned through the pain; every step was torture.

“If you don’t quit making that noise, someone is going to think you’re a shuffler and shoot us from their window.”

“I’m sorry,” Tobin said, genuinely regretful.

“I’m kidding. You want to rest?”

He shook his head. “No. You need to get to your girls.” He looked at his sister’s house, just three houses away. “I wish I could return the favor. I wish I could help you find them.” His large hand that was cupped over my shoulder squeezed gently into my skin, and I hugged him back.

We stopped at Tavia’s front steps. Her house had a screened porch and a rickety screen door. Tobin’s voice was barely over a whisper. “Tavia! It’s Tobin! You in there?” He paused, waiting for a response. “Tavia!”

I pointed to my grandparents’. “I’ll be right next door. Holler if you need me.”

Tobin laughed. “You’ve done enough. Thank you, Scarlet.”

I nodded to him, and then crossed the yard to my grandparents’ drive. The grass was just beginning to turn green, and it was half soft, half crunchy under my shoes. My footsteps sounded loud amid the quiet night. Muffled noises Tobin was making next door were barely audible, but I felt like my every breath was picked up by a megaphone.

I pulled on the screen door, and it whined as it opened. I turned the knob, half expecting it to be locked, but it wasn’t. I walked in, trying to see through the darkness. “Mema?” My voice was as soft and nonthreatening as I could manage. My grandparents were getting older. If they weren’t obsessed with the news, they could have been completely oblivious to the outbreak. “Mema, it’s me, Scarlet.” I crossed the living room to the hall, and turned toward their bedroom. Pictures of our family lined the walls, and I stopped in front of one 8x10, noticing it was a picture of Andrew and me with the girls in happier days. No, that was a lie. We were never happy.

When I called my mother to tell her I was leaving Andrew, she scolded me. “You don’t know how good you have it, Scarlet,” she would say. “He’s not an alcoholic like your father. He’s not on that dope. He doesn’t beat you.”

“He doesn’t love me,” I told her. “He’s never home. He’s always working. And when he is home, all he does is yell at me and the kids. He acts like he hates us.”

“Maybe if you were easier to live with he would want to be home.”

Standing in the hall, in front of that picture, I held my fist to my heart in an effort to stave off that years-old hurt. When I chose to leave him, he had the support of his family—and mine. To them, it was a badge of honor to wear his ring. But he was an angry, sometimes cruel man. Of course, I was no doormat, but refusing to let him bully our children only led to louder arguments. The yelling. Christ, the yelling. Our former home was full of words and noise and tears. No, he wasn’t a drunk, or an addict, nor did he beat me, but living in misery is not so different.

I stayed as long as I did to protect the girls. The only person that stood between them and Andrew during one of his rages was me. When he would chase Jenna up the stairs and scream in her face, I would chase after him. I would hold him back, out of her room. His anger would be redirected at me so Jenna wouldn’t have to be afraid in her own home.

But he didn’t beat me. No, he did not.

Sometimes I wished that he had, so at least that was something I could offer my mother. A tangible sacrifice to lay at her feet so she could see that selfishness or something as shallow as boredom didn’t influence my decision. She might allow me that excuse instead of taking Andrew’s side and commiserating with him about what a horrible person I was to live with, and how they had that in common.

Our home was so quiet now, and the slamming doors and screaming were replaced with laughter and yes, persistent arguing between the girls. But in the next hour they would be snuggling on the couch. Their home was now a safe haven. I owed that to them after what Andrew and I had put them through.

I put my hand on the knob and turned, unsure of what to expect. Mema, my mother’s mother, was refreshingly neutral. She simply nodded when I told her my marriage had ended, and said that Jesus loved me, and to keep the girls in church. Nothing else really mattered to her.

The door moved slowly. Part of me braced for something to jump out from the shadows, and the other prepared my heart to see something awful. But when the door opened to reveal their tiny bedroom, with their four-post bed and dated wallpaper, I let out the breath I’d been holding. The bed was made. They hadn’t been in it, yet.

Just as quickly as the relief washed over me, it left. They would’ve been in bed by now. They weren’t home. That meant they had been collected, and if it was by the soldiers, the girls were more than likely not at Andrew’s, either. A sob caught in my throat. I refused to cry until there was something to cry about.

The picture in the hall caught my attention. The Jeep waiting for me on the outskirts of town didn’t have the same wallet-size photo of my daughters that the Suburban did. It didn’t have their drawings and school papers littering the floorboard. I reached up and grabbed the frame, and then threw it on the ground, letting it crash. Quickly pulling the picture from beneath the shards of glass, I folded it twice, and slid it snugly into my bra. Every photo album we had was sitting in a hutch cabinet at home. Their baby pictures, snapshots of birthdays and of them playing outside. It was all left behind. The picture poking into my skin might be all I had left.

I bolted from the house and let the screen door slam as I ran into the street. Tobin was standing on Tavia’s steps, holding himself up with her door.

I stared at him, and he stared back. She wasn’t home, either, and neither was little Tobin. “I’ll try to come back and get you.”

Tobin offered a small, understanding smile. “No you won’t. And you shouldn’t, anyway. I’d just slow you down.”