Doug scrunched his eyes shut, tight as he could, then opened them and blinked rapidly. He shoved the sextant, pencil, and the small, tatty notebook filled with his tight handwriting into his pocket.
“I think this is it…” His voice trailed as he shrugged his shoulders. “I don’t know why I feel so unsure about this. Math is math.”
Speaking up to be heard over the wind, Skye said, “Even if you’re wrong, it’ll be nice to stretch our legs.”
A light spray of salty water misted Doug’s face as she leaned close, snuggling into his side. Mario sat near the small sailboat’s rudder, guiding them to shore. Silas sat in the well of the seat, next to Mario’s knees, his peach-fuzzed head the only part of him visible. He looked miserably cold, but had insisted that he wanted to be topside. After all his carrying-on about the rowboat, he hadn’t batted an eyelash about following Mario onto the sailboat.
Kids, Doug thought, go figure.
The stretch of deserted beach looked like a scar of tan against the dark rocks. Mario had agreed with him that this was the right place, but all the beaches looked the same. Despite the fact that he and Mario had three math-intensive Ph.D.s between them, the sameness made Doug second-guess his measurements with the sextant.
The high, craggy cliffs were heavily forested right to the water’s edge, punctuated by beaches, strips of sand both wide and shallow, or rocky jumbles of gray, brown, and black. Rocky or sandy, they were similar…bleached driftwood scattered like bones, long ribbons of kelp at high tide marks, and sometimes dark tumbles of rockfall where sections of the cliffs above had collapsed.
Doug could hear Violet’s piping voice from the cramped lower deck of the sailboat, along with Tessa’s low murmur. It was funny, thinking of this twenty-footer as small, but compared to the yacht, it was tiny. Where the yacht had been luxe and, in retrospect, spacious, this sailboat was cramped and utilitarian. No honey-colored wood paneling, gourmet galley, real beds, or being able to stand fully upright in the cabin below, at least for him. And definitely no hot showers.
Doug sighed. It had been nice while it lasted, but the hot showers had screwed them. Tessa had been planning to repair the electrical system that heated the water before they left Eureka, but her illness had pushed it to the back burner. She thought the delayed repair—and ensuing smoldering connection on the heating element when the battery was turned on—was what started the fire. By the time he, Skye, and Violet met up with the others two days later, the yacht had long since burned to the waterline and sunk. That Tessa had saved as much of their supplies as she had was a minor miracle.
That day had been the high point of the rest of their stay in Eureka. To Doug, it was a blur: fortifying the little restaurant on the island after their safe house on I Street was also overrun, and cannibalizing what was left of other watercraft, to get this sailboat—pronounced by Mario as ‘a piece of shit when it was new’—seaworthy, and killing zombies. So many freaking zombies; Doug’s arms still ached.
They lucked out, too. The mostly intact Road Atlas and National Parks guide, circa 2021, in the restaurant’s office had helped them decide where to make landfall. Mario had warned that there were too many people for the size of the boat, and that he didn’t think it would be seaworthy for a three-hour tour, forget about a voyage as far as San Jose. He’d been right. But at least the atlas had given them a few possibilities for where to make landfall. They managed to make it almost as far as the best-case scenario: Black Sand Beach in Mendocino County.
It wasn’t that far from Eureka—maybe two hours by car back in the day—but the coastline farther south was too wild a place to begin a journey on foot. The forest of the King’s Range had been remote in the old world, never mind this one. Doug would have preferred Shelter Cove, which was the next place worth trying to land, but it was too far. Another zombie-free forty miles of coastline couldn’t be enjoyed if they drowned. They’d traveled almost fifty miles today; it was good enough.
Thanks, Big Guy, he thought, looking to the sky. He wasn’t a priest anymore—in his heart if not by official channels—but he still believed.
“How close do you think you can get us to shore?” Doug asked Mario.
“We’re not taking this hunk of junk anywhere else. The beach looks sandy and shallow. Once we know it’s safe, we’re running aground.”
“I thought you said that was bad,” Silas said, his upturned face puzzled.
“Well, usually it is,” Mario said. “But this isn’t a good sailboat, and we don’t have a dock.”
Under his breath, Doug heard Mario mutter something about a hunk of junk and better than it deserved.
