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CHAPTER FOURTEEN


“You readin’ this, Pecos? Those boys from Van Horn came for us at sunrise. Not zombies, but people like you and me. Regular folk from the next town over. We thought they were here for trade. They were here for something else. We hurt ’em, bad, but they killed Fred. Stole some horses, too. It truly is the end-times when a neighbor can so easily turn on someone, and for what? A couple of horses?”

From: Collected Radio Transmissions of the Fall,

University of the South Press, 2053



Shame. It was a sensation I wasn’t used to dealing with. Not since I’d come to St. Dominic’s, at least.

Because of the incident with the shambler, Sister Ann gave me a break from patrol duties. She told me it was to rest, but she had no way of knowing I’d heard her argument with Dr. Brittany. Temple and Ulla teamed up to fill in for me while I was more or less out of commission, while Finlay and Fiona started pulling more watches up top to cover for Ulla. The twins weren’t quite ready to start shooting shamblers left and right just yet, but they were game to at least try. Worst case, they got to blow more stuff up. Sister Ann was teaching them the finer points of explosive ordnance—something I never thought I’d see happening, ever.

For me, it was embarrassing that a couple of preteens were doing my job. It was also necessary. I was an emotional wreck and in no shape to do much of anything.

Perhaps Sister Ann was right about the vulnerability thing?

This was far different from what had happened while I was at the Boyd farm. There I’d been in control, easily handling shamblers while keeping them at a distance. Sure, it’d been a lot closer than I would have liked, but after the first one I’d never really felt I was in much danger.

Of course, that had been before I’d murdered someone. A real person, not a shambler. One survivor of the Fall, a living, breathing human being, snuffed out because of me.

A few more survivors straggled in, and we found space for them, just like the others. Not many. Not nearly enough for what Sister Ann wanted. They were from Moss Run, which was sort of like Callaghan only more up in the mountains. They were backwoods, but they knew gardening. Kayla was glad to have them. When the planting season came, they’d be invaluable and very helpful. In the meantime, though, we had to find more space. Which meant cleaning and rebuilding . . . and when you’re missing a lot of tools, it means risky scavenging.

Temple led a small group back out to the Moose Lodge. I knew from past scavenging hunts there probably wouldn’t be much of anything to be found, but it helped some of the new arrivals get their feet under them. According to Sister Ann, those who want to help do so because they have an innate sense of responsibility. Those who follow through with their offer, though, have a work ethic.

“And work ethic, Madison, will rebuild this country. Come on. Help me bring in more firewood.”

I still had no answers for the reason I panicked when dealing with the shambler. Every single one before then I’d had no problems about giving them a quick demise. But now? I wasn’t what you could call “gun shy,” but I was definitely having issues dealing with shooting a shambler.

Deer, on the other hand? Deer were easy. Bucks were fair game now that the rut was over and they’d done their deed, so Ulla and I bagged six in as many afternoons. The meat was gamey and tougher than a doe’s, but it was protein—something we were starting to run low on thanks to the new arrivals.

Fortunately for me, I wasn’t allowed to stay in a funk for long.

It was later than usual and Sister Ann and I were up listening to the shortwave. The past few weeks the updates were getting increasingly bizarre, and Sister Ann was concerned. She’d stopped letting the younger girls listen in at night. Not all of the new arrivals knew about the radio, either. Which was important for reasons I didn’t fully understand. But one thing I’d learned during my time at St. Dominic’s was that if Sister Ann thought it was important, then it was. Arguing over it was a simple waste of time.

The radio was droning on, spewing out needless info that contained a lot of words but said absolutely nothing. It was as though they were being deliberately obtuse, something I pointed out to Sister Ann when there was a break between shows. Devil Dog Radio was usually way more informative—and, truth be told, more interesting—than what we were getting. It felt censored, which was stupid. Who in their right mind would try to censor a marine?

Frustrated, I flipped frequencies. We had all of the ones worth keeping track of preprogrammed, but sometimes the time zone differences and clocks being off meant we were often early or late. This time, once we found Armed Forces Radio, we were late, joining in the middle of an important announcement.

“. . . for the immediate cessation of hostilities toward those afflicted with the H7D3. They are human beings like us, and deserve respect. As acting President of the United States of America, I, Elizabeth Sovrain, Secretary of Education, am issuing Executive Order 14221: Any citizen who commits wanton slaughter of infected persons shall be immediately arrested and tried on a minimum of charges stemming from second degree murder and upward. This genocide will not be tolerated by this administration . . .”

“Wait, what?” I stared stupidly at the shortwave for a full minute, listening to the clearly unhinged individual play the cruelest practical joke in history on us. “I thought we were in February still? Is it April Fools’ Day or something?”

