“No. But then again, I never told you I’m from Houston.”
“You told me today.”
“Then I guess we’re even.”
Miranda stopped on the sidewalk and watched two small children chase lightning bugs around a well-tended yard. Their parents sat not far away in lawn chairs, the mother sipping something from a plastic cup, the father holding a rifle in his lap, eyes constantly on the move.
“People don’t talk about that kind of stuff anymore,” she said. “Life before the Outbreak. Family. You might hear someone mention what they did for a living, but that’s about it.”
“It’s not surprising,” Caleb said. “I’ve said it before but it bears repeating—those of us left are still in mourning.”
Miranda turned a bleary-eyed stare in Caleb’s direction. “You know Eric and Allison Riordan?”
“Of course. You know I know them.”
“Oh, yeah, that’s right. Anyway, did you know Eric did his undergrad work at Princeton?”
Caleb’s eyes widened. “No, I didn’t know that. He never mentioned it.”
“Yep,” Miranda said, stumbling a bit. “Majored in accounting. Then he got an MBA from UNC. Apparently they had a pretty good business school.”
“UNC was one of the colleges I was thinking of applying to when I finished my high school work.”
Miranda looked up at him and smiled. “It’s strange to hear you say it like that. ‘Finished my high school work’. Most people would just say ‘when I graduated from high school’.”
“It’s different when you’re home schooled.”
“I can’t imagine what my teenage years would have been like without high school. All my friends, and the football games, cheer squad, the parties, all the rest of it.”
Caleb shrugged. “I don’t think I would have cared for all that. I prefer my own company most of the time. Home school gave me more time to focus on the things I enjoyed.”
“Like training?”
Caleb looked down at her. “Please keep that between the two of us.”
“I will.”
“I mean it, not a word to anyone. You have to promise.”
They had reached Miranda’s front porch. She climbed the first step so she was eye to eye with him, took his face in her hands, and said, “I promise.” Then sealed it with a kiss.
Inside the trailer, they went to the bedroom and changed into nightclothes. Caleb lay down beside Miranda and raised an arm so she could entwine herself around him. He stared at the ceiling in the dim gloom, the pale light through the window revealing more of his surroundings as his night vision kicked in.
“I’m not tired yet,” Miranda said, twirling a finger through the fine sandy-blond hair on his chest.
“Me either.”
“Feel like telling me the rest of the story? If we have time that is.”
“We do. It’ll be late before I’m finished, though.”
“If you’re willing, I’d like to hear it.”
Caleb turned on his side so he was looking Miranda in the eye, her leg draped over his hip, their faces inches apart. His hand moved up and down the smooth curves of her back. “It doesn’t end well,” he said.
“These days, sweetie, nobody’s story ends well.”
Caleb decided he could not argue with that.
*****
Boise City, Oklahoma
My father and I drove to a hill overlooking the highway, parked out of sight, and climbed to the summit in our ghillie suits. We watched the convoy pack up and move out, a plume of windblown dust rising from the road in their wake. When they were out of sight, I put down my hunting rifle.
“Good riddance,” Dad said. “Although I will miss Tyrel.”
“Lance and Lola were nice too,” I said. “I hope we see them again in Colorado.”
“Lord willin’. Come on, let’s get back to the others.”
I hesitated, and said, “Dad?”
“Yeah? What is it, son?”
“Are you all right?”
He knew better than to insult my intelligence by asking me what I meant, so he said, “I don’t know, son. I guess it hasn’t sunk in yet. Or maybe I’m just too focused on taking care of you. Either way, I’m functional, and I plan to stay that way. I’ll have plenty of time to mourn once I get everyone to safety.”
“If you ever want to talk about it …”
Dad reached out and gripped the side of my neck. “I should be saying that to you, son.”
“It’s just … I love you, Dad. Whatever happens, I want you to know that. I could not have asked for a better father.”
The old man smiled, his eyes reddening with unshed tears. “I know. And I love you too, Caleb. I can’t tell you how proud I am of the man you’ve become. Now come on, we need to get going.”
We met up with the others back at the highway and reported our findings. Mike volunteered to take point, Blake assumed his usual role as navigator, and Dad opted to act as rear guard.
“Why don’t you drive Blake’s jeep so he can focus on the map?” I asked Sophia. “I’ll ride up front with Mike. He might need a gunner.”
“Are you sure?” she asked, stepping close and taking my hands in hers. “I’d rather you ride with me. If anything happens to you …”
I kissed her forehead and traced a thumb down her jaw. “Listen, these guys have been training me my whole life. I can handle myself. Mike and I make a good team. We’ll be fine.”
She looked dubious. “Okay. I’ll take your word for it.”
“Just keep your radio charged,” I said. “And your rifle handy. No telling what we might run into.”
“Will do.”
I pulled her against me and squeezed harder than I should have, but she didn’t complain. She drew a breath when I let her go and pressed her lips to mine. “What is it you guys always say? Keep your head on a swivel?”
I laughed. “Yes. And I will.”
We parted. On the way to the Humvee, I could swear I detected a faint smile on Mike’s face. Thankfully, he said nothing as we climbed into the vehicle and I stood up through the gunner’s hatch.
A thought occurred to me on the way to Boise City, and I fixed one of the M-4s with an M-203 grenade launcher, loaded several 40mm shells into a bandolier, and slung it over my shoulder. My thinking was we probably would not need that kind of firepower, but as my dad was fond of saying, it is better to have and not need, than need and not have.
We approached Boise City from the north, turning off 287 onto 385. Dad, Blake, and Sophia spread their vehicles out on the flat terrain in the fields surrounding the highway. The plan was to have them remain in reserve in case Mike and I ran into a situation we couldn’t fight our way out of.
“All stations in position?” Mike asked over the radio. After a round of affirmatives, he said, “All right, moving in. Keep your ears open.”
We rolled into the north side of town.
Calling Boise City a city was far too generous in my opinion. The place was brown, and dusty, and the buildings were sad and neglected, and I had the distinct impression the place was dying long before the Outbreak. It was small, no more than a square mile or two, and from the signs above doors and storefronts, it seemed the economy had primarily been bolstered by farming, ranching, and wildcat oil and gas drilling. There were the usual collections of hotels, fast food chains, strip malls, and rental agencies that were an unavoidable part of America’s homogenized corporate dominance. Aside from bull’s horns over the entrances of a few restaurants and stores advertising Native American artwork, if the place had any significant character or culture, I could not see it.
According to our map, the town was laid out in a simple grid pattern. We drove to the center of it and stopped. Thus far, we had seen no infected, no movement in windows or doorways or on the streets, no signs of life at all.
“What do you think?” Mike asked.
I leaned down so he could hear me. “I say we drive around a bit more, make some noise. If there are infected here, they’ll come after us.”