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CHAPTER EIGHT


“Just going out and abducting research subjects is not appropriate scientific conduct. First, you have to create and receive approval of your abduction plan, including methods, locations, and targeted demographics . . .”

Lecture part of “Grad 725—Research Methods for the Infected” by Dr. Tedd Roberts, University of the South, 2047



Unfortunately, King Dale and most of his men survived the shamblers that night. However, his plan to conquer the school seemed to be on hold for the time being. On foot and looking worse for wear, we’d watched him limp back eastward with his surviving men. The direction they headed pretty much confirmed that they were either holed up in Clifton Forge or, less likely, the tiny town of Selma next to it.

Not that any of this mattered much. Without the BearCat and apparently lacking any other impressive armored vehicles, it didn’t look like they had the capabilities to come at us anytime soon. Maybe ever, if we were lucky. King Dale didn’t seem the type to quit so easily, though, so Ulla and I kept target practicing.

“Stay vigilant” became our new mantra. It was a good mantra to have, especially since we’d been living it since the day our world ended.

We celebrated Thanksgiving, giving thanks for our survival. We stayed quiet not because there were a lot of shamblers around campus, no. Any that made it up the mountain were taken care of, and quickly. Thanksgiving was a little muted thanks to the bears who were starting to come in closer to campus. They were growing bolder with every passing day. One of them—not the loyal Sir Chonk, slayer of shamblers, but a smaller one, probably a cub—even managed to climb the fence around our makeshift garden and destroy the last remnants of the crops. Which, unfortunately, included all of the pumpkins.

Still, the mood on campus was better than it’d been since the world around us ended. Lucia had managed to find paint in an old storeroom behind the gym and the younger girls began painting our newly acquired BearCat. The entire front end was quickly covered with stick figures, suns, flowers, and peace signs. Emily, always creative in her own ways, managed to rig up a brush guard on the BearCat that looked straight out of a Mad Max movie. It was an odd clash of styles: a rugged, deadly-looking armored vehicle with a smiling sun, rainbows, and flowers painted all over the front and side armored paneling.

St. Dom’s . . . what can I say? We’re an odd mixture of stability and insanity.

The best part? The elementary school girls nicknamed the heavy vehicle Oso, after Sir Chonk the Shambler Slayer, after talking to Lucia about what “bear” translated into Spanish was. I heartily approved, and even Ulla smiled a bit after.

Just before Christmas we had a new problem arise. Well, not so much a problem, but a situation that could potentially become one if not handled quickly. Since it fit into Sister Ann’s vision of rebuilding society, it was a welcome situation. Just one without shamblers running around.

Dunlap Creek, at the bottom of the mountain, was still a hotspot for them. They were almost as bad as rats, and far more dangerous. Though not nearly as numerous as the summer, they were still a threat. The banks along the slow-moving creek seemed to be the perfect place for shamblers to build their little ratty, makeshift nests. The opposite side of the creek was a sheer cliff face—which turned into an interesting waterfall when it rained—that protected anyone down on our side of the creek from the elements. The Alleghany Highlands got some snow, sure, but what really made winters tough was the wind on a cold day. The weird cut in the base of the cliff created a little area protected from the wind.

Thanks to this, Ulla and I kept having to go down there at least twice a week to clear out shamblers. The worst part of it was that one of them kept running away the minute I got close. The spot was good for one or two of the crazy psycho ones charging me, so those were easy target practice. The other one always fled. Ulla, perched up in the same deer blind I’d watched Sir Chonk from months before, one time tracked the timid one all the way to the road. Without a clear shot, though, she followed instructions and didn’t want to risk missing.

Wolf Squadron spoke about “betas.” While I couldn’t be certain this was what we were dealing with, it was clearly a different type of shambler. Since it didn’t come up the mountain and always ran away, I decided it wasn’t worth chasing down. The minute that it showed up someplace where it could cause harm, though?

Then it would be showtime.