“It’s been better than walking, even if it is too cramped for more than a day,” Skye said to Doug.
Doug pulled Skye close and kissed the side of her head. “That was the idea. I’m counting this as a win.”
“I’m tired,” Violet whined.
Doug swatted at the mosquito buzzing around his head and turned back, wilting in the sun along with everyone else. Violet’s brown skin had an undertone of pink that made her look red-faced. Her lower lip jutted out, along with a budding look of mutiny.
The first three miles of the sixty-mile hike to Garberville—the first place they could catch Highway 101—had been okay. Violet and Silas had run along the beach, and even frolicked at the water's edge with an adult supervising. The last hour, however, had convinced Doug that the only thing more hellish than traveling on foot in unknown terrain with no idea how many zombies might be in the area, was doing so with small children.
Assuming no complications, an adult could make the hike in three or four days. Doug had no idea how long it would take now, and had revised the day’s goal. They were aiming to reach a retreat center, south of Petrolia, a don’t-blink-or-you’ll-miss-it town. The National Parks part of the road atlas must have assumed a general interest in camping, because indicators of natural points of interest and campgrounds not in the parks system were plentiful.
As soon as they left the beach for the path made by remnants of the old road, the whining began. Doug appreciated that someone had trained them about the importance of being quiet, but it was still whining. The slow, sustained incline of the past hour had only intensified Silas’ and Violet’s protests. There was only so much ignoring a person could do before Doug found himself thinking maybe they just needed a good smack. Since being smacked by adults was not how Doug had been raised, it occurred to him that Silas and Violet weren’t the only ones who were tired.
Frequent stops were required for Mister Bun Bun. Despite the emergency blanket attached to the top of the carrier to reflect the bright sunshine away from the rabbit, Silas fretted that Mister Bun Bun was overheating. Mario had taken the lead in dealing with Mister Bun Bun, and Silas seemed to think that Mario knew how to care for rabbits. Or maybe he was just young enough that he still thought adults knew everything. Mario had told Doug how he’d rescued the rabbit, despite how stupid it had been with zombies closing in on them. No good deed goes unpunished, he thought, smiling. Silas seemed to trust Mario implicitly now. What Silas couldn't see was how much his trust freaked Mario out. Perhaps following her brother’s lead, Violet gravitated to Mario as well.
“Mawree,” Violet said, the desperation in her voice a notch higher than the last whine a few minutes ago.
“Take over for Mister Bun Bun?” Mario said to no one in particular.
“I’ll do it,” Tessa said, reaching for the carrier.
Mario turned to Violet. “C’mon, kiddo. I’ll carry you.”
“Give me your—” Doug began, but Skye had already stepped in to take Mario’s pack. “You want me to carry that?” Doug asked her.
She shook her head. Violet crawled onto Mario’s back, wrapped her hands around his neck, and lay her head to the side. She’d be out cold in two minutes.
Gravely, as if he were conducting a job interview, Silas said to Tessa, “Do you know about rabbits?”
Doug saw Tessa look quickly to Mario, who smothered a grin.
“I know enough to carry him safely until we get somewhere for the night,” Tessa said.
“Okay,” Silas said. “The carrier is heavy, and we’ve been walking a long time.”
“There’s an ‘Are we there yet?’ coming,” Skye murmured softly.
They continued, and soon everyone was silent. When they were near the halfway mark to Petrolia, Doug looked back to Mario, Tessa, and the children. Tessa smiled and raised her free hand. Doug could tell that Mario saw him, and he acknowledged Doug’s check-in, but without really doing much beyond meeting Doug’s eyes. Between Tessa and Mario, Silas trudged, looking almost asleep on his feet. Doug shrugged off his backpack. For the first time since they’d left Eureka, he didn’t feel the sting of the supplies they’d lost. He unbuckled his belt and threaded it through the loops of the small backpack.
“Doug, what are you doing?”
Doug looked at Skye, raising an eyebrow. “Get your mind out of the gutter. I’m going to give Silas a piggyback ride. You already have two packs, and Tessa has Mister Bun Bun.”
Doug dropped back to walk beside Mario, collecting Silas as he went. Violet slept against Mario’s back. Doug fished in his pocket for a bandana, which he tucked around the girl’s head, since he wasn’t sure if she’d get a sunburn. Which makes me the whitest person in the world, he thought. He made Silas shade his head and face, too, just in case. Within minutes, he could tell that Silas was out.
“I knew Humboldt County was sparsely populated,” Doug said to Mario. “I didn’t really get it, though.”
He looked at the forest that edged the road behind them. It had spent the intervening years encroaching over the fields that people had cleared. Every step they took away from the beach seemed to increase the temperature. Doug knew the forest helped with the heat—while you were in it—which they were not. Approaching the summit of the hill, Doug wouldn't have been surprised to find it was over eighty degrees.
“You doing okay?” he asked Mario.
“Yeah,” Mario answered. “Why wouldn’t I be?”
“Silas and Violet have taken a shine to you.”
“This is not my first rodeo.”
Doug said, “You were just kind of…aloof with them, before we left Eureka.”
Mario took so long to speak that by the time he did, Doug had decided he wasn’t going to answer.
“It’s not like we could walk away,” Mario said. “It’s a complication I didn’t see coming, but we’ll manage. Right now isn’t the time to talk.”
“Okay,” Doug said. He was sure the kids were asleep, but Mario was right. “I’m all ears if you want.”
“I’ll let you know.”
Mario was right that now wasn’t the time to talk about it. Still, his reluctance made Doug uneasy. Mario’s refusal to talk about where he was at, what kind of emotional toll this might be taking on him, felt too much like Miranda after she lost the baby. I don’t think either of them knows how alike they are sometimes, he thought.
Silas stirred against Doug’s back, then resettled with a sigh.
“You don’t think we’ll get stuck carrying them all the way to Garberville, do you?” Doug asked.
Mario grinned, a real one. “Only when they’re tired, but they’ll definitely try.”
“It should be right around here,” Tessa said. She squinted at the atlas again, then nodded as if it was settled.
The winding mountain road turned east, continuing across a river by a bridge that had seen better days. Doug wasn’t sure it would hold a heavy vehicle, but it was safe enough on foot. He’d looked at the atlas earlier. Their destination was clearly marked on the west end of the bridge. He searched their surroundings, looking into the tall redwoods and pines. He didn’t see anything resembling a camp.
“It’s probably up a drive or dirt road that’s overgrown,” Tessa said.
“I see it,” said Skye. She waded into the brush. “Here’s the sign.”
She pushed back the branches and brambles to reveal a dark wooden sign. Letters that had once been painted bright white or yellow, but were now the same color as the sign’s face, were carved into the wood. In its current state, it was almost unreadable.
“How the hell did you see that?” Doug said.
Skye took a few steps beyond the sign, peering into the trees. “We need to take this…” She hesitated, then said, “Non-road.”
Doug looked in the direction she pointed. The road leading the Mattole Camp and Retreat Center must have been narrow and unpaved. They would need to cut a path through the trees and undergrowth. In a lot of places, the bushwhacking wouldn’t be worth it because of the noise, but they hadn’t seen any zombies. And there was nothing out here. There were surely abandoned houses and barns in the area, but unlike this campground, they didn’t know where they were. They might stumble on a house if they left the main road, or they might miss it by fifty feet and never know.
Doug jiggled Silas’ knees. He felt the boy stir against his back.
“Time to wake up, small fry.”
Silas’ soft groan sounded like the sigh of a sleeping puppy. Doug crouched down until he could let go of Silas’ legs. Silas looked up at him, rubbing his eyes.
“Are we there?” he said. “Where’s Violet?”
Doug shook his head. “It’s still a little ways, but we need our hands free. Violet’s right there.”
Silas turned around, then left to join his sister. Doug saw him make a visual sweep of the group and detour to collect Mister Bun Bun from Tessa. Doug arched his back, stretching his arms high overhead. The kid wasn’t that big, but sixty pounds of dead weight on your back for ten miles was no joke.
Violet announced, “I have to pee.”
“Me too,” Silas chimed in.
Tessa held out her hands. “Come on, you two. I’ll take you.”
Silas looked at Tessa askance. “Together?”
Doug smothered a laugh. He saw a flicker of exasperation pass over Mario’s face.
