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Other than the old TVs – two of them with their screens broken in – there was a radio smashed on the floor, and on the wall, a corded phone hung beside a CB radio.
“Once the power is on, will the CB radio work?” I asked.
“Um, I don’t know, maybe” Vân replied absently.
“Is everything okay?” I asked, and I leaned over to shine the light on her bed.
Bâo returned with a few tools, and Vân immediately got to work. I stayed beside them, holding the lamp as the night wore on.
Riva, Calvin, and Drew had spent their time making the rest of the place more livable. Even the kids got involved, sweeping and dusting while the adults righted the beds and moved heavier junk out of the way.
Drew shared a room with the kids, Riva and Calvin got one, Bâo and Vân had another, and I took a small one in the corner. It was empty, other than a few candles, a thin blanket that Riva had found, and a worn-out cot. Still, it was much better than sleeping in the cold dirt or in the back of the truck.
As exhausted as I was, I didn’t feel like sleeping. I lit the candles, and I gingerly pulled Harlow’s sketchbook out from my backpack.
When I ran my hand over the cover, tears stung my eyes. A frozen agony overwhelmed me, as if my chest had literally been ripped open and filled with ice.
Slowly, I opened the sketchbook and saw her message written on the front page: “If found, please return to Harlow Smith, trailer 1185 in the Blaine County Quarantine Zone, Idaho. All ideas and designs are the property of Harlow and none of your business.”
Everything I had done since the moment we’d left the BCQZ had been in the hopes of keeping her alive, and yet I had failed. I looked through her sketchbook, so I could think of her and feel close to her, even though it hurt so much.
Because it hurt so much. Because I deserved every ounce of pain I felt.
Most of the pages contained sketches of fashion, since Harlow designed and made her own clothes back at the government quarantine. She refused to let a zombie apocalypse stifle her creativity or ability to be stylish. I had known a few things about fashion back in my days as a musician, and she had real talent. In a different time, she would’ve been utterly brilliant.
A few pages contained charcoal sketches of people – mostly of her friend Kimber, but then there was one of me. Beside it, she had written lyrics from “Earthly Symphony,” a song by my old band. All at once, the tears were streaming down my face.
I closed the sketchbook and set it aside, so I wouldn’t dampen the paper.
5
Lazlo
All of our recent travels and tragedies had left us exhausted, and the compound seemed to be a safe space to catch our breath for a few days. There was fresh water, warm beds, and flickering electricity. Riva had even found a giant plastic tub of dried beans, and Drew managed to catch a couple catfish in a nearby river.
Vân had also gotten the CB radio working again, and we had our first chance of contacting other people, including any others that escaped the BCQZ.
We all took turns manning the radio, hoping to connect with any other survivors. But so far, we heard nothing in reply, just static. On the second day, when it was my turn at the CB, Riva came in.
“Any luck?” she asked, but by the grim expression on her face, I knew that she hadn’t come in for small talk.
“Not yet. What’s wrong?”
“I was outside with Drew trying to catch some fish.” Her frown deepened. “We could hear the zombies howling. They’re distant right now, but I don’t know for how much longer.”
“We could stay and fight,” I suggested. “The walls here are thick, and the electricity and water are hard to beat.”
“It’s clear that the zombies got in here once before, presumably when they were better armed and it was more secure.” She motioned vaguely around to the broken TV sets and blood stains on the floor. “We need to move on to find somewhere that the zombies aren’t.”
“What if no such place exists?” I asked.
She waited a beat before replying thoughtfully, “I have to believe that one does. I’m not ready to give up on my dream of peace.”
Something about the way she said it reminded me of Harlow, and it was like a knife twisting inside my chest again. I looked away from Riva.
“Maybe with the radio, we could meet up with more people from the BCQZ,” I said.
“We’re not supposed to meet with more people,” she reminded me sharply. Zombies were more attracted to larger groups, so it was in our best interest to keep our numbers small.
