“How long do you think this is going to take?” she asked.

I shook my head. “No idea. Guess it depends on how many undead there are.”

We didn’t talk much after that, just sat and listened to the sound of distant gunfire. One of Morgan’s troops made his way back to us and inquired if we had radios or not. When he found out we did, he told us what frequency to set them to so we could receive messages from Morgan and his senior staff. I turned the knob to the appropriate setting, placed the radio on the dashboard, and waited.

Not long after that, the cracks of gunfire diminished in frequency until they ceased altogether. A few minutes later, the radio came to life.

“All stations, this is Captain John Morgan. At this time, it appears the town is clear of infected. However, I urge you to proceed with caution. There’s no telling where more of them might be trapped, or how many more might be headed our way. Do not, I repeat do not open any doors, approach any windows, or attempt to enter any buildings. I’ve posted troops throughout town who will direct you to the Best Western on 281, where we’ll be making camp for the night. Follow their directions, and do not deviate from the path. If you do, my men will not be responsible for your safety. Please proceed ahead.”

On the road beyond the windshield, two big green trucks laden with the survivors from the RV encampment and their possessions revved their motors and slowly lumbered north. We waited until they gained some distance on us, then followed suit.

The bridge on 281 leading into town passed slowly under our wheels. A thin green lake too neat and even not to have been shaped by the hand of man surrounded Blanco to the south. We rolled through the streets, first passing empty lots, then a mix of small businesses, houses, a few restaurants, and a large graying building occupying the center of an entire block proclaiming itself the Old Blanco County Courthouse. Farther on, it was more of the same. A bank, a real-estate office, a church, an auto parts store, a moving truck rental agency, and interspersed amongst it all, house after empty house.

“Looks like the people who lived here took their cars with them,” I said. “What few I see are mostly junkers.”

“It’s so sad,” Sophia replied. “Houses look different when nobody lives in them anymore. Like they’re in mourning or something.”

I scanned the periphery of the street, watching the forgotten mailboxes, empty windows, and yawning driveways slip by. “Maybe they are.”

“I wonder where they all went.”

“Colorado? Kansas, maybe?”

“Think they’re still alive?”

“Who knows, Sophia?”

A soldier on the road motioned us ahead, looking bored and uncomfortable in his heavy gear. His eyes lingered on Sophia as we passed, and I shot him a hard stare. If he noticed, he gave no indication. Several minutes and a few more ogling soldiers later, the hotel rose into view and the brake lights of my father’s truck flared red in front of us. I eased my foot on the brake until we came to a halt, then watched a soldier approach Mike in the lead Humvee. There was a brief exchange, followed by Mike exiting his vehicle and motioning for us to do the same.

“Let’s see what this is about.”

Sophia and I got out and walked over to where Mike stood. The soldier remained behind him, eyes wandering back and forth between Lola and Sophia. Tyrel noticed as well, and when he drew close, he leaned in until he was barely two inches from the young man’s nose.

“You got a staring problem, boy?”

The soldier leaned away from the ex-SEAL’s face, all sharp angles and heavy brows and merciless black eyes, and he took a step back.

“S-sorry,” the troop stammered. “I didn’t mean …”

“Don’t you have somewhere else you need to be, Private?”

“Yes sir.”

“Then get there.”

Blake stepped up beside me, stifling a laugh as the soldier scurried away. “It’s like he forgot he’s carrying a gun.”

“Ol’ Ty has that effect on people.”

Tyrel looked my way, mean-mug still in place, and winked.

“So what’s going on, Mike?” Dad said, getting everyone’s attention.

“We got a choice to make,” Mike said. “We can stay here at the hotel, or we can find someplace else to bed down for the night. Personally, I vote for the latter.”

“What’s wrong with spending the night in the hotel?” Lola asked. The question startled me; it had been so long since Lola had spoken I had almost forgotten she was there.

“Well, I shot one of the folks from the RV camp earlier today,” Mike said. “Not bad, mind you. Just a graze. But I doubt he’s gonna be happy with me about it. And Caleb here damn near beat the wheels off their leader.”

Lola swiveled her head to look at me, a new brand of regard in her eyes. I imagine her expression would have been much the same if she had been standing in the desert and suddenly realized the lumpy brown thing next to her feet was a rattlesnake. “Is that true?” she asked.

“I’m not proud of it, but yes. He didn’t leave me much choice.”

“How bad did you hurt him?” Dad asked.

“Bumps and bruises.”

He looked skeptical. “You sure?”

“I saw him after the fact. He had a big shiner on his temple, but otherwise, he was fine.”

Blake laughed next to me. “Man, I feel sorry for that guy. I’ve sparred with you enough to know what you can do when you play for keeps.”

Next to me, I could feel Sophia’s stare, and see the smirk on my father’s face, and hear Mike’s approving grunt, and I reddened, uncomfortable with the attention. “Anyway, Mike has a point. The two of us probably aren’t their favorite people right now. And the rest of you will be guilty by association. It’s probably best if we find our own place for the night.”

“I agree,” Dad said. “We’ll head down the street to the brewery. The roof of the main building looks good and flat. We’ll sleep there tonight.”

“How will we get up there?” I asked.

“We’ll figure something out. Let’s go.”

THIRTY-TWO

Blanco, Texas

Morgan waved us over as we drove by.

He was in the hotel parking lot on the roof of his Humvee, directing operations. I got on the radio and said I would handle it, and drove in his direction. The others proceeded ahead to the brewery.

“I need you to stay here,” I told Sophia after stopping next to Morgan’s vehicle. “This shouldn’t take long.”

“All right,” she said. Her eyes were fixed on the massive Abrams tank squatting in the middle of the road, swiveling its turret back the way we had come. The Bradleys and Howitzers drove past us, dispersing toward the bridges on the south side of town, most likely with orders to blow them if they saw too many infected coming.

Morgan jumped down when I got out of the truck and walked over to me. “Where are you folks headed?”

“To the brewery,” I said, standing close so only he could hear me. “I’m thinking Travis and Jerry probably aren’t too happy with me right now. Probably best if we make our own accommodations for the night.”

Morgan thought about it and nodded. “You’re probably right. Infighting is the last thing we need right now. You gonna be okay on your own?”

“We’ll be fine. We still have our radios. We’ll call if we run into anything we can’t handle.”

“Sounds good. See you in the morning.” He walked back toward his men.

I climbed in the truck and drove away.

“Any trouble?” Sophia asked on the way to the brewery.

“Nope. Morgan seems like a stand up guy.”

Sophia tilted her head to look in the side view mirror, the image of the hotel growing smaller in the square of glass. “So far, anyway.”

I turned right from Highway 281 onto the narrow, dusty street leading to the brewery. Looking around, it occurred to me Blanco had not been hit by the fires like areas farther south. When I thought about it, I remembered the prevailing winds the night of the fire had mostly been from the north, so between that and the lake protecting the town to the south, Blanco had escaped mostly unscathed. Which probably had a lot to do with why Captain Morgan wanted to stay the night here.