“C’mon, Silas,” Mario said, any annoyance deftly mastered. “Let’s go.”
The kids and their respective escorts walked in opposite directions, staying so well in sight that the sudden modesty was a moot point. Doug joined Skye to study the atlas. Unfortunately, the camp was just a dot and a name without an indication of the size of the property or location of the buildings.
“There’s got to be some sort of caretaker residence, or at least a check-in gate, before we get too far along,” Skye said.
“Here’s hoping.”
As he leaned into Skye for a kiss, he heard the first moan. Low and guttural, it sounded so full of hunger that the hair on Doug’s neck stood on end. It was quickly followed by another. Doug whirled around, trying to locate which direction it came from.
Skye stepped closer, head cocked. “I think it’s coming from the other side of the bridge.”
“Mario, Tessa, let’s go,” Doug said, pitching his voice to carry without raising it. “We’ve got company.”
Not for the first time, Doug wished that just one more of them repelled zombies. If they had two people who were repellers, they could hold hands around the rest of the group. It would be tight, and moving through zombies that way would mean setting a glacial pace, but it would be safe. Skye could move through zombies easily enough, and run interference with a small group of them, but not much more when they were confronted with a larger horde. The moans skipped from one location to the next, like embers of a wildfire blowing across the treetops to ignite the whole forest.
“Is it monsters?” Violet whimpered.
“It’s okay,” Tessa said, hoisting the girl to her hip.
Doug looked farther down the road on the far side of the bridge just in time to see a cadaverous figure stumble into view. Several more followed, lurching awkwardly, only five hundred feet away. Flies buzzed around the zombies like electrons around the nucleus of an atom.
Silas stuck close to Mario, his eyes as big as saucers. He clutched the handle of Mister Bun Bun’s carrier in his tight fists.
“Give me that, Silas,” Doug said, reaching for the carrier.
Silas shrank behind Mario, pulling the carrier closer to his body.
“Give it to Doug,” Mario said. “I need to carry you. He’ll keep Mister Bun Bun safe. I promise.”
Silas looked at Doug, then released the handle of the carrier and scrambled up onto Mario’s back. Doug gripped the carrier in one hand, the familiar heft of his machete in the other.
“Skye, take point. I’ll bring up the rear, with Mario, Tessa, and the kids between us.”
Hisses came from the direction they’d just traveled. What started as a single faint moan was now like noisy ocean surf. Skye plunged into the overgrowth of the road, shoving her way through. She hacked only what couldn't be pushed aside. Tessa and Mario flinched away from branches that flexed back at them like whips.
Doug looked over his shoulder. He could see figures struggling into the woods behind them. A yelp from Silas snapped his head forward in time to be slapped across the face by a whipping branch. A bright, shiny sting tingled across his cheek. Silas held a hand to his face, a smothered sob caught in the boy’s throat. He buried his face against Mario’s neck, his thin shoulders shaking.
A flicker of movement flashed in Doug’s peripheral vision. To his left a few zombies stumbled down the hillside, banging into trees like pinballs or falling to the ground like actors in a slapstick routine. If not for the heavy forest slowing the zombies down, they’d be screwed. He cast another glance over his shoulder, felt his foot stick, then crashed to the ground. Mister Bun Bun’s carrier twisted to the side, causing his arm to bend awkwardly. The rabbit squealed, a piteous shriek of fear that grated on Doug’s ear.
“Doug! Are you okay?”
He looked up to see Mario starting to come his way.
“I’m fine,” he said. He pulled the carrier to him, checked quickly to make sure its door was still secure, then lurched to his feet. His ankle throbbed a little with the first step. He suppressed a wince. “Keep going.”
“I see something,” Skye cried.
Doug kept his focus on his footing, on the whipping branches knocking against the hard plastic pet carrier with hollow thuds, on the ache in his wrist. The thicker trees gave way to a small clearing of high grass and spindly saplings deprived of sunlight by the redwood canopy overhead. A long, low building—caretaker’s cottage of bricks and stucco with sturdy wooden shutters covering its windows—was a hundred feet away. They picked up speed as the terrain cleared, racing toward the house.
The door cracked as Skye kicked it open. She barged inside, then pinwheeled backwards, knocking into Tessa. Zombies poured through the open door, one after another. Skye slipped, then crashed backwards onto her ass. Doug heard the breath rush from her lungs and Tessa’s cry of surprise, followed by a thin high-pitched scream.
Violet still clung to Tessa’s back, her shrieks of terror almost as unearthly as the zombies moaning around them. Zombies poured through the open door to lunge at Skye, only to recoil. Some pulled away upright; others fell on the ground, leaving Skye in the middle of putrid melee. The unexpected obstacle she presented caused a bottleneck at the door.
Mario shook Silas from his back, pointing at the far corner of the house. The boy obeyed instantly, running where Mario had indicated. Mario darted forward, attacking the zombies staggering in their direction. Skye got to her feet.
“Take her,” Tessa shouted at Doug.
Doug shoved his machete blade between the top of the carrier and his knuckles clutching the handle. He snaked his now free arm between Violet and Tessa, yanking the screaming child free. Tessa ran, her machete already in hand, to skewer a zombie through its open mouth. Doug retreated to where Silas stood rigid, quaking with fear. Silas pointed to the woods they had just emerged from. Four zombies were breaking free of the tree line.
“We’ll be inside before they get here,” Doug said, not sure if Silas could hear him over Violet’s screams.
“Violet, it’s okay, we’ll be inside in a minute. You have to be quiet!”
Violet kept screaming, either unable to hear him or too hysterical for his words to register. Silas huddled close to Doug, as silent as his sister was loud.
“Doug, let’s go!”
Skye beckoned him from the doorway. At least a dozen zombies lay outside the door of the house, their heads hacked or stabbed. Before he could say anything to Silas, the boy pulled the carrier from his hand.
“Careful,” Doug cried, catching the machete falling from the handle.
Silas ran to Skye, lopsided from lugging the pet carrier. Doug dropped the screaming and wriggling Violet as the door thudded shut behind him. Violet barreled across the room, running into Mario with such force that he almost lost his balance.
“Woah… Hey, hey, it’s okay,” Mario said, crouching in front of the sobbing girl. “You’re okay, it’s okay.”
Violet kept screaming.
“Violet, look at me; look at me.”
Mario snapped his fingers in front of her face, repeating the command. She finally looked at him, no longer screaming, but blubbering loudly. Mario held up his hand, fingers splayed, and pulled hers to it. Then he moved her finger along his index finger, tracing its outline.
“Watch your finger,” he said. “Breathe in on the way up, and out on the way down. Like this.” Mario inhaled deeply, while her finger moved up the side of his middle finger, and then out through his mouth as it traced down. “You try, c’mon… Big breath in. Now out. Breath in…keep going.”
Silas, who clutched Tessa’s hand and worriedly watched his sister, relaxed. Mario kept inhaling and exhaling along with Violet, moving her finger along and whispering encouragement. By the time she worked her way back to his middle finger, she’d quit crying. When she reached his thumb, she was tracing his fingers on her own. They went back and forth again, beginning and finishing at Mario’s thumb.
“Good job,” he said and hugged her close. “Feel better?”
Violet nodded into his shoulder, her face tear-streaked, but calmer.
“The house is secure. Just a crawl space above,” Skye said, putting her hand on Doug’s arm. Her blue-gold eyes were filled with concern. “Are you okay?”
“Yeah, I’m fine,” Doug said, nodding. “You?”
“Aside from falling on my ass?”
“That’s one way to bottleneck them at the door.”
Skye shook her head, chagrined. She hooked her thumb to a long table beside the door. “Help me move this?”
By the time they had shifted the table against the door, Mario held Violet in his arms. He shifted his weight from foot to foot, like he was rocking a baby. Tessa sat with Silas, who lay on his stomach beside her. He had opened the door of Mister Bun Bun’s carrier, arm stuck inside to his elbow, his gaze intent on the rabbit.
Silas lifted his head and said to Tessa, “Mister Bun Bun’s okay. He’s not shaking as much since I’m petting him.”
Tessa murmured something in reply. Doug leaned against the wall, then slid down. The adrenaline draining from his system made every tweaked joint ache. The welt on his face itched. Skye sat down beside him as the first zombie banged against the door. Everyone startled. The door didn’t budge, even as more zombies gathered outside, banging on the shutters and walls.