No, the “not a problem but sort of is” arose on a sunny but cold Thursday afternoon. Apparently the BearCat rumbling along the back way onto campus alerted people that there were survivors up at St. Dominic’s because two days before Christmas Eve, our first refugees showed up. Three of them, in fact: one old geezer and two young kids, probably his granddaughters. From the way they clung close to him and how he was constantly surveying the area, he’d been protecting them from the beginning of the Fall.

The man was clearly unnerved when they arrived at the front gate. The trio stopped at the bridge over Dunlap Creek, where two middle schoolers were on watch. Wendy, the younger of the two, had the radio while Julia held the rifle. The magazine was empty, but that was something no one in the small group needed to know. The real danger was me on Mr. Stitmer’s four-wheeler not too far away. I was watching for any sudden movements by the man, not that I was expecting any trouble from him. Not with the two girls clinging to him and making movement difficult. Ulla was on shambler overwatch, just in case one of them showed up and wanted to get froggy.

“Is the Mother Superior still alive?” he asked without preamble. He had a small pistol on a hip holster but that was all. Brave man to wander around with nothing more. Or a desperate one. It was hard to say. The girls clung to his side, their eyes wide as they looked around. Those were the eyes of children who had gazed into the dark and not fully come back yet.

Judging by how pale their skin was, I was willing to bet the trio had holed up in a basement when the Fall started and only recently began venturing outdoors. They were a little on the skinny side but clean. Their clothes were in good shape and they were prepped for the cold. Another point in the man’s favor. The old dude had a bushy beard that extended down to his chest, but he might have had that for a long time before the world ended. There was no way for me to tell. My beard growing experience was pretty nil.

He also sported a really impressive scar on the side of his head. There had to have been one hell of a story behind that.

“I radioed up,” Wendy told them as Julie tried to look intimidating. She pulled off scared, which probably unnerved the man more. Scared teenager with a weapon? Yeah, I’d be terrified a bit, too. “Sister Ann said she is coming down to meet with you.”

“The Marine nun?” He shook his head and smiled. “Thank God Almighty. The Lord works in mysterious ways, don’t He? Ain’t no coincidence that she survived.”

“Who are you?” Julie asked, sounding curious. He knew us, and well apparently, but I had no idea who the man was. So far as I could tell, none of King Dale’s men had known any of us by name. His knowledge of us was actually a point in his favor. If he’d been working with King Dale, then they would have known who all of us were from the start.

“Temple Kessinger,” he said, looking at her. I swear he visibly relaxed when he noticed how she had her weapon slung. Not the usual reaction I was used to. He was either a vet, or an experienced hunter.

Staying out of sight, I breathed a small sigh of relief. He didn’t appear to be dangerous and I didn’t recognize him as being any of King Dale’s men from the bridge. Plus, he was old. The two girls on guard duty could easily outrun him if he made a grab for them, though I doubted he would.

I watched Sister Ann come down the hill, her gaze sweeping over the situation. None of the others noticed her, so they missed the look of relief that crossed her face when she saw the man and children on the bridge.

“Temple Kessinger, as I live and breathe,” Sister Ann said. I could hear the smile in her voice as she rounded the bend. Behind her, Lucia and Emily were right on her heels. “It’s nice to see a friendly face. You’re looking well.”

“Well enough, Sister,” Temple said. “It was a rough spell. Still is. I never did get to thank Monsignor Dietrich for his kindness, and your school’s assistance during my recovery.”

“The Church is part of the community, Temple. As are you.”

“Still . . . thank you, Sister. My family appreciated your church helping out during that time.”

“You are very welcome, Temple,” Sister Ann said, nodding slightly. “We are all God’s children.”

“I ain’t been to church in years, Sister,” Temple admitted in a quiet tone. “Yet the monsignor . . .”

“Sir? I’m not comfortable sitting around in the open like this, even armed,” I interrupted them, sliding out of the four-wheeler and emerging from the bushes. Temple started, while Sister Ann gave me a small smile. It was clear he hadn’t even suspected I was there. Score one for the home team.

