Chapter 8: Day Twelve

On the twelfth day I took Ray's brother's dirt bike out of the barn and left before anyone woke.

I left a note on the table that said: Back by dark. Don't follow me. I love you.

Bridget was sleeping on the cabin couch, one arm over her eyes.

Keaton had dropped her at the Ridge on day five with a duffel bag, a sad smile and a promise that she'd be "extra hands."

My mother had made up the couch for her.

I walked the bike down the lane in neutral until I could not be heard from the porch.

The Riverside overpass stood at the north edge of town, and I saw the smoke before the bridge.

A line of cars and one yellow school bus sat nose to tail across the span, with more people on foot behind them.

At the far end stood a fire engine, nosed sideways to make a wall.

On this side, at the near ramp, a wall of the dead was pushing up from the road.

There were hundreds.

I killed the engine and stood the bike on its kickstand with my knees shaking.

Then I saw him.

Jonas Hale stood alone on the ramp between the dead and the bus, in turnout pants and a torn flannel, with a fire axe in his hands.

He swung, and swung again, and the dead kept coming.

Behind him a young woman with his dark hair was hauling a child off the bus steps.

His sister.

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