Нора Робертс - Year One

“I guess I should feel good about that. I guess I do,” Eddie continued. “Even though it all sucks out loud.”

“What happens next?” Lana turned to Max. “You’re good at figuring out what happens next.”

“Not fiction but real this time.”

“You’re good at what happens next,” she repeated. “I haven’t been prepared for the worst. I imagined we’d spend a few weeks in the mountains until things got back to normal, or as normal as they could be. But now … There isn’t going to be anything resembling normal, and I need to know what to expect.”

“If it keeps on spreading, there could be two billion more,” Max said flatly. “It’s impossible to say how many will be left. Half the world population? A quarter? Ten percent? But it’s possible to speculate that, as we’ve already seen beginning, the infrastructure will collapse. Communications, power, roads. Medical facilities overrun with virus patients will struggle to treat them, and other patients. People with injuries, with cancer or other conditions. More of the looting and the killings we saw ourselves in New York. The government collapses or reforms into something we don’t know.”

He took a hand off the wheel to squeeze hers. “Getting out of the city was the right call. Cities will fall first. More people spreading the virus, more people looting or reverting to violence. More infrastructure to collapse. More people to panic, the military coming in to try to keep order. And that chain of command frays as those in authority fall to the virus.”

“It’s the old ‘head for the hills.’”

Max nodded at Eddie. “You’re not wrong. You find a place, a safe one—or as safe as you can—and you supply it, maintain it, defend it.”

“Defend it against who?”

Max gave Lana’s hand another squeeze. “Against anyone who tries to take it. You hope like-minded people come together, build communities and their own infrastructure, laws and order. You scavenge, you farm, you hunt. You live.”

If she’d hoped Max would offer a less dire scenario, she had to admit the one he painted sounded all too real. “And if you’re like the two of us, and haven’t the first clue how to hunt or farm?”

“You find other ways to contribute, and you learn. We’ve gotten this far. We’ll survive the rest.”

“My ma kept a garden—grew some nice vegetables every year. I can get things to grow, I’d guess, and show you how it’s done. I hunted some as a kid, but that was awhile back. I’m one of those rare country boys who don’t much like guns. But I know how to use one.”

“It’s still possible they could have a breakthrough on the vaccine,” Lana insisted.

“It is,” Max agreed. “But if there are already two billion dead, there’ll be more before they can dispense and inoculate, even if they broke through tomorrow. The center can’t hold, Lana. It’s already breaking down. Hell, the Secretary of Agriculture is now president. I don’t even know who that is.”

“Sorry to interrupt,” Eddie began, “but we ought to stop and put those chains on before it gets any thicker on the road.”

Max eased to the shoulder as the snow continued to fall. “You’ll have to show me how.”

“And me,” Lana added. “If I’m going to have to learn what I don’t know, I might as well start now.”

“No problem, nothing to it.”

He showed them how to unkink the chains—simple enough even if the cold, the snow, the wind added a nasty element to the chore. Then how to fit the chains over the top of the tire. Though her fingers felt numb even with gloves, Lana insisted on doing one herself.

She had to learn.

She stayed out to watch and observe when Max got behind the wheel to ease the car forward enough to expose the rest of the tire. And, after watching Eddie, listening to his step-by-step, she connected the chains, using the closer link to tighten them.

“Is that right?”

Eddie checked her chain. “Aced it, first time out. She beat you to it, Max.”

Max glanced over and smiled as he finished the connection. “She had a head start.”

With a cackle, Eddie walked around the car to fix the last chain. “That’ll do her.” He looked to the pup, who squatted on the shoulder.

“You finished there, Joe?” When he opened the door, the pup jumped right in. “I can drive if you want a break.”

Max shook his head. “I’m good.”

“You let me know when you want to rotate. Until you do I’m gonna catch a nap in the back with Joe. Didn’t sleep so good last night after the news show.”

He started to yank the space blanket out of his pack, but Lana took out a cotton one of her own. “Use this. It’s soft.”

For a moment, Eddie just stared down at the blanket. Then he got in, waited for Lana to sit, close her door.

“I was scared for a couple minutes you were going to just shoot me, take my stuff. Maybe hurt the pup, too. Then I could see, pretty quick, that wasn’t going to happen. I could see you weren’t that kind.”

“You’re not that kind, either,” Lana told him.

“No, ma’am, I’m not. But I guess you could say we took a chance on each other. I’m real glad we did. It’s a nice blanket.”

He lay down on the backseat, long, skinny legs tucked up and the puppy curled against him. “I appreciate it,” he said and shut his eyes.

Lana didn’t sleep. Instead she reminded herself she’d learned to put on snow chains. She’d cooked a decent meal from meager supplies—on a hot plate in an ugly motel office. She could start a fire, for light or for heat, with her breath. She could start an engine with her will.

And with that will, with the power that grew in her, she was learning to move things—small things now, but that would change. With Max, she’d raised the span of a bridge—and she’d pushed enough power to slow down other cars, even to slap back against those who wished them harm.

She had learned that, and she would learn whatever else she needed to learn.

If Max’s speculation became reality, she’d use her will, her wits, her magicks, and her mind to do whatever had to be done to keep them safe.

And, she thought as the man and the little dog in the backseat snored softly and almost in unison, they’d already started to build a community.

“I love you, Max.”

“I love you. Sleep awhile. We’ve still got a long way to go.”

“I’ll sleep when you sleep. You may need me.”

“When we find our place, and we will, will you marry me?”

Reaching out, she touched his cheek. “Yes.”

She watched the sun come up, chasing away the dark, and let it fill her with hope.

* * *

It took longer to reach the Thirty-third Street station than Arlys had calculated. They’d had to stop, find concealment several times on the trip. More than once she knew they’d made it because Fred heard the engines, the footsteps, the gunfire before she did.

Faerie ears, she supposed.

In the gateway of Times Square, once thriving, crowded, boldly lit, the enormous screens and digital billboards loomed like blank, black doorways to the unknown. A sudden flash, an explosive jag of horizontal lightning, struck just south of Herald Square and shot the madness into sharp relief.

Bodies, wild-eyed dogs feasting, the rubble of shops, the jumble of cars, buses, and vans spread across Herald Square—as if an angry hand had heaved them together over the street and sidewalks.

Someone, something laughed.

Someone, something screamed.

Arlys grabbed Fred’s hand and, in the eerie afterglow of the flash, ran. At the entrance leading down into the dark, she stopped, catching her breath and fighting to clear the panic.

Keep your head, she ordered herself. Stay alive.