“I know you,” he said, offering up a small smile. “Well, recognize you, at least. You played field hockey against Covington that one time.”

“Played them a few times, actually,” I corrected. Those were good days, smashing my opponents on the field and earning those yellow cards the proper way. Oh, I also scored a goal, but who cared about that? Field hockey gave me a way to embrace therapy through violence without worrying about going to juvie.

“Only one time I remember,” he admitted with a shrug. The girls clung tighter to him. He gave the smaller one a comforting pat on the head before continuing. “I didn’t get out much before the zombie apocalypse happened. Brain tumor . . . damn near killed me. Recovery went on for years. Survived all that, radiation, surgery, only to watch the world end once I was back on my feet. Talk about bad timing.”

Internally I winced. That was pretty much the definition of bad timing. Also, it explained the scar on his head. Not as interesting of a story as I’d thought. Still, the old dude was a survivor. Had to give him credit for that.

“And who are you two?” I asked the girls clinging to him. The older one buried her face in his side but the smaller one offered me a shy smile.

“Rosalind.”

“Nice to meet you, Rosalind,” I said in a gentle voice. “Is this your grandpa?”

She nodded. “Daddy went to Heaven after Mommy ate him and ran away.”

Holy shit. No wonder the older girl looked traumatized. “Um . . . and this is your sister?”

Another nod. “Her name’s Charise. She doesn’t like to talk anymore.”

“Do too!” the older girl protested before burying her face in flannel once more.

“Sister Ann? Sir? Can we head up the mountain, where it’s safer?”

“One moment, Maddie.” Sister Ann held up a hand to forestall my coming protests. She knew me too well. It was frightening. “Temple, are you comfortable? I know you’re on medication. Do you have enough?”

“Can we talk about that later, Sister?” he asked and looked down at his granddaughters. The oldest still had her face buried in Temple’s flannel jacket, but the younger was staring at me. She had a confused expression on her face. I had no idea why. “There are some things I’d rather not talk about in front of certain people, if you get my meaning.”

“I do,” Sister Ann acknowledged with a sad smile. Something had passed between them in that moment, but I didn’t know what.

“How’d you survive?” I butted in. Not my most subtle moment, true, but I’d been burning with curiosity the moment the radio call came up the mountain. One old man and two very young girls? There was no way they should have survived this long on their own. If Temple had managed to pull that off, he’d be one hell of an asset to have on campus.

Apparently Sister Ann felt the same, but had way more tact than I did. “I’m not going to make you or your girls dwell on the past. When you want to talk about it, Temple, I’ll be more than willing to listen,” Sister Ann said in as reassuring tone as she could manage. The old man smiled and nodded.

“I appreciate you, Sister. All of you. If I can intrude on you a bit longer . . .”

“You need somewhere to go for the girls, and yourself,” Sister Ann said knowingly. She began to nod. “Throughout history the Catholic Church has been there for the people, even in the darkest of hours. St. Dominic’s was established to help wayward girls become ladies. We can find room up here for all of you.”

“Even if we aren’t Catholic?” Temple asked. I knew the answer to this one.

“I don’t think God cares if you’re Catholic or not, sir,” I replied before Sister Ann could. “You need help, and the Church is here. I don’t see any problems.”

“It is as simple as that, Temple,” Sister Ann said, giving me an approving nod before turning back to the old man. “What’s the point of the Church being a beacon in the night if we turn away those seeking refuge?”

“Like I said before, the Church and I ain’t been particularly close . . .”

“Yet you’ve found your way here,” Sister Ann said before shrugging. “Come on up the mountain, Temple. Eat. Rest. We’ll discuss the finer details on full bellies in front of the woodstove.”

“You got a woodstove? I forgot y’all were set up to survive a nuclear holocaust up here,” Temple muttered as he looked up the road. He shook his head. “Well, it ain’t nuclear, but it’s still the end of the world.”

