“Jesus,” Dad muttered, wiping a hand across his face. “I’m not happy about what they did to Tyrel, but I didn’t wish them dead.”

“None of us did,” Mike said. “But we can’t change what happened. What’s important right now is what we decide going forward.”

“Are you sure they’re not the same troops we ran into on Highway 46?” Tyrel asked.

“As sure as I can be,” Mike replied. “Looked to me like they came from a different section of the highway than the one we tried to cross.”

“Either way,” Dad said, “the only one of us they would recognize is Tyrel, and even that’s pretty damn unlikely.”

Tyrel grimaced. “There’s also the matter of my leg.”

“We can explain that away,” Dad said. “Tell them someone tried to rob us and we fought them off, something like that.”

“Works for me.”

“Then it’s decided?” Mike asked. “Are we really going to do this?”

Dad searched all of our faces. “Any objections?”

No one spoke. He turned around and looked at Lance. “What do you say? You in?”

Lance shrugged. “Got nothing else going at the moment. Might as well.”

“Caleb, you ride up front with Mike,” Dad said. “When we catch up with the convoy, I’ll let you do the talking.”

THIRTY-ONE

We caught up with them on 281 just outside of Blanco.

Captain Morgan (to this day I can’t say it without a smile) had stopped the convoy a mile outside of town and sent scouts ahead in Humvees. When a lookout saw us approaching, Morgan and one of his aides drove back to meet us.

“Good to see you again, Mr. Hicks,” he said, stepping out of his vehicle. His aide remained behind, no doubt monitoring radio traffic. The captain eyed our Humvees skeptically. “Where the hell did you find those?”

“You might say they were a gift.”

He raised an eyebrow.

“Come meet everyone. My father can explain.”

We did the round of introductions. Morgan took in the other men’s appearance—the weapons, the tactical gear, the familiar, confident way in which my father and his friends handled themselves—and I saw an acquisitive gleam in the Army officer’s eyes. When he shifted his attention to Sophia, Lola, and Lauren, the gleam faded, replaced by apprehension.

“Nice to meet all of you,” he said. “Do you mind telling me where you came across those?” He pointed to the Humvees.

My father spoke up. “These three and I used to work for a civilian-owned survival and firearms training facility, Black Wolf Tactical. Everything you see here except the trucks and the Jeep were owned by the company.”

“Even the machine guns?”

Dad nodded. “Yep.”

“Aren’t those illegal for civilians to own?”

“In most cases, yes. Unless you have the proper licenses, which BWT did.”

“I don’t suppose you have any documentation to back that up, do you?”

“I do.” Dad held a hand toward the lead Humvee. “Would you like me to show you?”

“Lead the way.”

I watched my father remove a cardboard box from the back of a Humvee, open it, and neatly arrange a number of files on the back seat. He pointed to each one, explaining what it contained. Morgan picked up a couple of them, half-heartedly sifted through the papers within, then shook his head and dropped them back in the box.

“Good enough for me,” he said. “Honestly, at this point, I wouldn’t care if you stole this stuff as long as you’re willing to help me.”

“What help do you need?” Dad asked.

“You look ex-military to me. These other guys too. Am I right?”

The four men took turns explaining their credentials. My father disclosed he had been a Green Beret, but stopped short of mentioning his time in Delta Force. It seemed odd to me, but I shrugged it off, figuring the old man had his reasons.

Lance revealed he had served four years in the Marines, then spent the last twenty years in law enforcement, twelve of those with the Houston Police Department’s SWAT team. Figuring he was eighteen when he joined the Marines, I guessed his age at forty-two. He was in good shape, but looked older than that.

With each proffered resume, the acquisitive light in Morgan’s eyes grew steadily brighter. He expressed concern about Tyrel’s wounded leg, but seemed appeased when Tyrel assured him he could still man a machine gun or provide long-range fire support with his .338 Lapua magnum. Finally, Morgan returned his attention to me.

“Well, you make a little more sense now. Did you grow up around these guys?”

“All except Lance, yes. We met recently.”

He chuckled. “Christ, kid. You must be a freakin’ monster.”

“So what do you think, Captain?” My dad said. From his expression, I could tell he was eager to change the subject. “Got a place for us in your convoy?”

“Absolutely,” Morgan said. “Just hang back in the rear for now. Once we know what’s ahead of us, I’ll sort out where to put you.” He went through another round of handshakes, this one more enthusiastic than the first. “Again, it was nice to meet all of you. Glad to have you on board.”

“Same to you, Captain,” Dad said. We watched the young officer stride away, climb into his Humvee, and drive back toward the head of the column.

“Well that went well,” Blake said.

“Yeah,” Dad said, sounding uncertain.

I looked at him, not liking his tone. He stared at the dust trail in the wake of Morgan’s Humvee, his dark eyes unhappy.

“What’s wrong?” I asked him.

He glanced at me and shook his head. “We’ll talk about it later. Mike, take point if you don’t mind.”

The big man nodded once. “Not a problem.”

“Everybody else, let’s get out of this heat.”

“Fuckin’ gladly,” Tyrel said, leaning on Lola’s arm as he limped back to his Humvee. Sophia came to stand next to me, her arm slipping around my waist. I pulled her close and kissed the top of her head.

“How you holdin’ up?”

She nuzzled her face against my chest. “Better, now that you’re back.”

“I think things are going to be all right, now.” I said. “What that guy Morgan said about Colorado Springs, he seemed pretty convinced. I think we’ll be safe there.”

“I hope so,” Sophia said. “I hate all this running. It’s only been a few weeks since Houston, but it feels like a lifetime.”

“Tell me about it.”

She looked up at me, her eyes like pools of dark honey. “Do you really think things will be better in Colorado? You think we’ll be safe?”

The truth was, I had no idea. Nothing I had seen of the spiraling world around me gave me the slightest confidence there was such a thing as a safe place anymore. But when I looked down at Sophia, I saw hope, and I saw her confidence in me, and her trust, and there was a surge of something in my chest that made me want to be all the things I saw in her eyes. So in my foolishness, rather than reveal my doubts and my fears, and speak to her honestly of the risks we were taking and let her make an informed, adult decision, I took the coward’s way out—I resorted to false bravado.

“Everything’s going to be fine, Sophia,” I said, and planted a gentle kiss on her lips. “I’m not going to let anything happen to you.”

She smiled at me, little dimples forming in her cheeks. “I believe you.”

How easy it was to make promises, then, before I understood the consequences of failure and hubris. Before I learned of the demons that come in the late hours before sleep, and the burdens of regret one carries in their wake.

Fate is a cruel teacher. But by God, her lessons stick.

*****

With the exception of a few wandering infected, the town of Blanco was abandoned.

The sun was low in the sky, wearing on toward evening. The captain decided to make camp in town for the night and move on at first light. The convoy went in first to exterminate what few undead occupied the streets. We waited in our vehicles with the windows down and the engines off to conserve fuel. Sophia sat in the passenger’s seat, one hand clasped in mine, the other fanning her face with a torn-off flap of cardboard. A thin sheen of perspiration covered her skin, turning her hair dark brown where it stuck to her neck.