Sister Ann didn’t say anything. Turning, I looked at her. She was chewing her bottom lip, clearly lost in thought. I’d seen her like this a few times before. It usually meant she was mulling over something very important. Every time it had led to a decision that changed the path I’d believed St. Dominic’s to be on.

“Sister?”

The clearly crazy person on the shortwave droned on. “. . . furthermore, any and all previously retired or discharged military personnel are recalled to their former ranks, effective immediately, and are to report to the closest National Guard duty station that is still functioning. There you will assist the infected individuals with housing, the feeding and care of, and assisting in fulfilling their humanitarian needs in accordance to Executive Order 14222—”

Sister Ann flipped the radio off with such abruptness that the silence was almost startling. I waited for a long time to speak, not sure what I could say. Fortunately, I didn’t have to think of anything.

“Follow orders?” Sister’s Ann’s flat, cold tone was . . . terrifying. I swallowed nervously. She’d never spoken in that voice before. All of us were very familiar with her mannerisms and how she addressed us when we screwed up by now. This? This was something else.

“Does that mean . . . Is that real?” I asked carefully and started thinking about what Colton had said when I first met him. He’d been terrified that they would throw him in jail for killing his mother after she’d turned into a shambler. The acting president had confirmed this. Would they come for me after? Ulla? “They can do that?”

“Yes. I think so. Since we’re in a State of National Emergency, and have been for over eight months now, I believe they can legally do it.”

“Well, good thing you’re a marine—”

“Do I look like a marine to you?” Sister Ann asked me in a cold, quiet voice. “I. Am. Not. A. Marine! Not anymore. I gave that up for a higher calling, and I was promised this would be honored. The woman who was the marine is gone. Gone! She will not return! That . . . deranged individual on the radio can . . . can . . . go find Christ!”

There were plenty of things I could have said to her at that moment. However, I’m not dumb or suicidal. Instead, I replied as meekly as I possibly could. “No, ma’am. Not a marine.”

She inhaled deeply, then slowly exhaled. It was possibly the angriest I’d ever seen her, hands down. If I hadn’t just witnessed it firsthand, I wouldn’t have believed her capable. It wasn’t irrational anger, though. This was deeper, more primal. It was pure, unadulterated rage.

“I’m sorry, Madison. There was no need for me to be abrupt with you. That was uncalled for.”

“The fu—uh, heck you say!” I caught myself just in time. That had been close. “That was totally called for! Shamblers are dangerous and not people anymore! Is that bit—uh, person on crack?”

Sister Ann actually chuckled at that. “I can’t say to her state of mind, but her judgment is unsound.”

“Did they really . . . They’re pressing charges against anyone who continues to shoot shamblers?”

“So they say.”

“So that’s it?” I asked, dumbfounded. “We can’t shoot shamblers any when they try to come up here and eat us? We have to babysit them or something? You’re just going to leave us here and go be a marine again to babysit shamblers?”

She snorted. “I swore an oath to protect and defend the Constitution from all enemies, both foreign and domestic. But . . . I also swore an oath to you girls, to protect you from harm, and help guide you to become the brilliant young women God intended you to be. Every single one of you has tried their best. What sort of mentor . . . what sort of human being would I be if I left you now?”

I smiled. “Not a good one.”

“Besides . . .” She paused and scratched her chin thoughtfully. “I don’t think an acting president has the power to issue sweeping executive orders like that. Granted, my civics knowledge is admittedly a little rusty, but until she’s sworn in, I do believe that she is outside my chain of command.”

“Too bad we can’t find the President. It’d be crazy if he was at the Greenbrier or something.”

“That would be something,” she agreed. “In the meantime, let’s put this lull to good use. The twins are getting a little too comfortable with explosive ordnance for my taste. I want you to take them, Ulla, and . . . Charise and Rosalind down to the ranger station. Take some of the camping gear with you.”

“Ma’am?” I asked, surprised. My heart began to hammer in my chest. Did she know about Colton? No, there was no way. I hadn’t been down to see him since my little breakdown after the shambler. Panic started to make my chest tight. Had she seen him lurking around? Had the stupid boy come up to campus trying to look for me?

“Rosalind and Charise need to bond with someone close to their age,” Sister Ann explained, her voice calm and peaceful. It was a far cry from the vengeful one I’d experienced not too long ago. “The twins need an outlet other than blowing things up and working on the education track—especially since we have one other senior citizen here now who can assist me with that—and Ulla won’t sleep if you’re not here in the bunker.”

All valid ideas and points. Still . . . “Is it . . . safe?”

