Chapter Thirteen
Everett
Ten miles before we reach the exit that will deliver us into Gemma’s D.C.
neighborhood, the roads become more congested, and fear bubbles in my stomach.
I place a hand on Maisie’s arm. “You don’t have to take me all the way in, you know.
It’s a big city. My sister lives in a residential area.
There will be more zombies than we’ve seen yet. ”
Maisie huffs. “What, you want to walk the rest of the way?”
“I could steal a car. Drive the rest of the way in myself.” I try to put conviction behind the words, but despite my best efforts, it sounds as implausible out loud as it does in my brain.
Maisie rolls her eyes. “You don’t know how to drive, and I don’t think figuring it out by yourself in a zombie-infested city is really the time to learn, either.”
“I don’t want to put you at more risk than you need to be.”
“I get that, and I appreciate it.” Maisie releases a long breath.
“But I’m trying to do what you said this morning—to listen to my feelings and trust my instincts?
And they’re telling me to see this through.
Besides, I’ve never been anywhere, Everett.
I want to be brave, like Amélie. And if I get to be brave and help my friend and see just a tiny bit more of this world I’ve been too afraid to explore? That feels right to me. Risks and all.”
She looks at me, her face open and vulnerable and more beautiful than ever before. I hope I don’t let her down again. I hope she doesn’t regret this later. And I hope, I hope, that when we find Gemma, she doesn’t embarrass the hell out of me in front of Maisie.
Or maybe…I do. The idea of Gemma meeting Maisie sends a giddy, pleasant hum through my chest. And the relief pouring through me at having Maisie by my side, not only for safety in numbers but also for the sheer desire of her company, feels almost—dazzling.
My face breaks into a true smile. “Okay, survival partner. Let’s go.”
Maisie expertly weaves through the remaining traffic abandoned on the road, heading toward god knows what. At least we’re headed that way together.
For now.
But I try not to think about that.
She flips on her ham radio, then taps the buttons preset to certain frequencies until voices fill the car.
“So you mean to tell me that FEMA ain’t gonna bail my ass out?”
“Boy, those zombies are more likely to eat your ass out now!”
“Never tried that with the missus before, but I guess there’s a first time for everything!” Howls of raucous laughter echo over the airwaves, mixed with aggressive static.
“What is this?” I ask slowly.
“That’s Jeffy America, host of Jawin’ with Jeffy. It’s a prepper radio show, and Gramps mentioned they were still broadcasting, so I thought maybe they’d have something interesting to say…”
Her voice trails off as Jeffy cackles into his mic so hard he gags. “Never thought I’d miss the government, but here we are at doomsday, and ain’t nobody coming to save us.”
“I heard the president himself got turned. The Russkies got him.”
Jeffy moans a little into the mic, followed by a suspicious gurgling noise. “Hoo boy, the Russkies got me, too.”
“Reckon you got a few hours left?” the cohost, a man dubbed Dorcas Preparicus, says in an unexpectedly somber tone.
“Gonna talk to you sorry sons of bitches until the end,” Jeffy replies. “Then I’ll switch to groaning.” Their laughter starts up again, and Maisie switches the frequency until the cool, confident tones of a woman greet the air, strangely familiar.
“Reports are trickling in from survivors marooned in their homes and bunkers across the country, confirming the worst of what we expected. Power grids in major U.S. cities are beginning to fail. The last flight leaving America was either shot down or independently crashed. Individuals attempting border crossings are shot on sight. If help is coming, we do not know it yet.”
This time, Maisie turns the radio all the way off and winces at me apologetically. “Well, that was depressing. How about you tell me about Washington, D.C., instead? You used to live here, right?”
I blink, still reeling from the short burst of horror provided by those few minutes of radio.
“Um, yeah. We lived here until I was thirteen and Gemma was nine. Mom and Dad were still rising through the military’s ranks then, and they were way less focused on us following in their footsteps and more on being a family.
I loved it here.” The memories pelt my mind like a gentle rain, so faint and watery it’s hard to distinguish one from another.
The kitchen table, doing my homework. Mom tucking us in at night.
Saturdays at the National Mall, combing the museums with my parents.
They seemed to know everything, back then.
So strong, so sure, so steady—I never needed to be, because they had my back unconditionally.
A feeling of safety permeates those years, which is what made the ones that followed so much harder.
My parents making colonel one after the other, then moving us to New York for their faculty appointments at West Point.
Gemma and I thought things would be easier for our family there.
