Page 32 of Doomsdate

“Yes, Dad. When will you get here?”

I’d asked Maisie the same thing after I recovered from the Mrs. Hensley incident.

“Maisie estimates anytime between Sunday and Tuesday.” I pause over the nice new underwear or the comfortable, worn pairs with holes in the crotch.

After a second, I grab the crotch holes. It’s not like anyone’s going to see them, and if I die on this trip, I’d rather not have a wedgie when I go.

“So tomorrow or three days from now? That’s a pretty big range,” Gemma says, sounding impatient for the first time on the call. “She can’t narrow it down more than that?”

“It all depends on her rig—Maisie drives an electric SUV, and if we find places to stay where she can charge it, we’ll get there faster, but if we have to depend on the solar panels on the car’s roof for energy, we’ll only be able to travel a hundred miles or so a day before we’ll need to stop again.”

“She has solar panels on her roof?” Gemma asks, incredulous. “And a mace? Is she a prepper or something?”

I guess I don’t negate this fast enough, because Gemma promptly explodes, “Oh my god, she is!”

I sigh. “Listen, Gemma, I’ve gotta pack so we can hit the road while it’s still daylight. It seems to—”

“Deactivate them somehow? Yes, I’ve observed that,” Gemma muses. “My working theory is that sunlight degrades the pathogen somehow. If I could—”

“No lab,” I reiterate, cutting her off. If Gemma ventures out alone, her tenacious curiosity could truly be the end of her this time, and I’d never forgive myself for not getting there sooner to protect her, literally, from herself. “Got it?”

“Got it, big brother,” Gemma says, her voice going quiet and fond. “I’m so glad you’re okay, Evvie. Mom and Dad will be, too.”

“If you could call them for me and let them know, that’d be good,” I say, though my throat’s gone tight again. “I love you, and please, stay put until I can get there. See you soon.” The words of our preferred goodbye phrase have never felt so loaded.

“Will do, and I love you, too. See you soon,” says Gemma, the one person I really have left. I care about Mom and Dad, of course, and I want them to be okay, but they don’t understand me, or accept me, the way Gemma always has. I hadn’t realized just how small my world had gotten in these numb and lonesome years after Louise died until I found my best friend’s cold body on his bathroom floor. Gemma is it for me, the one vestige of love in human form I have left, and I’ll do anything to reach her.

Even road-trip through feral America with the most badass woman I’ve ever pissed off.

God help me.

Chapter Seven

Maisie

Half an hour later, Everett exits his house with a duffel, a backpack, and a small carrier stuffed with Chicken (the cat) and locks the door. I don’t ask him what the point of locking up is, because I get that, too. I did the same thing when I left Mom’s house ten years ago. For all I know, it’s still standing there in the middle of nowhere on unincorporated county land, an abandoned museum of our past. I locked it up as much as I was locking it away, forcing myself into the future the only way I knew how—by leaving. Judging by the downward tilt of Everett’s crow’s-feet as he leaves his old life behind, maybe he feels the same way.

We’re quiet as we roll onto the country highway, each giving the other the space to say goodbye to Durham. These quiet, heavy thoughts are soon replaced, however, by the weird new reality of the zombie apocalypse.

“Maybe honk your horn?” Everett frowns at the zombies clustered in the middle of the road, standing there as dumbly unconcerned as a herd of cattle and completely blocking our way. Judging by their hospital gowns, they seem to have escaped from the small medical center to our right. He checks his door, then the back seat, too, making sure once again that we’re locked in tight.

“I don’t want to draw more,” I say, whispering for some reason. I roll forward a few more feet toward the crowd, and nothing. They don’t even look at us. With a deep breath, I tap the horn. Just a toot.

And…nothing.

“They’re so docile right now,” Everett says as one teeters past his window. “Not at night, though.”

“Look how dull their eyes are. I think they’re dormant during the daytime.”

“Gemma thinks that sunlight might degrade the power of the pathogen.”

“Your sister’s a scientist?” I take my foot off the brakes and let the SUV gently bump into a few, prodding them out of the way. Something crunches loudly under my left tire, and we both grimace.

“Yes, she was a toxicologist for the FDA for several years, studying additives, preservatives, and other kinds of chemicals for food safety until, well.” He rolls his eyes. “Recently.”

“What happened?”

“They fired her for insubordination. Her bosses wouldn’t do anything with the results of her research. Dangerous chemicals were green-lit for public consumption, so she decided to start her own secret newsletter where she published her findings. After a few years, they finally caught on and fired her.”