“We’re still here, Temple. Not all of us, but enough of us to make a difference. Come. Let’s get you warmed up. I have tea.”


After I was relieved on watch, Rosalind and Charise were fed and taken upstairs to Mrs. Whitney’s old apartment by the twins, Temple joined the rest of the student council and Sister Ann in front of the small woodstove we’d “appropriated” from the Moose Lodge months before. Mysteriously, some of the canned goods we’d seen then had disappeared since our last visit. It’d been a dicey expedition, since the four-wheeler was not designed to haul a trailer loaded with that much weight, but we managed. Towing a trailer attached to a four-wheeler is not for the faint of heart.

Getting it down into the bunker had almost killed us all. The thing was heavy.

Dinner was plain, canned chicken and some potatoes, and some Tang to wash it all down with, which was better than plain, boring water. We didn’t have much of it left, but this was considered a special occasion so Sister Ann broke it out. Temple attacked the protein like he hadn’t seen any in weeks. Which, given how thin he was beneath the bulky layers of clothing, was probable. He’d been neglecting himself to take care of the kids. My esteem for the man went up a few notches.

Emily had somehow rigged the smokestack to go out an old vertical pipe she said had once been used as a vent for a long-replaced boiler, so it would be able to handle the heat and the smoke without too many problems. It also put out a crazy amount of heat with very little wood inside.

The girl was definitely my favorite person on campus.

The outside air was dropping below freezing but inside the bunker, with the cinder block, reinforced walls, it was downright cozy. If it’d had windows I would have asked if we could crack one open, it was so warm. A few candles were lit but no more. Sister Ann had decided too much light would draw the younger girls back after being sent to bed. Even Devotionals had been cut a little short tonight. The newcomers hadn’t talked very much, though it was clear to me that Rosalind was going to easily adapt to living with the elementary kids. Eventually, I meant. Things were a little different up here. Charise, though, seemed to be a tougher nut to crack. Still, she was talking. It was better than silence.

Nothing against Ulla, of course. My little protégé was different.

“We knew it was coming,” Temple said once everyone on the council was situated around the stove. “We saw it—that flu, I mean. On the news, spoke about it at the stores, listened to the radio.” Temple paused and wiped his eyes. To hear him talk was heartbreaking, but necessary. Other than the Wolf Squadron updates, we’d heard almost nothing about the outside world. Temple might have been hidden away during the Fall, but he’d still know things we didn’t. Have a point of view none of us could relate to. He coughed, muttered an apology into his beard, and continued. “My son called me up and asked if he could bring the family over. They lived down in Covington proper, near the high school, and wanted to get away from their neighbors before they got sick. Seemed like a right smart plan to me, so I invited them up. I had the space, a few months’ worth of food, and a freezer full of deer meat. Had a generator and six gas cans sealed up, too. Probably should go and grab that eventually . . . Sorry. My train of thought derailed there for a moment. I thought we’d weather the storm and in a month, two max, we’d be good to go. Only . . .”

“Only one of them brought the flu with them, and it turned into something more than just a flu,” Sister Ann said in the gentlest voice possible. Temple sniffled, wiped his face with his sleeve, and nodded.

“My son. Bless his soul. He got sick first, then the girls and me. It was the worst flu I’d ever had in my life. I thought I was going to die. Convinced of it. But no . . . apparently God wasn’t done with me yet. I didn’t understand why until . . . until she turned into . . . into a monster. It was in the middle of the afternoon when my daughter-in-law became a zombie. Bit my son. No, she ripped his throat out with nothing but her teeth. My only boy . . . I grabbed the girls and ran to the basement. She chased us. I got the door closed and locked from the inside—I had never understood why that door was like that, but I was mighty thankful—and we waited. For three days she howled above us, destroying everything looking for food. Testing the door. Trying to get to us, her girls. Her own babies . . . 

