The Last Town

There were two Dodge Ram pickup trucks behind them, two men standing in the back of the first with pump-action shotguns.

The second Ram carried the chain gun.

Two transfer trucks followed the Rams, and a third pickup truck brought up the rear holding six guards in the bed, all armed to the teeth.

In Ethan’s headset, Mustin said, “I’d advise staying off Main. What’s your route? Over.”

Alan turned out of the woods and onto the road into town.

“Thirteenth to Fifth,” Ethan said, “then three blocks to the school. Any company?”

“See that guy in the distance?”

Ethan squinted through the windshield.

A hundred yards up the road, an abby was squatting over the double yellow. The sound of approaching engines caught its attention, and as it stood, a puff of red mist exploded out of the side of its head.

“You got a few other stragglers in your path,” Mustin said. “I’ll start clearing the way. Over.”

The sun had yet to rise above the cliffs, and the valley ahead was still draped in the light of early morning.

“Get any sleep?” Alan asked.

“What do you think?”

KATE

She heard the tat-tat-tat of automatic gunfire.

Everyone in the classroom did.

She and Spitz went to work dragging the furniture away from the door and pulling the nails out of the frame.

They got it open, told everyone to wait.

Rushed out into the hall.

Up the stairs.

The noise of gunfire growing louder, and in the space between shots another sound becoming audible—the rumble of engines.

At the exit, Kate raised her AR-15 and told Spitz to get the door.

He pulled it open.

She took two steps through the threshold.

There were abbies in the schoolyard ru

An abby broke off from the pack and came hurtling toward her.

Spitz said, “You got him?”

She let it get closer, within twenty feet.

“Kate?”

She squeezed—put three bursts in a nice pattern through its chest and dropped it five feet from the door.

Now came a noise like thunder, and with it, from the second pickup truck, a bright orange muzzle flash from a gun so big it should’ve been mounted on an attack helicopter.

It cut an entire row of abbies in half.

The front passenger door of the Humvee swung open.

When Ethan stepped out, her heart swelled.

She watched him come around the front of the vehicle and run toward the fence.

As he climbed over, four abbies charged him from the playground.

Kate took aim and ripped through the rest of her magazine, bringing them all down.

Ethan looked over, eyebrows up in surprise.

For a moment, the shooting had stopped.

There were abbies lying everywhere and men climbing down out of the truck beds, begi

Kate ran toward him, Ethan limping, carrying a shotgun, his jeans ripped all to hell, his shirt in tatters, face streaked with blood.

Tears blurred her vision and she wiped them away.

They reached each other and she threw her arms around him.

“How are the injured?” he asked.

“One died. One’s hanging on. Barely.”

“I brought trucks. We’re taking everyone out of here, into the mountain.”

“Have you found Harold?”

“Not yet.”

“What about Theresa and Ben?”

He shook his head.

Tears were ru

ETHAN

As he held Kate, he glimpsed a man walking down Tenth Street in a long, black duster that fell to his ankles, his face hidden under a black cowboy hat and a long, unkempt beard.

Ethan said, “Who the hell is that?”

Kate turned her head. “I’ve never seen him before.”

Ethan started across the schoolyard, scaled the fence, and moved out into the middle of the street.

The man in black carried a Winchester rifle, which rested against his shoulder, and his shuffling gait scraped his boots across the pavement. He stopped several feet away from Ethan—a haggard, vile-smelling specimen. He would’ve looked like a homeless eccentric were it not for his eyes. No insanity there. Just clear, lucid intensity.

The man said, “Well goddamn, Ethan.”

“I’m sorry, do we know each other?”

Ethan just glimpsed the man’s smile through the shambles of his beard.

“Do we know each other?” the man laughed, his voice scratchy, like his larynx had been wrapped in sandpaper. “I’ll give you a hint. Last time we spoke, I sent you here.”

Recognition fired in Ethan’s brain.

Synapses co

He cocked his head and said, “Adam?”

“So what I hear, you started this mess.”

“You’ve been in town all this time?”

“No, no. I just got back.”

“Back from where?”

“Out there. Beyond.”

“You’re a nomad?”

“I’ve been gone three and a half years. Came back through the fence yesterday at dawn.”

“Adam—”

“I know you have questions, but if you’re looking for your family, I found them last night.”

“Where?”

“Theresa had locked herself and Ben into the jail cell in the sheriff’s station.”

“They’re there right now?”

“Yes, and—”

Ethan took off ru

“Theresa!” he shouted.

“Ethan?”

He shot down the hallway toward the cell at the north end of the building, and when he saw his wife and son alive behind the bars, his eyes filled with tears.

Theresa fumbled with the key, turned the lock.

Ethan pushed the door open and embraced her, kissing her face, her hands, like it was the first time he’d ever touched her.

“I thought I’d lost you,” he said.

“You almost did.”

Ben nearly tackled him.

“You okay, buddy?”

“Yeah, Dad, but we almost died.”

Gunshots started up again, several blocks away.

“You brought the cavalry,” Theresa said.

“I did.”

“Have you rescued a lot of people?”

“There’s a group in the basement of the school that’s going to be okay. A security team is fa

“The abbies came back,” Ben said. “A lot of people stayed, but Mom and I found another way down the cliffs.”

“Those who stayed, I don’t think they made it,” Theresa said.

Through the bars, Ethan noticed Pam, dead on the floor.
“She found us here last night,” Theresa said. “We were locked in the cell, with no weapons. She was going to kill us.”

“Why?”

“To hurt you.” Theresa seemed to shudder at the memory of it. “Adam Hassler saved us,” she said.

“Did you know he was here?” Ethan asked.

“No.”

The chain gun started up again.

Ethan pulled out his radio, and said, “Burke here. Over.”

Alan’s voice responded: “Yeah, go ahead? Over.”

“Can you send a truck up to the sheriff’s station? I found my family. I want to get them someplace safe.”

VIII

THERESA

WAYWARD PINES

FIVE YEARS AGO

She stands in the rain, barefoot, her hospital gown soaked straight through to her skin, staring up at a twenty-five-foot fence whose barbed wires crackle with electricity.

Two signs nearby warn: