Dad and Blake mapped out all the surrounding stores and housing developments. We spent most of our time scouting them, taking anything useful, and secreting it in various caches spread out around Canyon Lake. Pickings were sparse around the lake itself, but better in nearby areas the fire had missed. We gathered as much food and other supplies as we could, cleaned out Dale’s garage, and packed it to the ceiling with non-perishables. The cabin had a den outfitted with old chairs and sofas and a massive coffee table meant to be a sitting room, a place of conversation, no TV. We tossed the furniture in the yard and filled the room with toilet paper, feminine hygiene products, soap, toothpaste, laundry detergent, and the entire contents of an abandoned drug store. The large supply of antibiotics, painkillers, and various other medicines seemed to grant everyone a measure of ease.

Everyone but me, that is.

Because Mike was Mike, and there was no stopping him from being Mike, he relieved every house we found of their finest booze. Nobody complained.

We saw Lance Morton a few times and gave him some antibiotics and pain medicine. He was polite, but kept his distance. A loner, that one. Dad gave him a flare, same as the other survivors around the lake, and since he lived so close, a radio as well.

“Stop by in the mornings and we’ll give you fresh batteries.” Dad told him.

“Where you getting the juice?” Lance asked.

“Solar panels on the cabin, on the south side, facing the back yard.”

“Oh. Never seen ‘em.”

“You run into any trouble,” Dad said, “or see any coming down the road, give us a heads up. We’ll do the same for you.”

“Fair enough.”

Against my wishes, Dad and Mike insisted Sophia and I work together, ostensibly to thaw the ice between us. It was a mute partnership that first week, both of us throwing ourselves into work to avoid dwelling on our situation.

It went well for a while. Sophia turned out to be a more perceptive creature than I had given her credit for. She left me alone for the most part, limiting the conversation to no more than what was necessary. The hostility she had displayed when we fled Houston largely dried up, replaced by a somber, unassuming acceptance. We rode together in silence, worked mostly in silence, and when we ate meals together away from the cabin, she didn’t try to engage me in conversation. But I caught her watching me sometimes when she thought I couldn’t see. If I had to pin a label on what I saw on her face, I would call it curiosity.

Outwardly, I suppose I put up a convincing enough front everyone thought I was holding it together. But the truth was, between helping out with the night watch rotation, inventorying and organizing supplies, doing everyone’s scut work because they were too busy or too lazy to do it themselves, and trying to play peacekeeper between my father and stepmother as the tension between them intensified, I felt stretched to my limit.

So two weeks after arriving at Canyon Lake, when Dad and the other men announced they wanted me to stay behind with Lauren and Sophia while they headed to the outskirts of San Antonio, I was less than pleased.

“We should have seen other refugees by now,” Dad said, interrupting my protests mid-sentence. “It’s not like Canyon Lake wasn’t popular. Everybody and their brother knew about this place. Whatever is keeping them away, it’s something we need to know about.”

“Not to mention we’re low on gasoline and diesel,” Blake added.

Dad nodded his way. “That too. Caleb, I need you to look after the girls while we’re gone. Keep your eyes peeled for strangers. Lance Morton knows where we’re going. He’s got a radio with a fresh battery. You run into any trouble, call him.”

“You sure that’s a good idea?” I asked.

“He seems like a solid guy. If we were going to have any trouble out of him, I think it would have happened already. That said, don’t trust him any more than you have to.”

“I won’t. Listen, are you sure about this, Dad? Maybe I should go with you. Maybe leave one of the other guys behind.”

He shook his head. “Another time, when I’m a little surer of things. God only knows what we’re going to find out there.” He gestured to my three oldest and best friends. “You’ve known these guys most of your life. You think you know what they’re capable of, but you don’t know the half of it. Something like this, I need the best I can get. You’re well trained, son, but you don’t have their experience. So they go and you stay and that’s the end of it. Understood?”

I wanted to argue, but he had that tone of voice which brooked no dissent. I knew better than to push, so I said, “Be careful out there, old man.”

He smiled then, and I realized I had not seen him smile since we arrived at the cabin. “Old man my ass. I’ll run circles around you, kid.”

“On a fast horse, maybe.”

He punched me in the arm. “Keep your head on a swivel. We’ll be back soon.”

They rolled away in the Humvees, a plume of dust marking their trail. I started to think about Perry Torrance, and how many more infected just like him were out there, and the population of San Antonio, and the fires we had all nervously watched to the south, the orange glow in the night sky, the crack of distant gunfire like a miles long string of ladyfingers, and knew I had to do something to clear my head or I would jump in Blake’s Jeep and follow that plume at a good safe distance until I caught up to them too far away to send me back.

So I suited up in my tactical gear, cleaned my carbine and pistol, and went on patrol around the neighborhood. Every ten minutes my watch beeped and I called the cabin to make sure everything was okay. Lauren answered each time with a simple, “We’re good.”

If anything had been wrong, or if she were under duress, the answer would have been “A-okay.” That was the signal to hurry my ass home and be prepared to do violence.

I finished my sweep, exchanged a few polite words with Lance, and was on my way home when a crack and a pop caught my attention.

“The hell …”

It didn’t sound like a gunshot. I looked in the direction of the sound and saw a bright red flare light up the sky to the north, right over Bob and Maureen’s house.

I broke into a sprint.

Lauren and Sophia were standing outside when I arrived. “Lauren, get your gun,” I said as I went into the kitchen looking for the keys to Blake’s Jeep. “You too Sophia.”

“What’s going on?” Lauren asked. “Was that Bob and Maureen?”

“I think so. I’m gonna go check it out.”

Sophia emerged from her bedroom clutching an M-4. Her father had spent an hour each day over the last week teaching her how to use it. She had never shown much interest in firearms until now, but was quickly gaining proficiency. “Do you want me to go with you?” she asked.

I was so surprised by the question I couldn’t answer for a moment. “Uh … no, that’s all right. Stay here with Lauren. Lock the doors, stay away from the windows, and don’t open the door for anyone but me. If someone starts poking around, call me on the radio. If someone tries to break in, shoot them.”

Sophia nodded, eyes hardening. “All right.”

“Wait,” Lauren broke in, “you can’t go alone, Caleb.”

“I don’t plan to. I’ll stop by Lance’s place, see if he can help.”

“And if he doesn’t?”

I snatched up a first aid kit, a canteen of water, and started for the door. “I’ll improvise.”

TWENTY

Evidently, Lance had seen the flare as well. He stood in his yard, armed and outfitted with a pistol, rifle, and MOLLE vest, waiting.

As he approached, I got a look at his sidearm. It rode in a quick draw holster, and had been so thoroughly customized I could not figure out what model it was other than it looked like a nine-millimeter. The barrel was long, fitted with a muzzle brake, the trigger and hammer were chrome whereas the rest of the gun was black, and had a reflex sight perched atop a rail. The only place I had ever seen weapons like that were at shooting competitions, the kind where people competed for serious money and wore polyester t-shirts with sponsors’ trademarks on them.