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The lead figure was the oldest. Maybe forty-five. A tall man with a black beard.
“See any bites?” asked Boxer.
“Negative,” said Moonshiner.
“We can front them to make sure,” said Shortstop. “See if they’re responsive to verbal commands.”
“Let’s try it,” said Sam. He stood up and began walking slowly toward the road, his pistol down at his side. Shortstop followed in his wake. The others fanned out to cover the road from several points.
Come on, thought Sam, happy ending here.
Sam stepped into plain view. “U.S. Army,” he announced in a clear voice. “We’re here to help, however I need you to stop right there. Raise your hands and allow us to check you for signs of infection.”
At first it seemed that the three figures would walk past him without taking note of him. But then Sam realized that with the heavy rain they may not have heard him. He tried it again, repeating what he’d said.
Be cool, now, he thought. Let’s everyone be cool and be friends.
The bearded man peered at him for a moment, his eyes dark in a pale face. Then he smiled at Sam, showing big white bucked teeth.
Only it wasn’t a smile.
“Sir,” said Sam with flagging optimism, “I need you to—”
And those teeth parted as the lips curled back from them. With a howl of aching hunger the man came rushing at Sam Imura, pale hands reaching, pale teeth snapping at the air. Behind him the younger man and the boy immediately rushed after him.
CHAPTER THIRTY-NINE
STEBBINS LITTLE SCHOOL
STEBBINS, PENNSYLVANIA
Dez tagged six adults to stay with the kids and stand watch and ordered everyone else down to the gymnasium. Not asked, ordered.
Trout knew the six she picked—middle-aged farm owners. Fathers and mothers. The kind of steady people that you could count on.
Everyone went. Even Gerry, the dazed man who had been singing to the little girl. One of the women in the group held his hand, though Trout didn’t recognize her. It was a comfort gesture, he supposed; nothing even remotely romantic in it. Human contact.
The stick-thin principal, Mrs. Madison, walked with Dez with Trout following behind. They were the two most powerful women left in Stebbins and they were as different as two people could possibly get. Mrs. Madison was tiny, older, highly educated, very cultured and mannered, and the exact opposite of what Trout would consider a “physical” person. He couldn’t even imagine her going to the bathroom.
Dez, on the other hand, was raw and powerful in a way that was entirely different from male power. She was never mannish, and could even be feminine—or so Trout remembered with an aching fondness—but she was neither delicate nor mannered. If anyone had the sheer lack of personal survival skills to suggest that Dez was a member of a “weaker sex,” Trout knew that what was left of that sorry individual would regret the ill-chosen and archaic sentiment for what remained of his life. Dez was a boozy redneck country girl who would be equally at home in a Mississippi trucker bar or a Kentucky holler. She exuded a feral power in exactly the same way the big hunting cats do. Quick to anger, glacially slow to forgive. And yet, Trout loved her and respected her even though at times he felt like they were from entirely different branches of the evolutionary tree.
When everyone was downstairs, the group formed a loose circle around Dez and Mrs. Madison. Trout did a quick head count. One hundred and eight-two, plus the two upstairs. More women than me
n by a two-to-one ratio.
Mrs. Madison took point and raised her hand for silence. Trout remembered her doing it the exact same way when she was his fourth-grade teacher. So, apparently, did most of the people here. An uneasy, expectant silence fell over the group.
“Thank you,” said the principal. “Officer Fox would like to say a few things. She and I have already discussed these matters and we are of a mind. I believe that what she has to say and the things she will suggest are what’s best for everyone concerned. Officer Fox?”
Mrs. Madison stepped aside and turned to face Dez, and Trout recognized it as a tactic used by speakers who are practiced at validating another speaker through their own visible attention. It worked, too, because Trout saw the focus of the entire crowd zero in on Dez. He suppressed a smile, appreciating the way that was handled.
Dez, however, was no public speaker. She glared at the crowd with open suspicion and hostility, and Trout prayed she wasn’t going to use more threats and bullying to get things done.
She surprised him, however.
“Okay, listen up,” she said in a neutral tone, “here’s the situation as we know it. We finished our sweep of the building and there’s no one else left inside who has any bites or any sign of infection.”
The crowd nodded. They’d all been part of that search. Even so, it was good to hear it said.
