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STEBBINS LITTLE SCHOOL
STEBBINS, PENNSYLVANIA
Dez laid it out for them. The military’s withdrawal, the fuel-air bombs, the burned dead, and the vulnerability of the school.
“If we stay, we risk a siege,” she concluded. “God only knows how many of these things there are, and I sure as shit don’t want to find out. We need to get out now while we still have a chance.”
“How do you propose to do it?” asked Piper, following a cue Trout had given him.
Dez pointed over their heads. “Buses. There are more than enough school buses to get us all out of here. We need to clear out any bodies, hose the insides down to prevent infection, and then load the kids and as many supplies as we can take.”
“And go where?” asked one of the parents.
“Pittsburgh,” said Dez. “Or Philadelphia. Any of the big cities. Anywhere we can get the right kind of help and protection.”
“But those things are out there,” said Clark.
“Sure. Some of them. At last check there were eighteen that we could see. We have enough weapons to take them out.”
The crowd murmured at that. Taking them out sounded easy when stated in flat and antiseptic words, but every one of the people outside was a neighbor. Or a relative.
“We can’t just … kill them,” said a thin woman with watery eyes.
Dez walked over and put her hand on the woman’s shoulder. “Dottie … those people are already dead. You know that. We all know that. The kids in here are alive. We’re alive, and if we want to stay that way then we have to square this all in our heads. This isn’t a bunch of people with the flu. They’re dead. They’re infected by something that makes them move, but they’re dead.” She paused. “Besides, considering what’s happened to them, putting them down would be a mercy.”
“Amen,” said Uriah Piper.
A few of the others murmured agreement. Dez patted Dottie and then turned to the rest of the crowd. She explained what she wanted done and separated people into teams. Not everyone liked the idea. The strongest objections came from Clark, the teacher who’d mouthed off earlier. He wanted them all to stay right there in the school. His logic was that if there was a problem like flooded roads or military roadblocks, some might get out rather than all being stopped.
“No,” said Dez firmly, “we all go together.”
“And what if we don’t want to go anywhere?” demanded Clark.
“You can stay, Clark,” said Dez, leaning on that word. “Doesn’t matter to me. But the kids are coming with me and I need enough adults to drive buses and handle guns.”
Most of the crowd looked uncertain, but there were murmurs and nods, a few clear votes of support. However, Clark stood his ground.
“Who are you, of all people, to say what happens with the kids?”
She got up in his face. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
Clark stood his ground. “Let’s face it, Officer Fox, you’re not exactly a role model. How many times have I seen you staggering drunk, coming out of one shithole bar or another? How many times have you been reprimanded
for excessive force? Yeah, I know about that stuff. My sister, Bitsy, was on the town council. I know all about you. You’re a loudmouth and—what do they call it in the movies? A loose cannon? That’s it. Exactly why is it we’re supposed to listen to you or follow your orders?”
Trout saw the dangerous red climb up Dez’s throat and bloom on her cheeks.
“That’s enough, Clark,” he said.
Clark wheeled on him. “Oh, right, and we should listen to you, too. Mr. Live From the Apocalypse. Mr. Give Me a Pulitzer Because I Have Innocent Blood on my Polo Shirt. Fuck you. You turned this whole thing into a story because like all reporters if it bleeds it leads, right? I’ll bet that when all those bullets were flying and the kids were screaming, you probably had a hard-on just thinking about how big a story this was. Well excuse me all to hell, Billy, but I don’t think you have a real stake in this. You don’t have any kids here. We do. Or we’re charged with taking care of these kids. They’re only a story to you. Besides, everyone in town knows that you’re been banging Dez Fox since high school, so this is the two of you in cahoots.”
Billy Trout snarled like a dog and swung a skull-cracker of a punch at the point of Clark’s jaw.
Clark leaned back with the ease of a trained boxer and let the punch pass, then he hooked Trout in the gut with a fist that he buried deep in belly flesh above Trout’s belt buckle. Clark pivoted and clopped Trout behind the ear with a right that put him flat on the floor. Trout was so shocked and hurt that he couldn’t even break his fall. He fell flat on his chest. And threw up.
There was a click and a blur of movement and then Clark was against the wall with Dez’s pistol barrel screwed into the soft pallet under his chin.
“You miserable cocksucker,” she hissed, “I’m going to blow your shit all over the—”