“His body rotted up there, Sister. It turned ripe and stank. It was hot and muggy. She . . . did things to it. Ate it. Him. I tried not to dwell on what I heard up there. It was the stuff of nightmares. Plus, I had bigger worries.

“The girls were terrified and crying. None of us could sleep for days. Just kept waiting for her to bash the door in and finish us off. I was afraid for the girls . . . and I was angry, Sister. I felt an anger I’d never had before. It wasn’t fair of me. I was mad—no, furious—at her for killing my boy. Right in front of her own children, she killed their father. My only boy. I grew angry at my son for bringing the sickness out to the farm with them in the first place. I was filled with anger at myself for not being able to do anything more. And I was angry at God, Sister. God help me, I was so mad. Rage makes a man blind to it all. If not for those two little girls, I would have grabbed my rifle and tracked that she-devil down and finished her off.

“But . . . they saved me. The girls. His children did for me what I couldn’t do for him. Sister, they truly saved me. The girls needed me. There was no way I was going to throw away their lives for the sake of my own revenge. Instead of tracking her and putting her down like a dog, I took care of her daughters. We lived, and with every passing day, Sister, my anger ebbed. Just a little, you understand. Just a little. But it was better than that all-consuming hate that had been fueling me for weeks on end.

“But I never did get to say goodbye to my son. I couldn’t bury him. There was almost nothing . . . nothing left. She’d picked him clean, like a scavenger. My boy . . .”

Temple stopped talking as fresh tears flowed freely down his face, disappearing into his beard. He was clearly having trouble with what to say next. After being so forthcoming and spilling everything, he was on the verge of clamming up now. I understood completely. Everyone reacted to trauma their own way. I didn’t know the family very well—truth be told, not at all—but I could see where he was coming from. It was a cultural thing.

As much as I make fun of the people in the area, they were serious about their families. Fights often broke out between townies and St. Dominic students over perceived insults about third or fourth cousins, and the family expectation to defend their honor. They were also big on passing down their memories, family lore, stuff like that. Just seemed to be their thing. Firstborn sons were, like the rest of the world, seen more like prizes than progeny. Okay, that might be a bit unfair, but it’s close.

To watch this old man break down and cry because he couldn’t even bury his own son broke my heart.

“I’m sorry you had to see that, sir,” I told the sobbing man sincerely. I meant every word, too. The other girls on the council were silent, each either crying tears of their own or in silent contemplation. Even the twins, for once, didn’t speak.

“Temple . . . on the walk up here, you mentioned the old Boyd farm next door to yours,” Sister Ann said as she laid a hand lightly on his forearm. “Mrs. Boyd was the elderly woman who did all the canning for her neighbors, yes? And her late husband did deer processing?”

“That’s right,” Temple said, sniffling. He pinched his nose and wiped his eyes. The elderly man was clearly happy to talk about anything else at this point. “He had one of them old-fashioned hand-powered grinders to make ground meat. Usually did it for venison, but he could do it for hog. Also had a machine that could make cube steak, but that was powered.”

“I remember, yes. Mr. Stitmer used to take his deer to be processed by them.” Sister Ann nodded. “Temple, you and the girls are welcome to stay here as long as you like. I’m not going to lie and say our trials are over, though. If we’re to rebuild society, then there are going to be challenges ahead.”

“Rebuild, Sister?” Temple looked at her, confused. “You plan on rebuilding society? All of it? Even . . . ?”

“Yes, Temple. The bedrock of life has to be founded on something. We can’t, in good faith, hide up here and simply wait to die.”

“Never heard it put like that before,” Temple admitted. He stifled a yawn with a closed fist. “Sorry. It’s been a long day.”

Sister Ann looked around the room before locking onto the person she was searching for. “Lucia? Will you join me in assisting Temple up to his apartment, please? Madison, you’ve got this?”

“Yes, ma’am,” I replied immediately.

“My knees ain’t that bad,” Temple groused but allowed the two to help him to his feet. “I have to tell you something, Sister. You might have to take care of the girls without me in the near future.”