No more active-duty tours. No more stressful summonses to the Pentagon.
No more special assignments that’d take one of our parents away for months at a time.
We were wrong.
“What’s so great about D.C.?” Maisie asks.
I blink away the memories and return to the moment. “The museums, hands down. I loved being around all that history. So much cool stuff. Rockets. Dinosaur bones. They even had the Batmobile in the American History Museum for a while.”
Maisie arches an eyebrow. “A bat mobile? Do I want to know?”
I press a hand to my heart, pained on her behalf that she never experienced Michael Keaton at his baddest-ass, but grateful that she never had to see Arnold Schwarzenegger in blue makeup.
It’s a mixed bag, really. “Cool car, lots of gadgets, from a comic-book-turned-movie franchise about a rich guy that fights criminals.”
She nods at the road. “Got it.”
We take the exit, and the roads begin to empty once more. Everyone’s at home. God, I hope Gemma still is, too. It’s Monday morning, squarely in the range we told her we’d arrive, and I have to hope that she’s been safe enough at home to make it this long.
“It’s only ten a.m.,” Maisie says quietly as we turn into the hip residential area. “They’ll all be asleep.”
“Gemma will have the safety stuff figured out, I’m sure.” I stare out the window. There are zombies standing about on the sidewalks, under bus stop enclosures, idling in the middle of the multilane streets. “She’s always been the smarter one.”
“I’m excited to meet her,” Maisie says. She meets my eyes with a quick, albeit shaky smile, which I return.
“You’re going to love her.” I snort. “She hates the government, too.”
“Doctor Mouth,” Maisie says, then shakes her head, smiling. “I can’t believe I’m gonna get to meet the Mouth.”
“Can we not call her that?”
Maisie laughs as we roll to a stop in front of a renovated brownstone in an old neighborhood known for its excellent bars and restaurants. “Is this it?”
From first glance, nothing looks amiss. I’m honestly surprised that the windows haven’t been boarded up or fortified, though.
I’d forgotten how low her windows are on the first floor.
With how feral the zombies get at night?
If they sensed her inside, they’d be able to bust right in.
My stomach twists, but the windows are intact.
I step out of the car, and Maisie does, too, leaving it double-parked right in front of Gemma’s townhouse. The streets are crammed full of cars, not a parking spot for miles, probably.
Everybody’s home. Everybody’s here.
“Are any of these cars hers?” Maisie asks as we raise our weapons.
I look up and down the street, but nothing looks familiar. “I don’t know.” I frown, a sense of foreboding growing in my stomach as I stare up at the perfectly still townhouse before me.
Wouldn’t she be on the lookout for us? She knows I’m coming. Why hasn’t she come out yet?
“Come on,” Maisie says, nudging me with her elbow, but I’m frozen on the sidewalk, as lifeless as the zombies swaying nearby.
Why isn’t she out yet? My heart’s beginning to thump against my ribs. After finding Sandeep, I don’t—I can’t—
“Hey, breathe. Do you want me to go in first?” Maisie offers gently. “Check it out?”
That shakes me out of my stupor. “No, no. If…if something’s wrong, I need to be there.”
“Okay,” Maisie whispers, and suddenly I’m overwhelmed with gratitude that she’s here with me.
“Thank you,” I whisper back.
She leads me to the door, and I fumble with my keys for the first time since we left Durham.
Gemma gave me her spare years ago, the last time Louise and I visited, so that we could come and go as we pleased.
Gemma’s hours at the lab were long and uncertain sometimes; if she was caught in the middle of an experiment, she might not be able to leave for hours.
She was so devoted to her work, ferociously so.
Ugh. Stop using the past tense!
My throat is unbearably tight as I bring the key to the lock.
“Wait.” Maisie puts her hand on mine. “We should knock. Ring the doorbell or something. What if she’s in there with an axe?”
I nod quickly. “Good thinking. Right.”
I knock first.
Nothing.
I knock again, and we both press an ear to the wood, our eyes fixed on each other’s as we listen for any movement inside.
None.
“Fuck,” I say, my voice already breaking.
“Not yet,” she breathes. “Stay calm. Let’s go in.”
My hand is shaking too hard to turn the key, so Maisie takes over. The door creaks open. A picture-perfect living room awaits us, and nothing else.
“Gemma?” I bellow as I push inside, the fear finally giving way to panic. Cold, horrified panic. It rushes through my limbs, forces them into a quick, shambling run.
“Stay prepared!” Maisie yells behind me. “Taser on!”