“There’s a slight risk,” she acknowledged with a simple nod. “But be honest. How likely is it that there is a shambler running around out there right now? With the cold as it is, and how well you and Ulla have thinned their numbers out.”

“Not very.”

“And since the ranger station can be locked from the inside, and barricaded, and we’ve cleared it multiple times now, it should be safe.”

“Wait, hold up. Are you telling me to have a girls’ night—a sleepover?—with a bunch of preteens in the middle of the zombie apocalypse?”

“Not zombies, but yes. Yes, I am.”

“Oh, come on!” I protested. “I mean, Ulla and the twins, sure. That makes sense. But the other two? They’re so young!”

“And they lost their parents. All they have is Temple, who is not going to see many more months. His medication is almost out. They need to bond with a group here, and someone older who they can look up to.”

“And you think I can give them that?”

“You, and Ulla. And the twins. Yes.”

“I . . .” Pausing, I let out a slow, exhausted breath. There was no point in arguing. She would win. Arguing with a nun was like demanding the tide quit rolling in. Pointless. “Tomorrow?”

“I’d like that.” She nodded. “Pack up the four-wheeler with sleeping bags and enough food for dinner and breakfast the following morning. Talk to them. More importantly, listen to them. It helps make them feel appreciated and part of the group. If all you do is listen to reply, then you never hear anything. It’s hard to converse when you don’t hear their words.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“Are you saying that because you agree, or because you want me to shut up and leave you alone?”

I chuckled softly. The woman really knew teenage girls. “Because I agree, ma’am. Honest.”

“I hope so. Maybe you’ll figure some things out for yourself as well.”

“Ma’am?”

“Don’t worry about it,” she said and straightened my hair. Even in the winter there was enough humidity in the air to make it frizzy. “Oh! Don’t let the twins bring any of the Tannerite with them, okay? Search them thoroughly before you head out. Thoroughly, Madison. They are too sneaky for their own good.”

I inwardly sighed. Not having explosives was going to tick the twins off. It promised to be a long and argumentative night.


It wasn’t my first time spending the night outside the bunker since the Fall occurred. I’d slept in a tree blind once or twice back in September when Sister Ann wanted me to start scouting and exploring our perimeter. With someone else, though? Practically camping in an unsecured building with four hyper preteen girls? Well, that was something I thought would never happen in my lifetime.

And that’s not even adding the end of the world into the mix.

Though I brought Baby and three magazines with me, I made Ulla leave her rifle up in my room, locked up and secured. Temple had picked up an old Garand that he seemed happy with, and if anything happened the old guy seemed more than a little eager to shoot some shamblers. However, since Sister Ann was locking down the bunker completely while we were gone, it probably wouldn’t matter. Still, Ulla had been upset at first until she found out the twins had to leave the Tannerite behind.

I still didn’t know where they kept finding the stuff. After blowing up the bridge, I’d thought they’d used it all. Apparently I was mistaken.

Though the original plan had us coming down and cooking dinner, Sister Ann had forgotten that all of us either sucked at cooking or were too young to have ever been taught how. So instead of heading down in the middle of the afternoon, we made our way to the ranger station just before sunset. The woods between the bunker and the station were dark but, thanks to the lack of leaves, not blocking off all light. Still, thick branches did blot out the sky just enough to cast the path in dark shadows.

Charise seemed to be the only one nervous. Her sister was hanging close to Ulla, clearly looking up to her and taking her lead on a lot of things. Both younger girls had already started to learn how to sign so they could talk to Ulla, though Rosalind was picking it up faster. Still, both were making excellent progress.

The distance between the station and the bunker wasn’t too far, just enough to make me glad I’d come down earlier with all the sleeping bags on the four-wheeler. If we’d had to carry all the stuff down, I was pretty sure everyone would have been in a bad mood by the time we reached the ranger station. As it was, nobody seemed too put out by the time I unlatched the door into the building. I motioned for them to wait outside and held a finger up to my lips.

They understood the drill. It was unlikely that any shambler had managed to get inside, but there was no reason to draw the attention of any who might be lurking about. Poking my head in, I gave it the smell check. As stupid as it sounds, in a place like this the unwashed body of a shambler is a dead giveaway—something I should have noticed immediately back at the Boyd farm.

You learn from what doesn’t eat your face off, I suppose.

Confirming that there were no shamblers inside went quickly. Since it was simply a large room with a loft that used to lead up to the observation tower, there really wasn’t anywhere for a shambler to hide. No running water—there was an outhouse not too far away and downhill of the ranger station—and always being secured meant there was nothing inside that might attract a shambler. Of course, it’d served Colton’s needs in a pinch early on.