“Why? You planning on dying?” I asked. Rohena coughed and looked away, while Kayla and Emily both blushed. After a moment it dawned on me that my words had been rather blunt. “Uh, sorry. That came out wrong. I meant—”

“I understand,” Temple said, chuckling as he waved away my concerns. “Planning on dying? No. Expecting it? Yes. I’ve been slowly rationing my blood pressure medication for the past few months. My heart’s not what it used to be, child. I have enough for two, maybe three more months. Four if I really like dancing with the devil—which I don’t, I’ll add. Never was one for rhythm. But most likely I’ll run out of my pills at the end of March. So . . . when that day comes? I plan on my grandchildren not being anywhere around me. They don’t need to see that. Not after what they’ve had to see in the past. You can make sure that happens, Sister?”

“I believe so,” Sister Ann said as she led him to the stairs up to the cafeteria. Lucia was right behind them.

He paused at the base of the concrete stairs and looked back over his shoulder at us. There was a deep sadness in his eyes, something I hadn’t really noticed before. “Thank you again. Really. I don’t know what I would have done . . .”

His voice trailed off as Sister Ann guided him to the stairs.

“That right there is some depressing . . . stuff,” I muttered as they disappeared from view. Thanks to Lucia clearing it awhile back, Mrs. Whitney’s old apartment was the best place to put Temple and the girls for a few nights until we finished with the rest of the apartments.

One of the things Sister Ann had been reluctant to do was going to happen whether we wanted it or not. Rebuilding society was not going to be an easy job, and apartments didn’t magically clean themselves. We were going to have to clean them out if more survivors showed up. That, or dig into the cottages and try to repair the easiest ones first.

“It’s so sad,” Emily agreed. “I can’t even imagine what that poor man’s gone through.”

I turned and looked at her, surprised. “Really? You can’t?”

“It’s different with us,” she said, immediately picking up what I was alluding to. Even though we weren’t necessarily besties, she and I clicked on some level. “We didn’t see our families die, you know? Other than Ulla, I mean. Everything happened from a distance and it doesn’t feel real yet. It will, one day—be real, I mean. For a lot of the girls, they’re still in denial. They all think their family somehow survived the Fall. Temple? His girls? Ulla? They had to watch their families die.”

I was silent for a moment as my thoughts drifted back to when Lucia and I stole the BearCat from King Dale. Sitting there, in the middle of I-64 after the successful heist, we’d contemplated risking the chance to drive cross-country, back to California and our families. I’d known then, deep down, that it was a waste of time, but it was still there. That fantasy, the idea of my dysfunctional family managing to pull together and surviving the apocalypse. Lucia had a similar moment, I’m sure.

It was a bitter comfort knowing I hadn’t really dealt with the loss of my family.

“Hey,” Emily said, nudging me with an elbow. “I’m on watch tonight. Want to hang out?”

“You’re on watch?” I asked, somewhat surprised. Emily would pull a watch here and there but never an overnighter. “What about Rohena?”

“She traded me two packets of noodles to cover for her,” she explained.

“I’m not even going to ask,” I muttered, shaking my head. Rohena loved the overnight shift because it got her out of morning chores. The girl liked to sleep almost as much as I did. Thinking it over, I shrugged. “I need to get some sleep sometime, so I can’t stay up all night. But I can hang for a few hours.”

“If we talk, we need to keep it down,” Emily said. I looked at her, confused, before I remembered: Temple and his granddaughters were in an apartment now and would probably be able to hear us.

“Right. Forgot.”

“Don’t forget to tell Ulla you’ll be up late. She gets weird when you’re not around.”

“Okay, Mom.”

She chuckled. “Ugh, no thanks. Don’t want to be your mom. You’re a river baby.”

“Huh? A what?”

“A river baby. You know, when nature creates some kind of aberration, like a deformed pup, the mother of the animal will take it and drown it in a river. That’s you. A river baby.”

