Page 30 of Doomsdate

“What?!” I rake my fingers into my hair, thoroughly flummoxed by this grab bag of random arguments and persuasion tactics.

“It’s a big country out there. If you want someone by your side so you don’t have to be alone, I can do that for you.”

You’ve never left the state before, the little voice in my head says. You’ve never even left the county, and he’s traveled all over. Plus, he’s tall.

My head rears back. What does being tall have to do with anything?

He at least looks like he could fight. Good deterrent for other humans!

I roll my eyes, which Everett must think is in response to his arguments, because a look of feverish determination crosses his face, and he goes in for the kill.

He holds up the cat. “Think of Chicken!” He lifts one of her little kitty paws to wave at me. “Save me!” he says in a high-pitched orphan’s voice, presumably hers. It’s so ridiculous, I almost laugh, but then she mews, a tiny, precious kitten’s mew, her big amber eyes locking on to mine so plaintively my heart nearly breaks in half.

“I’ve always wanted a cat.” The words exit my throat in a raspy whisper, completely against my will.

“This is your chance to have one! For a day or two, at least. Until we get to D.C.” Everett shakes her gently at me, and she lifts both her front paws as if she’s reaching for me, and I am suddenly powerless to do anything but accept this sweet baby cat into my arms. She mews again, then nuzzles the top of her head against my chin and immediately starts purring as if I’ve saved her life already.

My god, Walter has nothing on this cat.

I hold her to my chest, burying my face in her fur. “This is the most manipulative thing ever.”

“She sure is,” Everett says with a small, proud smile.

“Oh my god, fine!” I belt it out so abruptly that Chicken leaps from my arms with a yowl. I point my finger at Everett, who looks just as startled as Chicken. “Call your sister. If she’s still alive—”

Everett visibly flinches, and I feel like an insensitive jerk.

“I mean.” I clear my throat and try again. “If she’s still…available, I’ll take you and Chicken to D.C. on my way up north.”

“Really?” Everett blinks rapidly. “I didn’t think you’d actually agree.”

“There are zombies out there, and you almost got killed by a coat stand. You won’t make it on your own. I don’t want you or Chicken to die, and D.C. is technically on the way.” I sigh, rubbing my forehead with one hand. “Pack only the essentials, okay? And you better not eat a lot.”

A stunned silence settles over the room, until finally Everett lumbers to his feet. He really is a Sasquatch of a man to be so helpless. I find myself squaring my shoulders as he towers over me, daring him to argue with my candid assessment of his ability to survive alone.

“I don’t want to be a burden to you, Maisie.”

I tilt my chin up high. “Then don’t be. You’ll figure out how to contribute.”

After a long pause, Everett nods and exhales deeply. “Okay.” He releases another breath just as hard. “Okay,” he repeats, as if he has to psych himself up for this as much as I do. “I’ll plug in my phone and call Gemma.”

He sets off while I sit down and consult the map in my bra to figure out the new route. I’d planned on taking the back roads up to Gramps’s bunker, avoiding the Eastern Seaboard altogether. Still, traveling with a survival partner, even one as bumbling as Everett, might be worth the change in plans. When Chicken settles in my lap, a sheepish relief fills my chest, calming the ever-present anxiety bubbling there. My first road trip lies ahead, and for once, I won’t be alone.

“What’s my comforter doing over here?” Everett asks as he approaches the stairs. He leans over to scoop it up before I can yell, “No!”

“Mrs. Hensley!” he shrieks, then throws the comforter back down. He turns to me, eyes jacked wide.

“Well? A sleeping bag would be better to pack anyway.” I shoo him up the stairs. “Chop-chop!”

Everett

Gemma answers on the first ring.

“Everett? Are you okay?!”

“Oh, thank god.” I breathe out, as relieved to hear her voice as she is to hear mine. “Yes, I’m fine. Are you sick?”

“No, I’m okay, but the country isn’t. The whole country appears to be fucked.” Gemma’s voice sounds ragged and angry and scared.