Sunrise

“Might need a couple of these too, Chief,” Ed said. He was holding another velvet tray, this one full of plain gold wedding bands.

“You think she’ll say yes?” I said.

Ed smiled. “I’d bet your life on it.”

“That’s about what it feels like.” My palms were sweating despite the diamond-sharp air in the store.

“Scared to death, aren’t you?” Ed patted my shoulder gently.

It didn’t make any sense; I’d faced down prison escapees and ca

“I remember what it felt like when I popped the question to Mandy. Never so terrified in my life. Or so happy to hear the word yes . . . damn, I miss her.” Ed bit his lip and turned away

I wasn’t sure what to do. Ed didn’t seem like the kind of guy you hugged. I awkwardly patted him on the shoulder. “We’d better go before Darla starts wondering where we got to.”

“You’re doing the right thing, you know? I’d trade my soul in this world and the next for another day with Mandy You got the chance for something like that, you grab it with both hands and hold on, even if the whole world is dying around you. Maybe especially then.”

“I know, Ed. I love her.”

Ed turned to face me. Tears streamed down his face. I pulled him into a rough hug, and we slapped each other on the back. We left the store together, my arm around his shoulders, but in some sense we were facing in totally opposite directions. Ed’s tears honored his past, his lost life with Mandy. I felt fiercely alive, sad for Ed, but also full of wild joy for the future. My future with Darla.

Chapter 52

On the fleet of Bikezillas, the return trip to Speranta took only three days. We would have made it in two except that one of the bikes broke down and we had to stop for repairs.

As we pedaled up to the longhouse, my niece A

“Dad’s really sick. It’s way worse than before,” she said. “And Dr. McCarthy’s got it too.”

I followed her into the longhouse and almost got run over by Belinda, who was on her way out. “Alex,” she said, “we need azithromycin, doxycycline, cefaclor, or vancomycin. I’ve been trying to convince Evans to send out an expedition to find them, but he won’t—”

“Wait, what? I left Uncle Paul in charge. What’s Evans got to do with anything?”

“He’s . . . your uncle’s taken a bad turn for the worse. Pneumonia with sputum-producing cough, 104 fever, chills, chest pain . . . Jim’s got it too. They’re both in bad shape.” The fact that she’d referred to Dr. McCarthy by his first name emphasized just how worried she was. Everyone knew she and McCarthy had a steamier relationship than they let on—it was impossible to keep a secret like that when you’re living in a one-room longhouse. But Belinda stubbornly stuck to calling him “Dr. McCarthy” as if the formality would prevent us from catching on. “But why is Evans—?”

“We’ve lost a lot of people, Alex. Evans just kind of started organizing things.”

“Lost?” A cold finger of fear wrapped itself around my heart and squeezed.

“Who?”

“Zik’s wife, Mary, and eighteen of the newcomers. The bodies are outside, frozen—I’ve been bugging Evans to organize a burial detail, but . . .” Belinda shrugged.

“Okay. I need a list. Everything you need. Make sure to put every kind of medicine that might help on the list so that if one thing isn’t available, I can look for a substitute.”

Belinda pulled a folded piece of paper from her pocket and held it out toward me.

“No. Keep it until morning. Go over it. Read it to Dr. McCarthy, if he feels up to it. Make sure it’s thorough, ’cause I have no clue what to look for.”

“Maybe I should come with you.”

“I’ve got a lead on a warehouse where there might be medical supplies.” Nearly every WalMart had a pharmacy— the drugs had to come from somewhere. “It’ll take me a minimum of four days to get there and back. You’ve got to stay and care for your patients.”

Belinda made me put on an improvised cloth mask and led me into one of the greenhouses, where nearly three dozen people were on bedrolls—segregated from the still-healthy folks in the longhouse. A faint scent of sweat and feces grew stronger as we approached. Raspy coughs and wheezes filled the air. Dr. McCarthy lay on his side; a trickle of blood-flecked spittle flowed slowly from the corner of his mouth to the pillow.

Belinda wiped his mouth with a rag. “You up to going over the medication order, Jim?”

“Sure thing, hon.” His voice was a terrible thing: low, raspy, and diseased. “Glad you’re back, Alex.”

I seized his hand, clutching it. “I’m going to go get the medicines you need, Doc. Just hold on until I get back, okay?”

“No problem,” he wheezed. “I’ll bury you all, right along with the rest of my patients. I must be the world’s worst doctor.”

“You’re the best doctor in the town of Speranta by a long shot.”

Dr. McCarthy started to laugh, but that turned into a long coughing fit. “I’m the only doctor in Speranta.”

Belinda started quizzing the doctor on medicines, and I turned to Uncle Paul on the bedroll behind me. He looked terrible. His eyes were sunken and black, his skin pallid and sweaty, his voice weak.

“Alex,” he whispered, “I’m sorry.”

“For what?” I asked. “Impersonating a zombie when it’s not Halloween?”

He choked out a laugh. “No, for—” A coughing fit overwhelmed him.

“Just rest and get better, okay? I’ll go get medicine tomorrow. First thing.”

I left his bedside, thinking about the trip to the distribution center in Sterling. There were several possibilities. The distribution center might already have been completely looted. That possibility didn’t bear thinking on. The best but most unlikely case was that it was abandoned but still full of supplies. More likely, it might have collapsed under the weight of the ash and snow. If that was the case, I would need a lot of manpower to unbury the supplies we needed.

A fourth option occurred to me then—what if there were still people alive in Sterling, surviving on the gleanings from a million-plus square foot warehouse? If that was the case, I needed to bring something to trade. What would people who had been living on ca

I made my way across the room to our food storage area. We had put a bunch of old metal cabinets against the wall in the coldest corner of the longhouse. It was like a refrigerator, but it didn’t drain any electricity. I figured I would package up almost all of our stored kale and get it ready to take on my expedition tomorrow.

One of the newcomers, a guy a year or two younger than I, was standing guard at the “refrigerators.” “Hey, Deke,” I said, reaching for the cabinet.

He laid his hand flat against the cabinet door, holding it closed. “Director Evans says nobody but him’s to distribute food.”

“It’s me, Deke.”

“Director Evans says especially not you.”

Wait, what? I briefly contemplated kicking his legs out from under him. That would get his hand off the cabinet door. But it wasn’t his fault. “You know who built the room you’re standing in, right?”

“You did, sir. But Director Evans—”

“I know, I know. Where is he, anyway?”

“Out in the new greenhouse.”

I found him supervising a group of people lifting one of the rafters that would support the greenhouse’s glass roof. His idea of supervision was calling out directions. When I was ru