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Her mother smiled at her. “You always were such a good girl, Carly. You made your father and me so proud of you.”
Carly had to swallow around the lump in her throat. “I’d hoped so. I was always afraid I’d disappointed him since I didn’t go to college and I—”
Her mother cupped her cheek with her palm. “Oh, baby, never think that. He only wanted the best for you, for you to be able to do anything you wanted.”
“I’m glad I didn’t go,” Carly said. “I’m glad I could be with you when—” She broke off, puzzled. She thought her mother had died, but that didn’t make any sense. “Where is Daddy?” She glanced around the room, but the beds to her left and right were empty. “Mom, I can’t find him!”
“Shh, it’s all right. Your father is fine. He’s happy now. You should listen to Justin. He was right, you know.”
“Carly?” She turned her head and blinked at Justin. He repeated her name, and she tried to focus her tired eyes.
“Yes?”
“Honey, are you all right?”
She looked down at the bed and saw the woman lying there wasn’t her mother, and she was dead. Carly closed her eyes, and two tears fell out onto her cheeks. She took a deep breath and collected her things.
The low and mournful howl of a wolf filled the room. “Sam!”
She rushed over to him and knelt down to check Tigger. She wasn’t breathing. “Oh, Sam, I’m so sorry.”
He howled again, and it rattled the stained glass windows in their panes. Most of the patients were too far gone to hear it, but Old Miz Marson bowed her head when she heard it, recognizing the sound of heartbreak across species.
Sam picked up Tigger’s limp body and walked to the door, his tail dragging low. He stopped at the door and looked back at Carly, and then he was gone.
Chapter Eleven
Carly sat on the courthouse lawn and watched the church burn. Beside her, Old Miz Marson leaned against the War Memorial, smoking a Pall Mall, and on her other side was Justin. He was absently stroking Sam’s ears.
The roof of the church caved in with a roar, followed by the steeple. The bell clanged one last time as it went down.
Tom had died the night before and Cynthia, earlier that morning. They were among the last of the living. Carly had sat back and looked around at the room, still filled with the dead because Justin couldn’t carry them out as quickly as they passed. The bulldozer key could not be found, and Justin wondered aloud if it had still been in Tommy Burton’s pocket when his body was placed in the mass grave.
Faced with a daunting task when they were both exhausted to the point of collapse, they had decided to burn the church and with it, the mass grave. Justin had collected gasoline from the cars still parked along the streets and a barrel of waste oil from the auto shop. Both were too old to be used in cars, but they were still flammable. The flames would burn long into the night.
“It ain’t fair,” Old Miz Marson said suddenly. Her voice quavered, and the hand that held the cigarette shook. “It’s just not goddamned fair. I’m old. I’ve smoked like a chimney since I was twelve years old, and I’ve buried two doctors who told me I’d die in a year if I didn’t quit. I’ve got more aftermarket parts than a Playboy model. And yet I’m still here. It ain’t right.”
Carly put an arm around the old woman’s shoulders. She was trembling, though whether from grief or anger, Carly didn’t know. Perhaps it was a combination of both.
The town’s population stood at eight. Three, if you didn’t count the people who had brought the plague with them through the gate. Madison Laker, Old Miz Marson, and a teenage boy named Kaden Weaver were the only ones left from the town’s population. The two young’uns, as Miz Marston called them, were tucked into bed inside her house, both of them so shocked and bewildered that they allowed themselves to be treated like small children and put to bed after supper.
Sam let out a soft huff. He’d returned without Tigger, and Carly would never know where he had taken the cat’s body. The sadness seemed to weigh on him heavily. Carly understood the feeling. Though she hadn’t loved any of the people in this town, she knew she would have if given the time.
Miz Marson straightened. “All right, you two, go on home. You need to get some sleep. There’s nothing more to be done here. Not right now, anyway. Go on, now. Shoo.”
They obeyed as meekly as the two children had done. They walked, hand in hand, back to the Connell house. Justin went straight upstairs to take a much-needed shower. Sam jumped up on the sofa and laid his head on the arm with a sigh. Carly stroked his fur. She wished there was something she could do for him, but just like a human’s, his heart would have to heal with only time’s stingy medicine.
One of Dagny’s tiny shirts lay on the sofa where it had been forgotten when Mindy and Stan packed. Carly lifted it to her nose, and Dagny’s sweet baby scent still clung faintly to the fabric. She sobbed, and once she’d let the first one out, she couldn’t hold back. She cried so hard her head hurt, just as her chest muscles hurt from the force of her sobs. She had to get it out of her system before Justin finished showering. She didn’t want him to see her break down.
Too late. His hands were on her shoulders, his lips, against her cheek. He took the baby shirt from her, and she saw tears glimmer in his own eyes. “We’ll see her soon.”
“Do you think she’s forgotten us?”
“No.” His voice was firm. “It’s only been a week, Carly.”
A week? To Carly, it felt like years.
“Come on.” He scooped her up and carried her up the stairs and into their bedroom.