“How many do you think are out there?” Doug said to Skye.
She shrugged. “Don’t worry. We’ll sit tight, let them settle, and then come up with a plan for me to herd them away so we can get back on the road.”
Doug sighed. “We need two of you. It would make this a lot easier.”
They lapsed into silence. Doug pulled off his gloves and took Skye’s hand in his before holding it to his lips. Her skin was soft, and even though it smelled of sweat and wood and very faintly of zombie, it smelled alive. With few trees directly overhead, the hot, stuffy air of the house was infused with the sharp stench of rot and the rancid reek of decaying flesh. It permeated everything—the carpeting, the furniture, probably the stuccoed walls. Opening anything to air their refuge out was out of the question.
“This place smells like a charnel house.”
Skye’s nose wrinkled. “It’s better than being eaten.” She paused for a moment, then said, “How did he do that?”
“What?”
“Mario,” she said. “How did he settle her down so quickly?”
“Anthony, his son, used to have panic attacks. He and Emily did that with him.”
Doug looked over to Mario. He sat on a moldering couch. Violet was curled in his lap, fast asleep. Silas had left Tessa’s side to sit next to Mario, too. He held Mister Bun Bun in his thin arms, the rabbit’s rump in his lap, the rest of it nestled against his torso. Its ears lay back against its body as Silas slowly stroked its fur. Doug couldn’t catch what Silas was murmuring to the bunny, but the cadence was reassuring. Mario looked tired, as if they’d spent all day dodging zombies, not just the last fifteen minutes. But he looked peaceful, too.
Doug said, “I think they’ve decided he’s their person.”
Softly, so only he could hear, Skye whispered, “It’s such a shame about him and Miranda. They were so happy. They would’ve been great parents. He looks so content with Silas and Violet.”
Doug didn’t say anything, because it wasn’t required. And because Skye didn’t have it quite right. Miranda and Mario had been happy, the happiest Doug had ever seen them. He knew that letting herself want the baby had been an emotional risk for her in a way it just wasn’t for other people. It had devastated her to lose Tadpole after admitting, after allowing herself, to want him in the first place. If she hadn’t been so intent on driving them all away and doing anything but feel how much it hurt, Doug knew they could have gotten through it together, maybe even had another child. To have seen them so happy, and to see how miserable both of them were now, broke Doug’s heart. Mario and Miranda would have been great parents—the best. In that at least, Skye was right.
But Mario and these kids…content was not the word Doug would have chosen. Conflicted was more like it. Doug could see the push and pull Mario seemed to be caught in since they’d found Silas and Violet. It seemed to Doug that Mario didn’t want to get close to them. But when it came down to caring for them, protecting them, his heart trumped his head. Mario did what he’d do with his own kids, without thinking. But after he’d quieted the hysterical child, or saved the rabbit, or kissed the scraped knee, he became uneasy. It was only after he was already cradling Violet, or with Silas snuggled against him holding the combo rabbit/security blanket, that Mario seemed to realize that they were right there. It was when they got up close and personal that he was caught out by how much he cared about them, despite his attempts to protect himself by being aloof.
It didn’t matter that it had only been… Doug had to think about it. Today was September twenty-eighth or twenty-ninth, so they’d only had Silas and Violet with them for four weeks. Just four weeks… That can’t be right, he thought, but when he did the math again, he realized it was. It didn’t matter that it had been so short a time—they all cared. Doug even cared about Mister Bun Bun, for crying out loud. He could see the fear in his friend’s eyes. Fear of letting these kids down, letting them die, letting himself enjoy being with them when he felt so guilty about leaving his own kids behind in San Jose. Or maybe it was something else, something that Doug couldn’t see and didn’t understand. Whatever it was, Doug could see the conflicted feelings that Mario didn’t want to talk about roiling beneath the steady facade that he presented to the rest of them.
Content wasn’t the word Doug would choose to describe Mario, not by a long shot.
He closed his eyes for a moment. They needed to eat something, all of them, and set up a watch so everyone could rest. They needed to survive this journey. There were so many things Doug had to make happen to get his friends safely to San Jose, and he did them gladly, but he didn’t know what Mario needed, or how to help him. He was worried for Mario…worried that he might slip away, just like Miranda had.