The girls wasted no time in following my directions to set up our little slumber party on the loft. Fiona had wisely brought one of the few flashlights we had that took C batteries and used it so they could see what they were doing up there. It was a positive sign that the younger girls were planning ahead.

While they were doing this, I secured the front door from the inside with an old wood beam. Nothing under three hundred pounds throwing itself against the door was getting in without permission now. Not that I expected any issues.

Getting the old Franklin stove lit was easy. Once it was filled with wood and going, the residual heat from the metal stove would warm up the interior of the building nicely. It wouldn’t stay burning all night but it would stay warm enough for us to make it through the morning, and then some.

Once I made it up to the loft, I pulled the ladder up behind me. The girls looked at me with funny faces as I hitched the collapsible ladder up on the ledge. I waited to see if they would ask me what I was doing but surprisingly, none did. Instead, they all started spreading out the sleeping bags and settling in. Rosalind had even tried to help me get mine unrolled.

“Thanks,” I told her and finished setting it up. Kicking my boots off, I climbed into the bag and lay down. “Fiona? Light?”

“Gotta conserve batteries, I know,” she replied and flipped the light off. The interior of the building was plunged into darkness and silence, with the only sound the wood burning in the Franklin stove below. This time of year there were very few noises up on the mountain. Far off in the distance, a hoot owl cried out.

“This is nice,” either Finlay or Fiona said. Rolling on my side, I peered into the darkness. While it was almost pitch black, there was just enough light coming from somewhere that I could make out their faces. Glancing up, I realized I’d forgotten the small skylight in the ceiling of the station.

The moon wasn’t full, but it was close enough for light to come in through the tinted skylight. For a moment I wondered whose bright idea it had been. They were long dead now, more than likely. Or perhaps not. People around here seemed to either die young or live forever.

Well, before the Fall, at least.

I could hear whispered voices in the darkness. The twins were talking again in their mystery language. Near my feet, I could sense that Charise was moving closer. Ulla was actually close to the twins instead of me for a change. While it was nice having some of my personal space back, I had to admit I was a teensy bit jealous that the girl I’d pretty much adopted as my little sister didn’t need me at the moment.

Wow, I thought. Sister Ann was right. I really did want to be a big sister after all. Mentally, I laughed at myself. Sister Ann was always right.

“What are you two talking about?” I asked, sitting back up. If this was going to be a slumber party, might as well try to do the gossipy girl stuff I was never really good at.

“The Reynolds have a boy around our age,” they said in unison. I sighed and shook my head. Of course. We had refugees up on the mountain and naturally the only one the younger girls noticed was the boy their age.

“Their dad is a mechanic, you know,” I reminded all of them. “He’s helping Emily figure out how to set it up so that we can have hot showers again.”

“Yeah, but . . . a boy?” That was definitely Fiona.

“Boys are gross,” Charise said as she made a face. Rosalind giggle-snorted and covered her mouth, which caused the twins to laugh. Ulla looked at them for a moment before signing something. In the dim lighting it took me a minute to decipher it.

“No, Ulla’s right,” I said after she repeated herself for my benefit. “Not all boys are gross. One day you’ll learn this. Or understand it, at least. Not everyone wants to hurt us. Your grandpa wouldn’t hurt us.”

“He’s not a boy!”

“Um . . . he’s a very old man,” I told them. “All men were boys, once.”

“I heard one of the other girls say that’s why King Dale wants to come up to the school,” Finlay muttered darkly. I could see her twisting her fingers on her lap. Whatever she’d been told clearly bothered her. “The men, I mean. He wants to hurt us.”

“Who said that?” I asked, feeling a small spark of anger flare up inside. It was one thing to talk about it with the older girls. To make the younger girls afraid about something like that? “Was it Kayla?”

“Kayla? No.”

“Rohena?” Silence. Finlay wouldn’t look at me. I had my answer, and made a mental note to rabbit-punch the petty little bitch in her kidney the next time I saw her. “Yeah, I figured. Look . . .” I paused for a moment, gathering my thoughts. Sister Ann had just explained this to me. Putting it into words where a kid could understand it, even if they were as smart as the twins, was a challenge. “King Dale thinks he’s trying to help us. Well, he did, once upon a time. Now? I’m not so sure. But that’s beside the point. It’s not what I’m trying to say. There are good people with good intentions, and bad people with bad intentions. You understand the difference, right?”

All the girls nodded, even Rosalind, though I wasn’t sure she did. Still, four out of five wasn’t bad.

