Нора Робертс - Year One

Arlys nodded. Direction didn’t matter to her, but south made sense. Get out of the hardest grip of winter in the weeks it had left.

“We could plot out a route—and alternates. Bill, you should come with us.”

“My boy may be trying to get home. I have to be here when Will gets home.”

“You can’t stay here alone.”

“You shouldn’t.” Katie looked at Rachel, lifted a baby for Rachel to take, burp while she shouldered the other. “You should come with us.”

“We could leave the route for your son,” Fred said. “Leave a big note or sign telling him where we’re going. And, if we have to go off route, we can leave signs there that he could follow. I bet he’s really smart, isn’t he?”

A smile ghosted around Bill’s mouth. “He is. He’s smart and strong.”

“He’ll follow the signs,” Fred told him. “He’d want you to come with us, and he’ll follow the signs.”

Bill shifted to look out the window, to his own house, his own porch and yard. “We bought the house when Ava was pregnant with Masie. It strapped us, but we knew what we wanted for our family. We had a good life here. A good life.”

“I know how hard it is,” Arlys consoled. “But we need to make a new place, and here we’re too far from a water source, too exposed once the snow melts. I’ve seen things, Bill. It’s not just the virus killing people.”

She stood. “I’ll start upstairs—there’ll be blankets and linens and…”

Understanding her sudden distress, Bill rose as well, passing the baby to Fred. “Theo and I, we cleaned up, and he helped me do the same. Your mom and my Ava would’ve wanted that.”

Tears rose up, spilled out before she could stop them. Bill simply hugged her. “It’s all right, honey. Tears wash some of the worst away.”

* * *

When she’d cried all she could, Arlys went back to her parents’ room. Blankets, sheets, towels. Maybe they could get another car for supplies. She could drive it.

Bandages, antiseptics, more baby aspirin, more ibuprofen, over-the-counter sleep aids from the bathroom. Soaps, shampoos, razors, skin-care stock.

She slipped one of her mother’s lipsticks into her pocket with the photo as a keepsake.

Scissors, sewing supplies.

Despite the circumstances, she found herself more than mildly mortified to find lubricant and Viagra in her parents’ nightstand drawers. Rachel stepped in as Arlys stared at the bottle in her hand.

“Any meds—OTC or RX—for my stock?”

“It’s, ah, Viagra.”

“Also used in treating pulmonary hypertension.”

“Oh. Well. I bet he wasn’t using it for that.” She laughed a little. “They had a good life here. Like Mr. and Mrs. Anderson. He has to come with us, Rachel.”

“I think he’s leaning that way now. The woman, Karyn? She was already gone. Another woman—I can’t remember her name—gone, too. She hanged herself. There’s a man several houses down, but we couldn’t get close to the house, much less inside. Even when Bill identified himself, he threatened to shoot us dead—his term—if we didn’t get the hell off his lawn.”

“But you think Bill will come with us?”

“He’s having a hard time with it, but, yes, I think he will. He’s got a truck—four-wheel drive—and he and Jonah are working on fixing a tarp across the bed. Jonah’s pushing the idea of it helping us out to have him and another vehicle. And the babies are a big draw.”

“A good strategy, and truth, and, yeah, I can see the babies added some weight. One less thing to worry about then. We should go through the other houses, see what we can use. We’re going to find more guns, and we should take them.”

“Any here?”

“No, not that I know of, but upstairs there might be a compound bow. My brother—”

It slammed into her again, all the loss, nearly stole her breath.

“Theo,” she managed. “Theo got on a hunting kick when he was a teenager. It didn’t stick, but he had a bow. And if we can get another four-wheel drive, we should take it. We can take turns driving it.”

When Rachel said nothing, Arlys tossed the medicine bottle onto the bed with the other supplies. “It helps me to just do what comes next.”

“I know. I haven’t lost anyone in this. Only child. My mother died two years ago. I haven’t seen or spoken to my father since I was eighteen. That doesn’t mean I don’t understand how hard it is to come here, find your family gone, then do what comes next.”

Tears clouded up again, but Arlys sighed them away. “It doesn’t seem real, any of it. But it is.”

By sundown, they had dry goods, canned goods, frozen foods in two ice chests packed with snow. Blankets, sleeping bags, numerous kitchen tools, four hunting knives, eight handguns, three rifles, an AR-15, two shotguns in addition to Bill’s, and three compound bows.

Rachel packed two boxes full of medications and medical supplies. Another box held a variety of batteries. They gathered clothes, boots, winter gear, scored walkie-talkies—including a child’s set. Fred put together a box of baby and toddler gear. Between Jonah and Chuck they siphoned enough gas out of tanks to fill their vehicles—and the brand-new Pathfinder they added to their convoy.

They hauled in a couple of kerosene heaters, cooked over Bill’s camp stove, and plotted out the route south.

At dawn, they loaded up. Chuck led the way with Fred, Jonah’s group followed. Arlys, the holiday photo tucked in the Pathfinder’s visor, pulled out behind Jonah.

Bill, after one last glance at his home, at the sign he’d left for his son, drove after her.

* * *

After a full week, Lana took another inventory of supplies, and found them diminished beyond her calculations. As she—with the occasional assist from Poe or Kim—did the cooking, she knew damn well how much of every single item should have been on the shelves, in the cabinets, in the freezer.

They were light several cans of soup, ravioli, two boxes of mac and cheese—however deplorable she considered that—and some of the frozen foods. Bags of chips and snack foods, too.

She went through the inventory again, then stood seething in the kitchen as Max and Eddie came in, with Joe rushing to her with a snow-covered nose.

“We’re light in food inventory,” she said flatly. “Someone broke the agreement and has been sneaking food. Maybe more than one person.”

Rather than ask if she was sure, Max hissed out a breath. “That goes along with the fact that the propane’s down more than it should be. We’re going to have to try to get that truck up here. We’re below half. The way Kim calculated it, we should be well above that.”

“How do you want to handle it?” Eddie asked.

“I’d say by kicking some ass.”

Lana smiled thinly at Max. “I’m in the mood for kicking ass.”

“Whose?” Poe wondered as he came in, still sweaty from his morning workout.

“Whoever’s been pilfering the food supplies and using up propane.”

“Propane? What are we down to?”

“Under half.”

“But Kim said we wouldn’t be down to half for another five days. She’s never wrong. What food supplies?”

“Some of just about everything. Frozen, canned, dry goods, snack food, box mixes.”

Poe scrubbed a hand over his face, eased down on a stool. “I’m going to tell you it wasn’t me, but everybody’s likely to say that.”

“It wasn’t you.” Lana dismissed that with an annoyed flick of the wrist. “I’ve cooked with you. I’ve seen how carefully you measure things out, then check off the inventory list.”

“It’s not going to be Kim—and not just because I like her. Because she’s no bullshit. And she’s no sneak.”