“Are these your friends?” I ask.
“Maybe, I don’t know, they look weird.”
They’re in the cafeteria, and like the hallway, it has windows up near the ceiling, the sun throwing rectangles of afternoon across the relentless school pride colors of Rupert B. Collingsworth Elementary School.
The kids are tied to institutional lunch tables that are folded up along the walls.
“Jem, this might be…they might not be your friends anymore.”
She looks up at me, all serious and nods. “I know.” And then she raises her .38.
Jem’s still a kid, it’s obvious in every little mischievous grin, but she seems even smarter than she did a couple of days ago. I wonder if Pixie’s blood did more than stop the bleeding.
The door gives and we walk in.
The kids all stare at us as one, like dogs in a kennel.
The screeching and grunting begins.
Have they all been turned?
I examine each of them as we pass, bloody faces with black eyes press against their ropes, reaching out for us.
Shit.
There’s only ten of them, mostly teenagers.
They’ve all been turned.
Fuck.
After everything we’ve been through, everything they’ve been through, I’m late again. They didn’t make it.
And then I see the pink and gold glittering shoe on the floor; it’s a match for Casey’s.
It’s just there, orphaned in the middle of the floor, just like the one we found up in the hills.
I feel my face tighten, my eyes getting moist again.
“Jem?” a tiny voice whispers.
I turn, raising my .45, looking for the owner.
“Is that you?” another voice asks.
I swing my .45 around the other way.
And then a dirty little face surrounded by curly chestnut hair peeks over the top of the folding tables. One by one, little faces emerge from hiding, all of them dirty, tired and probably hungry, but alive and still blue, green and brown-eyed little fucking humans.
“Casey!” Jem shouts and runs to her friend.
“Is it safe?” the girl I assume is Casey asks.
I feel the tears on my cheeks. “Get down here, all of you; we need to go, like now,” I shout at them.
We’re supposed to meet Sam and Emily in Freemont tomorrow. I’ll never leave them again, no matter what, but I have to find my way back first.
Eight kids crawl down to the tiled floor of the cafeteria. I guess they got loose and hid during the…during whatever the fuck this was. I notice Casey traded her fashion sneakers for hiking boots.
She seems to be brighter than the others, she also looks the youngest. The oldest is probably thirteen, a tough looking boy — his eyes are as haunted as any I’ve seen so far.
In spite of the fact that they’re still wearing jeans and overalls, sweaters and sweatshirts, and heavy, water-proof winter coats and thankfully shoes and boots, they’re all in various stages of fucked up, seriously in need of food and water.
But they look more tired than scared, so that’s something.
I think I can be their Pied Piper and get them to Freemont.
I think.
I’m worried about the ghouls tied up along the tables, but I can’t bring myself to shoot them. I wonder, though, is it crueler to let them live?
The kids surround me and Jem, I’m guessing they’re as anxious to leave as I am.
“Okay, you’ve been through a lot, but I’m going to take you to…to your families. You can trust me.”
They nod like out of sync bobble-heads.
Jesus.
How can I keep nine kids safe all of the way to Freemont? That’s still a good five or six miles, easy, even if I can find it.
I don’t think Sam and Emily will leave me twisting, but Cam might.
Besides, if Paco and Dante made it back early, they might have told them I’m dead. What would Samantha and Cam do then? Move on? Forget me?
Christ.
I look around the room and decide to go through the far doors; hopefully, we can get out through a back door, closer to the neighborhood and cover.
“Follow me,” I say, “Stay close.”
“But not too close,” Jem finishes for me.
I’m definitely going to keep her.
Near the far exit, there’s several adult bodies piled one atop the other, three high, lying through an open side door. They look like more ghouls, Button Eyes, all of them.
It was a fucked up shootout.
As we walk past the door, the sun finds the inside of the closet.
Someone’s in there.
I walk over with Jem in tow and peer in.
It’s another kid sitting on the floor in one of those mop sinks, her back against the wall — her last stand.
An exhausted, bloody and bruised face glares up at me.
She’s got a chrome .38, and when she sees us, she begins dry-firing it at us, over and over.
Click.
Click.
Click.
Click.
Her blue eyes are so, so far away, all cried out.
A chill runs down my back.
She’s been abandoned, again.
It’s Emily.
How?
What?
Where’s Sam?
§§§§§
“Emily?’ I ask softly.
I kneel in front of her, but she’s not here right now.
Her eyes widen slightly, and she almost smiles. “I know you,” she says hoarsely, but I can’t tell if there’s any real recognition.
I take her hand and pull her up. “Come on, Emily, let’s go.” I guide her out of the closet, over the pile of bodies and into the cafeteria. “Jem, Emily needs you. This is the girl I told you about. I’m not sure how she got here, but I need you to be the bestest friend ever, and take care of her.”
Jem nods.
Casey steps close, her voice low. “She had a knife, cut our ropes, told us to be quiet and hide, told us someone was coming, and then those things chased her in there. Is she okay?”