“What the . . . ? Hey, wait a minute. That’s bullsh—”

“Language,” Emily cut me off, smiling. “Rooftop. Midnight.”

“Not even a clue?”

“Nope.”

“Dang it.”


“A river baby?” I asked her two hours later, once we were up on the rooftop of the cafeteria. The air was cold but tolerable. Still, we’d grabbed our winter coats and a few extra blankets for just in case. Unnecessary, but one never knew.

It was a clear sky and, with the moon not even a sliver in the western sky, it was as dark as it could be. Above us, I could see the Milky Way and recognized a constellation or two. The Big Dipper was easy, but I was pretty sure I pegged the Little Dipper as well. My favorite constellation, Orion the Hunter, was low on the horizon to the east. It was surreal, and a sight I really hadn’t had a chance to enjoy since before the Fall.

“That was unfair. Sorry. By the way, you missed a really cool meteor shower a week ago,” Emily stated, settling down in a chair. Propping her feet up on the low wall of the rooftop, she leaned back and gazed upward into the sky. I sat down in the other and wrapped a blanket around my legs. It took me a minute to get comfortable. I wasn’t used to pulling watches up here. The river and lowlands surrounding the mountain were more my speed. Observe, track, then kill the shamblers. Being on the aggressive side of things was preferable to sitting around and waiting for them to come to me. Usually. “The Geminids. They come from around the handle of the Big Dipper over there. I saw something like seventy or so in half an hour.”

“You’re forgiven. Meteors. Huh,” I said, trying to sound interested. In reality I was tired and just wanted to enjoy the view. In silence, if it were at all possible. With Rohena it usually wasn’t, but Emily . . . “It’s pretty.”

“Yeah,” she said and yawned. There were a few minutes of silence between us before she spoke again. “I wanted to talk to you.”

“I figured that part out when you asked me to come up here. What about?”

“Watch the sky,” she told me. Turning my head, I gave her a look. “Humor me?”

“Fine,” I grumbled and looked up at the night sky. It was pretty, with satellites flashing by every once in a while. One entire universe out there, filled with galaxies. The sight was awe inspiring. I hadn’t seen it this clear in over a year. Without the background lights of the path around the central field and gymnasium, it was much easier to see the sky above. “Yeah . . . really pretty,” I allowed.

Something hard and cold touched my arm. I jerked away instinctively. Glancing down, I saw Emily was holding a small device in her hand. She pressed it against me again.

“Check it out,” she said. I grabbed it and, confused, stared at it for a moment before I realized what it was.

“Is this a cell phone?”

“No. Better. It’s a GPS device.”

“How is that better?” I asked, confused. I flipped it over and inspected it. The screen was dim but on, which amazed me. “How’s the battery still working?”

“It runs on double As,” Emily answered. “We have tons of those and nothing to use them on. Except this. Go ahead, keep it. Figure it out. It’s pretty easy. I thought you could use it when you start ranging out farther away from campus. You can add a pin on the digital map to help orient your way home, no matter where you are.”

“Hey, the school is already marked on the map,” I stated as I used a finger to drag the screen around. “Did you do that? Shows the creek, the river, and even where the James River forms down past Iron Gate. Cool!”

“Yeah, it is,” she said. Something in her voice told me this wasn’t what she really wanted to talk about, though. “It’s cool enough.”

“But . . . ?”

“It got me thinking,” she said, taking a deep breath in the cold mountain air. “I read the manual and a few other things involving GPS trackers like this. They run off of triangulated satellites, right? So you always know where you’re at within seven meters. Maybe closer.”

“Uh-huh . . .” I had no idea where she was going with this. Or even what she was talking about, to be honest.

“It’s got a clock on it, too. But it needs an atomic clock to tell the time from somewhere else. So do the satellites,” she explained in a hushed whisper, mindful of a possibly sleeping Temple being awakened. “An atomic clock here on the ground, in the U.S.”

“Okay . . . ?”

