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“They’re heading to Happy Valley,” said Rachael, reading the sounds correctly.
“Yes. Do you still have friends there?”
“No, but there are a lot of people who need our help.”
“Pardon me for saying this, but fuck the residents.”
She shook her head. “Not them.”
Rachael told me about the “helpers.” “I can’t just leave them there. Even if the townies stop the Rovers . . . ”
“Yeah,” I said and sighed. “Guess this is going to be a long day.”
She started to say something, then stopped and smiled, shaking her head.
“What?” I asked.
“No . . . it’s just that I almost said that it isn’t your fight, but that’s dumb. The Nu Klux Klan wasn’t your fight, either. Neither was helping me and Dez Fox and those kids.”
I got to my feet, then glanced down at Claudia. When Rachael caught me looking, she nodded and moved to put her arm around her friend. They spoke together very quietly for a few minutes, then Rachael kissed her cheek and came over to me.
“Claudia’s had too much lately, you know,” she said very quietly. “She’s going to see to Jason. Bury him if she can. And she wants to cut down all of the other people the townies brought out here. Don’t worry, she?
?s pretty smart and sharp and if the Rovers come out this way, she knows how to hide.”
I didn’t ask if Rachael was sure about all this. It was her call to make. I clicked my tongue for Baskerville, who bounded over like an overgrown puppy, despite the blood splashed on his armor.
Without another word we set off into the woods.
As we ran, I had no real idea how this was going to work. The odds were looking really damn long. We were a young woman barely out of her teens, an overgrown dog, and a crazy middle-aged guy. Against an army of Rovers and a town full of assholes.
Shit.
— 42 —
HAPPY VALLEY
Dahlia positioned her army on the walls, doing a lightning fast survey of skills. Anyone who had skills with weapons or who could swing a stick or bat became fighters. Anyone with first-aid knowledge was ordered to set up triage centers. Those who weren’t able to do either task were assigned to protect the children. The guns were put into the hands of the Pack members who could shoot or helpers who’d either served in the military or hunted.
She had runners collect wheelbarrows full of rocks and river stones used in decorative gardens, and these were hauled up to the walls for those fighters who said they could throw. One older Latino man used to be a pitching coach for AAA ball and swore that he could hit whatever he aimed at.
The whistles were louder than ever and just as Dahlia turned to look up at the wall, Neeko twisted around and yelled down at her. “They’re coming!”
Dahlia hurried up to see. At first there was nothing but the sound of those damn whistles. And then a figure broke from the woods. If it was a Rover, though, then he was dressed differently. Instead of wearing leather, this one wore a set of mechanic’s coveralls and what looked like a kind of screen-covered head net. The sound of the whistle came from beneath the head covering. And there was something strange about the coveralls. They were wet. They glistened, as if covered with oil.
“God almighty,” she heard someone breath and Dahlia turned to see the black man who’d fought with the loudmouth. John, she thought his name was.
“What is it?” asked Jumper. “What am I seeing?”
John pointed. “It’s black blood,” he said, and when Neeko didn’t seem to get it, the man explained. “His clothes are covered with zombie blood.”
A second person came out of the woods, and this one wore painter’s coveralls, similarly smeared with infected blood, and a similar head covering. He too was blowing a whistle.
“Oh . . . shit,” said Dahlia. She and John exchanged a frightened, knowing glance. They knew what was coming. Five more of the Rovers came out of the woods, each of them dressed similarly. Then ten more. More and more. They were spaced out in a wide line at least two hundred yards wide. All of them blowing whistles. Some of them walking backward and waving their arms.
“What are they . . . ?” asked someone, but the words trailed off as the whole front of the forest suddenly trembled and the dead came stumbling, walking, shambling, lumbering into the sunlight. Following the whistles.
Dahlia’s mouth went dry.