“Well, sometimes those good intentions are for the wrong reason. That can be used to describe King Dale, understand? He thinks he’s going to rescue us because it’s a dangerous new world, and strength will win in the end. He has strength, and he thinks we don’t have any. Usually he’d be right, but”—I reached over and patted Baby on the stock—“this helps make the playing field a little more level. We’re safe for now on campus. Eventually they—the real government or the military, I mean—will send someone our way. No, I don’t know when. You heard the radio updates the same as me. But when that day happens, King Dale will have two choices: quit being a king, or fight to stay one. Sister Ann thinks he’ll quit. I’m not sure.”

“But Sister Ann is always right!” Charise squeaked in a tiny voice. I grinned. She might be young, but she was quick.

“That she is.”

“But you think she’s wrong?” she pressed.

I shrugged. “I hope she’s right. But Sister Ann . . . tends to look at people more positively than I do. She hopes for their best. Expects it, really. Me? I’m a pessimist.”

“What’s that?” Rosalind asked.

“It means I expect the worst to happen.”

Ulla waved to get my attention before asking, Is that why we’re sleeping up on the loft with the ladder pulled up?

“Yep. I don’t care how secure that door is, or how strong those storm covers on the windows are,” I told them. “If a shambler got in here, and we were down there, we’d be toast. So, we sleep up here. It’s warm, we’ve got a lot of sleeping bags, and the stove down below should keep everything cozy until the morning.”

Rosalind yawned and leaned against her sister. She pulled one of the pillows to her chest. “I don’t care what Rohena says. This isn’t so bad. I like this. This is nice.”

“Better than being in the bunker all the time,” Fiona added. Ulla nodded in agreement.

“Do you think Sister Ann will let us do this again?” Finlay asked as she lay down in her sleeping bag.

“I don’t see why not,” I answered honestly, a little surprised at myself for wanting it to happen. Though I’d been against the idea originally, once again Sister Ann was showing just how well she knew me, and seemed to know precisely what I needed. These girls were the future of St. Dominic’s, like me. If I was going to be the one to protect them, I needed to find the value in it. Being afraid was not something I could afford to be, not when kids like Rosalind and Charise needed someone like me to keep them safe. The twins and Ulla, being older, needed someone to look up to and show them how to become young women.

I smiled for their benefit. “This is kind of fun, you know?”

“But only us,” Fiona stated. “This is our camping club. The other girls can find their own.”

“Especially Rohena,” Finlay chimed in.

“Oh, come on, she’s not that bad,” I argued, though my heart wasn’t really in it.

“Yeah, she is!”

“Okay, okay. I’m not going to argue with you. Look . . . I’ll talk to her. Let her know that she needs to . . . I don’t know, chill out toward you?” I suggested. Finlay shook her head.

“She picks on the younger girls and makes us do her chores!”

“Did you talk to Sister Ann?” I asked. All three older girls shook their heads. “Well, how is she supposed to fix the problem if she doesn’t know about it? You can’t go through this life terrified of what might happen. Rohena backs down when you stand up to her. Ask me how I know. She’s bigger and stronger than I am, but there’s no way she wants to fight me again.”

Ulla curled up in her sleeping bag. Sometime during our talk Rosalind had conked out and was snoring softly. Charise looked as though she was about to pass out as well.

“That’s because you carry the gun,” Finlay muttered quietly.

“We have the explosives, though,” Fiona reminded her sister.

“Oh, yeah.” Finlay sounded suspiciously happier now.

“And no using explosives to hurt other students or people on campus, you two. I don’t want to be the one that has to explain that to Sister Ann.” They all laughed at this. Ulla smiled, which was good enough for me. I yawned theatrically and stretched. “Let’s call it a night, okay?” I told them. Though they sounded serious enough about it, I was pretty sure they weren’t about to run around blowing up other students—no matter how annoying they were.

I hoped.

Charise nodded and moved her sleeping bag closer to her sister. The twins could probably talk all night if I let them. I wasn’t even sure if they actually slept or not. Looking at them, I realized that I had told them precisely what Sister Ann would have told me if I’d continued to run from whatever was scaring me about the shamblers, and killing that man to protect Ulla. I wasn’t afraid of being a monster, but that everyone would think I was one. This little camping trip let the girls see me as a person and not some emotionless shambler killing machine.

I lay down and folded my hands behind my head. I wasn’t alone, not anymore. The only way I could consider myself an outcast now was if I did it to myself. These girls weren’t about to let me, either. Our families were lost to the end of the world. From its ashes, I found a new one. One I actually gave a damn about protecting, and finding worth in.

“Sister Ann, you are way too devious sometimes,” I whispered as I drifted off to sleep. For the first time in weeks, that protective streak in me was back.

And it felt amazing.


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Framed