“That means somewhere there is a place where some branch of the military is holed up, safe, keeping time and waiting,” she finished with a triumphant look on her face. “Those satellites up there are probably still communicating!”

“They need people to physically keep time for . . . satellites?” I was thoroughly confused now. “It’s not all automated?”

“Someone’s gotta make sure the computer systems are up and running. Which means power. Someone, somewhere, is hiding out and keeping the clocks on. Keeping the GPS signals running.”

“But . . . why?” I asked when I was finally able to find my voice. “Why are they hiding?”

“I don’t know,” she admitted. “Maybe they’re afraid of getting sick? You know, being locked up in some basement in the middle of Montana or something would—”

“Montana?” I interrupted. “Why would they be in Montana?”

“I don’t know. Maybe because that’s where our nuclear missiles are?”

“We have nuclear missiles in Montana?”

“Probably? I think so, maybe. I don’t know.”

“You say so.”

“Look, it doesn’t matter where they are.” Emily was clearly growing exasperated. The poor girl was trying to share some potentially earth-shattering information with me and I was being a bit of a bitch. Instead of interrupting again, I let her speak. “The fact is, they’re out there, making sure the GPS is still up and running. GPS that those people in Wolf Squadron need to sail across the Atlantic, and Caribbean, everywhere!”

She had a point. If anyone knew about this stuff, it would be Emily. But why the secrecy about it? I couldn’t think of a good reason, so I asked. Her answer was immediate. I could tell she’d been preparing it.

“Because what if they want her back? To be a marine again, and leave us?”

“Wait . . . Sister Ann?” I asked.

“You know of any other marines around here?”

“She wouldn’t leave us. She can’t leave us.” My tone was emphatic. I knew Sister Ann, and trusted her. She was the only person who could make sure St. Dominic’s continued to function and protect all of us girls here as well. There was no way she would abandon us for some military person in Montana or wherever. My voice lowered to a whisper. “She can’t, right? Don’t her religious nun-vows mean she’s here forever?”

“I don’t know,” Emily admitted, shrugging. “But the end of the world happened, Maddie. Rules change.”

“Sister Ann doesn’t.” I paused and stared at the stars for another minute. Another satellite passed across the sky while I pondered what she’d said. “Why tell me all this?” I asked her.

“What do you mean?”

“This.” I waved my hand toward the stars above. “The satellites. The government. Sister Ann. Everything. Why tell me all this?”

She stared at me for a moment like I was stupid before saying, “Because you’re the one in charge. Duh.”

“No I’m not.”

“Uh, yes, dumbass. You are.”

I scoffed at her and crossed my arms. “No. No way.”

“Look,” she said, shifting in her chair. “You’ve been running things for, like, months now. Ever since Sister Ann put you in charge of security you’ve been the boss. Sister Ann directs the meetings and stuff, but think about it: When did she push a plan on us that you didn’t support or come up with?”

I started to protest but stopped. If I argued with her, she’d probably just find a way to prove me wrong. The nerd was definitely smarter than I was, and even before the Fall I’d never won an argument with her. Instead, I opted for silence. I hadn’t come up here for a fight. No, I’d just wanted to hang out with someone for a change. Try to be friends with someone I actually tolerated. Being the ostracized—

“Is that why everyone avoids me?” I asked without thinking. “Because they think I’m in charge?”

“Never argue with the girl who kills the shamblers,” Emily pointed out. “Or carries the gun and runs security.”

Fair point. I’d never been one to shy away from either of those responsibilities. “Look . . . I don’t want to be in charge.”

“Tough.”

Emily was exasperating. Partly, because I had to admit that she was probably right. Sister Ann had been letting me call a lot of the shots lately. She’d been so sneaky about it that I hadn’t even caught on. I shook off the thoughts. The time to dwell on that was later. Now? I just wanted to relax.

“Can’t we just, I don’t know, enjoy the stars? Quietly?” I asked.

“Up to you . . .”

“Thanks.”

“. . . boss.”

“Oh, come on!”


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Framed