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If she had made him from parts she special-ordered, he could not have been more perfect. Six feet tall with straw-colored hair, perfect teeth, and eyes that were a stormy swirl of blue and gray. Like Hannahlily and unlike a lot of other farm kids, Tucker took a good tan that lasted well into the winter. And like her, he was fit. They loved to run together down the country lanes in Coldwater Creek. They rode horses together in the state forest. And they spent a lot of their time laughing.
He was everything her last boyfriend, Kyle Hanrady, wasn’t. Actually, her last three boyfriends combined couldn’t stack up to Tucker. So as far as she was concerned, he really was it.
She wanted to tell him that. Hannahlily wanted to tell Tucker that she loved him.
But . . .
After Kyle, Hannahlily had become very cautious. Kyle had been good-looking and all, and he had a bit of the backcountry bad-boy vibe that Hannahlily knew she was a sucker for. But Kyle was also a bit grabby and seemed to have a difficult time grasping the concept of “no.”
Tucker was a gentleman. Not that he was unromantic, but he respected boundaries. As far as Hannahlily could tell, he was the last of that breed, and she didn’t want to let him get off the reservation. No way, José.
Today was going to be a special day for them. Romantic and dangerous, and Mother Nature was cooperating. The storm was huge, and everyone in town had been going nuts about it. How could they not? The TV weathermen were all but predicting the end of the world with this thing; and storms like this were so rare in central California. Hannahlily figured school would close early and everything would get a little confused after that. She told her mom that she was going to go to her friend Amber’s place if they let them out early. Amber lived near the school, and her house was on high ground. Hannahlily had ridden out a couple of snowstorms there already, and her mother was cool with the arrangement. Amber, of course, was in on everything from the jump. She could lie like a politician, and she was so sweet-natured that everyone always believed her.
Tucker lived with a father who worked two jobs and a mother who was always drunk. Hannahlily knew that sadness was part of what made Tucker so sensitive, and it added a nice layer to his brooding nature. Hannahlily liked brooding guys, especially if they looked like Tucker. She didn’t like that quality about herself, but she was pretty sure she’d date a serial killer if he looked like Tucker. You could crack walnuts on those abs.
The plan was to go to school, swipe their student IDs, wait until the storm emergency got rolling, and then duck out while everyone was heading for the buses. Tucker’s truck could slog through any amount of mud. His uncle Slim had a farm at the edge of town, and Slim was currently in the VA hospital for lung cancer. She felt bad for him, but at the same time, it left the farm empty.
The farm, and the farmhouse.
Outside, the storm hooted and howled and pounded away at the sprawling old house. Shutters banged and timbers creaked. Inside, there was a noisy fire burning brightly in the stone hearth. Pine logs popped and shifted. Firelight glinted on the tall glasses of sweet tea. And in Tucker’s eyes when he smiled at her.
They were wrapped in a huge fleece with a pattern of autumn leaves, pinecones, and acorns. They were still fully clothed, but the option to change that was on the table. Hannahlily’s iPod was playing a moody mix of the kind of slow-groove R & B they played on late-night radio. The iPod and speakers were on batteries now that the power was out.
“Listen to that wind,” she said, snuggling close.
“Fierce,” he agreed. “I like it, though.” He took a lock of her long brunette hair between his fingers, smelled it, smiled, and kissed it.
Hannahlily closed her eyes and smiled. This was exactly the moment she’d painted in her mind. Real romance. Not just grunting and kissing and trying to keep Kyle’s twenty-five hands from pawing her.
Tucker was gentle, and even when they were this close and this alone, it was clear that he respected her. Boundaries meant something to him. Not that he wasn’t standing right there at the edge of the safe zone, but he was waiting with true respect and patience for a signal to cross the line.
Neither of them were in too much of a hurry for that moment. Waiting, drawing it out, taking time somehow made it sweeter. It made it nicer.
So they sat together, her head on his chest, listening to the storm.
The warmth of the blanket, the calm patience of Tucker, and the crackling fire were all pulling her gently down into a semi-sleep.
Three rooms away, unheard by either of the young lovers, the back door opened. The sound was smaller than the groans of the old house and the moans of the line of slow, shambling, hungry intruders.
2
The Bride
The woman in the wedding gown shuffled forward, her dirty white shoes scuffing on the back porch floorboards of the old house. She had lived all her life in Coldwater Creek and had planned to live out the rest of it here on the fringes of Yosemite Park. She wanted to grow old and die here.
That had already been accomplished. Not the growing old part. Just the dying. It hadn’t happened in the way she had imagined through girlhood and young womanhood, through high school, college, and her first years as an apprentice ranger in the big national park.
She had expected to be married that afternoon to another ranger, a big, bearded, gentle man named David. All their friends and family and coworkers were there at the chapel waiting for them.
Then the world tilted enough to let everything that mattered slide off the edge. Her dreams and hopes, her expectations.
Her plans.
Her life.
The last memory she’d had before the plague took her was of David standing over her, eyes streaming tears, body streaked with blood that was not his. Nor hers. A big wooden cross in his hands, raised above him, poised to smash down.
Ready to kill her.