“I think she will be, Casey, is it?”
“Uh-huh,” she answers and tries to smile.
“Jem, Casey, I need both of you to help me, we’re going to make it, but keep an eye on your friends. We don’t want anyone wandering off or getting scared and running away,” I say.
Jem puts her arm around Emily’s shoulders.
Emily looks at her, confused. “Your eyes are really pretty.”
Jem smiles as Casey takes Emily’s hand.
I reload Emily’s .38 and slip it into her coat pocket, just in case she comes back to me.
Sam is out there somewhere.
So is Cam, what the fuck happened?
We push through the side doors and into the main hallway on the far side of the cafeteria. Lockers, classroom doors and school projects line the walls, welcome back to school arts and crafts, poems and stories on poster board — all designed to ignite the imagination and get the kids ready to learn.
They should have been learning to reload shotgun shells, start fires and skin and gut local wildlife.
More bodies are piled up along the end of the hallway, none moving.
I look back at Emily. She looks less confused; I think the wheels are beginning to turn.
“Kids, listen. We’re going to go out these doors. Everyone hold hands, don’t let go. We’re going to run, not super fast, just across the parking lot, past the cars and across the street to the houses on the other side. We’ll stop after the first house.
“Everyone, stay together. Don’t run away, stay close, stay with each other. Okay?”
They all nod.
They’re all traumatized; five days ago the Cart People kidnapped them and today, this clusterfuck. I think they’re still too afraid, too used to hiding to say anything out loud.
I push on the emergency exit bar and shove the door open enough to see outside.
&nb
sp; The parking lot is clear back toward the front of the school.
I raise my .45 and elbow the door the rest of the way open and step outside, lowering my pistol at the same time, but no one is there.
“Hold the door,” I say to Jem. “Stay here.”
I crouch and run out into the parking lot, staying between cars.
Lots of deaders.
Nothing is moving out here.
It’s so silent it’s like I’ve gone deaf.
A school bus is parked on the far side of the parking lot, and from there, across the street is a house hidden by bushes and trees. We can hide on the far side of that garage and rethink our next step.
I look back and Jem is staring at me, waiting for direction. As soon as I motion for her, she drags Emily and Casey and all of the others outside, crouching as they run toward me.
They look like regular school kids, running in a line, holding hands, their hair shining in the sun, except their faces are all pretty fucking grim. Jem is Pan, leading her Lost Boys.
I glance to the neighborhood for a second and when I turn back to the kids, there’s a guy wearing a gray jumpsuit and a gas mask running along the side of the school.
He’s got a long machete sword thing.
He’s running for the kids.
And as the kids pass the first row of cars, it’s obvious they don’t see him.
He’s closer than I am.
I stand and take aim.
I don’t give a shit who hears me.
Pixie is confused, looking to me and back to the girls.
Just as I’m about to squeeze the trigger he runs behind a minivan.
I keep my .45 aimed as I race back across the parking lot.
One of the kids sees the Cart Guy coming and screams. They let go of each other and scatter, sprinting in different directions, some back to the exit door and others toward the front of the school.
Jem and Casey never abandon Emily. They keep running toward me, but they’re just too little, they’re not fast enough. Jem is frantically looking around, but can’t seem to spot him.
Pixie is suddenly racing back to Jem.
The man cuts diagonally across a row of cars, closing in on my girls.
He disappears.
I never slow down and neither do the girls.
Where the fuck is he?
Why is he chasing the kids?
And then he emerges from the shelter of an SUV.
He’s right behind Emily, towering over her.
I see the machete rise.
I take aim, terrified of hitting one of the girls.
Pixie is steps away, running faster than I’ve ever seen before.
The girls look back just in time to see him closing on them.
The machete pulls back for the strike
“No, no, no, no…”
Emily’s eyes are wide now, terrified, but something else too.
Casey screams.
But not louder than me. “Please, God, no…”
It’s like slow motion again.
I line my sights up on his gas mask, the sun sparkling off the black lenses.
Jem jerks Emily off her feet and steps sideways.
“Jem!”
I see the machete rip through her chest, her tiny body arching backward around the blade, her arms outstretched, her hair swirling and the blood…
I pull the trigger.
Pixie leaps.
The gasmask explodes into fragments as I hit my mark. He collapses, but it’s too late.
I’m too late…
“Jem!”
She drops to her knees as Pixie lands next to her.
Her momentum carries her past Emily, and she falls hard on the pavement, bouncing off her side.
Pixie begins barking.
Casey helps Emily from falling too hard.
They both stop and turn, Casey seems lost to panic, but Emily looks alert again, and runs back to Jem.
I get to Jem seconds later, falling to my knees next to her.
She’s screaming in pain, crying and holding the rusty blade.
“Shh, I got you, I got you, Jem. It’s going to be okay,” I whisper.
If I pull the blade out, she might bleed to death, or maybe she’s already dying.
Christ, she doesn’t even know Emily, and she did that, sacrificing herself. She’s a great fucking kid.
