Howard Price passed Timberline’s shot-up population sign and drove on around the bend and over a short concrete bridge into town. He drove slowly down Main Street, sometimes having to drive directly over dead bodies and around abandoned cars. The town seemed completely deserted. He’d seen no one on the road after turning off at Emigrant Gap. He’d seen a few creatures on the side of the road, some standing passively by deserted cars, others in groups of thirty, or so, had been running along the road in a surreal fashion, heading east. Some of them stopped to howl, or to stare at him as he drove past. A few had run after the car, but he’d sped up and left them behind. The next ten miles had been Howler free, the road empty. He passed a smoldering hulk of a motel to his right and sped on.

He looked at his gas gauge. He had only a quarter tank or less, but more than enough to get him to the bed and breakfast Miles had described. He decided to try and fill up his Prius in Timberline if possible. It would be dangerous, but it was important to do while it was still possible. He noticed lights on in the storefronts he passed—even the Christmas lights, strung down the town’s main street, were still on. If he could find a gas station, the pumps, and the computers attached to them, might still be functioning.

He stopped his car in the middle of Main Street and looked out at the unreal scene of snow-covered wrecks and dead bodies. He consulted the Google map Miles had emailed him. The cabin, according to the instructions, was only about five miles to the east of Timberline. He looked at the electronic pin he’d stuck in the map. It was four in the afternoon and he’d eaten nothing since the night before.

He heard the slap of his windshield wiper. He looked in the rearview mirror and saw nothing moving on the street behind him. He tried to squint and see through the falling snow in case he was missing something.

“I’ve got to eat something!” he said aloud. It was the first time he’d spoken since he’d gotten back in the car at the rest stop. He looked at his phone; it had a signal. He put the car in park and thumbed through his contacts until he saw Miles’ cell number and decided to try it.

“Hello,” Miles answered.

“Miles?”

“Yes. Where are you?”

“In Timberline,” Howard said.

“Fuck!” Miles said.

“I’m almost there,” Howard said. “I’m going to try and get gas in case we need the car.”

“You can’t come now,” Miles said.

“What?”

“It isn’t safe. We’re surrounded by them and—it’s useless here. There’s no point. We’re locked out of the bunker. I’m sorry, Howard.”

“I can try,” Howard said.

“It’s suicide,” Miles said.

“I don’t know what else to do, Miles.” Price could hear someone take the phone.

“Hello, this is Dr. Marvin Poole. You say you’re in Timberline?”

“Yes,” Howard said. “I’m on the main street right now, by the public library.”

“I need some medicine, for seizures. They’re in my office. It’s very close to where you are. Can you get it and bring it here?”

“But I thought—”

“Can you do it? It’s called Felbatol. I’ll text you the instructions, where to find it in my office.”

“All right, I’ll do it,” Howard said.

“Thank you. Turn to your right. What do you see?” Marvin asked.

“It’s a restaurant called The Copper Penny,” Howard said.

“Okay, three doors down, to the south, you’ll see my office door. It is unlocked, I’m sure. I’ll text you now which other medicines I need you to bring. What’s your name?”

“It’s Howard, Howard Price.”

“Thank you, Howard. Good luck. Call when you get to mailbox number 30. Take the eastern road out of town. You’ll pass the high school and a 7-11. You can’t miss it. That’s the direction you’re going to travel, and toward where we are now. I’ll come and meet you on the road myself. I promise. All right?” Marvin said. “You’ll be all right.”

“Yes. Okay,” Howard said. “How far am I from where you are?”

“Twenty minutes, probably even less,” Marvin said. “You’ll see Howlers on the road near us. But you’ll be okay. Stay in the car until you see me.”

   Marvin hung up. A text appeared from Miles’ cell with a list of drugs Poole needed and instructions on where exactly he would find them in the office.

Howard turned and looked down to his right and saw Poole’s office. He was afraid of getting out of the car. He remembered the pistol Jon had given him at the rest stop and picked it off the seat next to him. It was snowing hard, the sky dimensionless, the highest peaks of the Sierra Madre hidden in mist.

Before going to Poole’s office, Howard stopped in the Copper Penny to scavenge something to eat. The scene was horrifying, but nothing frightened him more than what he saw on a tablet computer he found on the floor.

It was a scene shot from a helicopter of an overpass on Highway 80, southeast of Timberline. The entire highway—all six lanes—was filled with creatures coming from the greater Los Angeles basin, tens of thousands of them heading toward the Sierra: a kind of strange mutant army on the march.

He found the tablet’s volume control and turned it up.

“Terrorist creatures are massing on this California highway heading away from Los Angeles and into the mountains. There is no explanation for this mass movement of creatures out of the LA area,” a CNN newscaster’s voice said.

Howard pushed some cold French fries into his mouth. He looked at the dead people in the booth, their plates of food hardly touched. The food on the plates in front of them was ice cold, but, he hoped, still edible.

“In other news, the new Provisional Government is taking emergency measures to ensure citizens’ safety from this attack, which sources say may be linked to sleeper cells of terrorists based in Los Angeles. Colonel Terry Bent, spokesman for the Provisional Government, urges all Americans to continue to shelter in place. Local law enforcement and military police will be moving door-to-door with further instructions, and confiscating private firearms in order to prevent civil disorder.”

Howard reached over and took a turkey club sandwich from in front of a woman with a crushed face. She’d been hit so many times in the face that she was unrecognizable. He pushed the tablet computer to the side and ate the sandwich, picking up an iced tea that was cold to the touch.

CHAPTER 28

Lieutenant Bell stopped the limousine they’d taken from the hotel’s parking lot and turned in the driver’s seat. They’d found Rebecca some designer jeans and a black turtleneck sweater to wear. Her sweater had been torn in a melee on the hotel’s turnaround on the way to the limo.

Rebecca told them that Senator Prince knew all about the Phelps cabin, and exactly where it was located. She said Prince was planning to use it as his headquarters. Rebecca’s hair was down; she looked older. Something awful had happened to her eyes. Her expression had been girlish; now it was mean.

Rebecca held an automatic weapon across her lap. She’d picked it up off the ground as they were running out onto the turnaround. They’d run through a gauntlet of Howlers equipped with nothing but a fire ax that Patty had found in the hotel’s equipment room, and the pistol that Bell had taken in the fight. Prince’s men had been overrun and had retreated to the lobby. The trio had taken a chance and run out the back of the hotel, near the pool, and headed for the parking lot.

Bell emptied his pistol as they left the hotel, before the parking lot was even in sight. The fight on the turnaround had been horrific. Twenty feet from the limousine, a new group of Howlers had attacked them, responding to the howling at the hotel. Only seven of Prince’s gunmen had survived the earlier battle, and their nervous commander ordered them inside. The gunmen had watched the un-armed trio from the lobby, sure they’d be killed.