I can feel my tears; Jesus Christ, I don’t know what to do.
“Lane, please, help me, please, don’t let me go, don’t let me go,” Jem cries.
“I won’t, I got you. I’m right here.”
And then I hear the pop-pop-pop of weapons fire from the neighborhood.
Fuck me, not now.
Shit.
I ignore the battle down the block; I can only worry about one thing right now.
“Pixie, don’t let me down,” I say under my breath.
I lean over to the Cart Guy and stick my .45 next to his head and shoot him one more time.
And then again.
I cradle Jem’s head in my lap, brushing her white hair back.
“I have you, I’m not going to leave you,” I whisper.
“Is Emily okay?” Jem asks through tears as she coughs, blood running from the corners of her mouth.
“Yes, yeah, she is, you did good, so, so good,” I cry.
The light in her eyes is fading, whatever that thing is that makes us who we are, the soul, the whatever — I can feel it slipping away.
“Please, God! Don’t do this to her, not to Jem, please, I’ll do anything you want, please…”
She screams again in agony.
My tears drip onto her cheek.
I twist her tiny body on her side and grab the handle of the machete, take a deep breath, and then jerk the blade free…
She screams again, staring at me questioningly as her eyes glow white, and then she passes out.
I toss the blade aside and examine the wounds.
They’re bleeding, front and back.
I pull off my coat and then my shirts.
Emily hands me a roll of duct tape she’s pilfered from my backpack.
I press one shirt over the wound on her back and the other over her chest, and then I start wrapping her as tightly as I dare with the duct tape. She’s still breathing, wet and shallow, but she’s breathing.
Pixie is lying next to her. I didn’t know puppies could look that worried — she looks so human.
“Emily?” I ask.
“Yeah?”
“Are you with me?” I ask, staring into her eyes.
“Yeah, I was…what do I do?”
“Casey, see if you can find your friends, but don’t go too far. Stay low, okay? Get them back here,” I say. I can’t believe I’m asking kids to risk their lives like this, but what else can I do?
“Emily, your .38 is loaded; it’s in your pocket. Did Sam teach you?”
She pulls it out, checks the cylinder and nods.
I tie off the duct tape and then wrap Jem in my coat, and hold her tight.
I hold my breath, dreading the question, not sure if either of us is up to the answer.
“Where’s Sam?” I ask.
Tears begin streaming down her cheeks. “I don’t know, I don’t remember, I don’t…”
I squeeze her hand. “It’s okay, you’ll remember in time, you’ve been through a lot.”
“It’s all pieces.”
“It’s going to take some time. Try not to worry.”
“Jem, she called you Lane. Is that your name?”
I nod. “Yeah.”
“I like it.” She holds Jem’s hand possessively. “I remember Brad, but I don’t know why.”
I don’t know what to make of that, why would Brad be an important memory?
“How about Cam?” I ask.
Her lip quivers. “I think he’s…I don’t thin
k he got out.”
She sits back and cries.
Shit, didn’t get out of where?
What the fuck happened?
I hope Cam made it. He’s my friend, besides he’s responsible for Samantha, he doesn’t have permission to die.
I can’t dig deeper, not now.
“Lane?” she asks.
“Yeah, punkin’?”
“I remember being in the closet.”
Shit.
She’s so fragile.
“You’re with me now; I won’t let anything like that happen again.” And yet I’m holding Jem as she bleeds out in my arms. What the fuck?
“Do you remember rescuing all these children?” I ask.
The tears are flowing even as she’s getting her breathing back under control. She’s suffering so much.
“I did?” she asks.
“Yeah, you did. I’m proud of you, you did good. Can you help me save these kids one more time, and then we’ll see about finding Sam, what do you say?”
I have no idea where Emily’s at as far as trauma goes, I’m not a psychologist, but I’m guessing she’s on a razor’s edge. Hopefully, if she has something to do, something to focus on, she can keep it together, and that’s all we need, just keep it together for a little while longer.
I’m going to need her to remember, eventually, and I’m terrified for her — what’s she going to have to relive to get there?
“Emily?”
“She saved my life. Did you see her?” Emily asks. I’m not sure she even heard my question.
“Yeah, she’s brave.”
“She’s going to die, isn’t she?”
“No, I think she’ll be okay, the sword missed the important parts,” I say. It didn’t. It hit all of them, but I still think she’s going to make it.
I can’t think anything else.
I won’t.
“Your eyes look like hers. What happened?” Emily asks, tracing a finger along my cheek.
Pixie happened, beyond that, I have no fucking idea. I can’t help but think about Jem’s eyes, the way they lit up a moment ago… what was that? I wonder if mine did the same thing before they changed color — when I didn’t turn.
“Nothing, we’ll talk later, we need to get going.” I kiss her hand, and squeeze her shoulder reassuringly. “Where’s Casey?”
Gunfire erupts again from the neighborhood as the fighting intensifies.
Casey runs back with five kids in tow.
Fuck me, we lost two.
I can’t wait here, but the kids could be anywhere.