"I'm hungry!" the little animal yelled, and Sue nearly lost it right there. Everyone in the warehouse had eaten carefully meted crackers and peanuts for lunch, for Christ, and this little fatty was the only one b.i.t.c.hing about it. One of the oldest kids in the group but stupider than the youngest by half.

Sue took a breath and, clutching it inside her, strode past the other children to grab Jayson by his filthy collar and hiss in his face, "You. Are. Not. A good. Child." That made her smile a little bit, and she set him down.

"I hate you!" he shrieked, with his horrible little nubby teeth and his filthy face. "I'm telling my dad!"

That made her smile even more. She reached down and pinched his cheek hard, harder, keeping in the thing that she wanted to growl, that Jayson's father was part of the reason Jayson was hungry. Every time that a.s.shole went out on runs, the truck came back half-stuffed with liquor, and all the guys cheered, not considering that a few cases of saltines and applesauce only went so far.

Another child said it. "I'm hungry."

Sue turned, feeling revived. "I told you, Leticia, there's no food yet. We're waiting for the supply run to come back."

"When are they gonna be here?"

Sue looked to Patty, the dental a.s.sistant, the other woman who pa.s.sed for an elementary-grade teacher in the upper-level conference room of this welding and steam-fitting warehouse. In truth they were babysitters at best. Patty was at least slightly more experienced, having had a daughter until the outbreak. She had a dozen new lines on her face this week and seemed a little stoned, with her eyelids not quite reaching the tops of her broad pupils.

"Well," Sue said, leaving Patty staring at the wall, "they were supposed to have been back a little while ago. For lunch." It was quarter past one. "My guess is, they found a really nice grocery store or something, and they took their time, and they're almost back now with a truck full of cookies and spaghetti and tuna. How does that sound?"

Some of the younger kids gave out a little "yay" chorus. Then they were all back to doodling on their math sheets or punching at their board games.

Sue hated them. Most of them. Wayne said there was only room for eight people on the Jeep, a couple more if the kids were little.

Sue had eight orphans in her cla.s.s and eleven children of other adults holed up in the warehouse. She didn't have to worry about the eleven, but with her and Patty not minding them during the day or sleeping on p.i.s.sy mattresses with them in the cla.s.sroom at night, the orphans were as good as dead.

Pushing it, pushing it pushing it, she and Patty could maybe bring five kids. That meant she had to eliminate three.

Obviously, she should have done this before noon but her hangover was still wearing off then.

She scanned the pitiful crowd. It was easy enough to gravitate toward the younger students, the kindergarteners whom life hadn't yet broken, but that just made them a liability. It meant Sue would have to be the one to watch or a.s.sist the breaking.

Devon, a four-year-old black kid, gave out a horrible snorking cough, the apparent culmination of some symptoms that had been dribbling out of him all day and a validation ticket for some thoughts Sue had been having on the subject. She sighed thanks. Goodbye, Devon Goodbye, Devon.

Sue sidled over to Patty and whispered. "I'm thinking we take Leticia, Morgan, Shawn, and Greg. They're all over six...for the last one, it's between Sophia, Sarah, and Avery. What do you think? Sarah's youngest but she's got it together, listens well."

Patty grunted.

"That's all we can take. Five is a lot even for two of us to wrangle, out...on the road. Christ, Patty, say something, we have to-"

"Wha?"

"You have to pick: Do you want Sophia, Sarah, or Avery? Devon's got that horrible cough. It seems serious. All we need is for the kids to all get sick."

"I can't do it."

"Yes, you can, Wayne and Ian have it all planned out. We can't stay here forever."

"I can't pick them, I'm not going."

"You're not making sense. We've been talking about it for a week. Christ, we've all been thinking about it for a month, ever since Ian said Seth wanted to quit doing rescue runs and stick to supplies. You can do this. We have to do it. The warehouse is a dead-end situation. Picking the kids-that's all hypothetical anyway, if Wayne can come back with hard proof that Zach and Ted are murderers, then maybe Seth will see that we all have to go."

"Of course I'll go if we all go. But if he doesn't, if Seth wants to stay, I'm not just...I'm not just going to leave, it's too dangerous. I'll stay here with the kids. There's food-"

"No there isn't!"

"Usually, usually there is. There's protection..." Patty said. "Seth keeps things running here pretty well."

Sue rubbed her face. "Ohhh, my G.o.d. You really believe that, you'd really rather stay."

"It doesn't matter, I can't leave any kids. None of them... none of them deserve that."

"Shhh!" So that was it. It was a G.o.dd.a.m.ned mother thing. Sue stole a look out the window; no Jeep yet. "Sweetie, Brandy's gone, you can't help her. Let me put it to you this way: What would Brandy want you to do? She'd want you to do the thing that was best for everyone, right? Well, staying isn't good for anyone. This is a place for dying. Think about Plaquemines Parish. Did you ever take Brandy down to Port Sulphur? Did she like it? Well, it's great, that area, you can grow just about anything, fish, shrimp, it's breezy.... Think about the kids that are here."

"I am am."

"Think about them growing up here, in this building. They're not even going to last long enough to grow up. They're going to starve here."

"No...they're exploring I-55, there'll be something up there."

"Bulls.h.i.t. There's fewer men practically every week to do that, and you know why. You want to do something good for these kids, pick which ones we can take and let's get the f.u.c.k out of here."

Now Patty was weeping. Jesus, what a drama queen. "You don't have to take any, if you want. I know you don't really-"

"All right, all right." She squeezed Patty's shoulder and peeked out the window again. "I'm taking the four I said I'd take, and then Sarah, with or without your sorry a.s.s." She smiled as she said this, realizing that some kids' eyes were on her.

That woke Patty up. "You can't. You can't possibly manage five kids..."

"I can and I will." Her face was getting warm but she anch.o.r.ed the smile. "Watch me. I'm making this s.h.i.t happen. I'll be G.o.dd.a.m.ned if I'm gonna stay here and rot-"

"Sarah's too little, leave her-" and then Sue stopped hearing. She must have been hyperventilating, because her head felt hot but her mouth felt cold. She ran her fingers through her hair and left the room, went for the stairs. She looked down into the main warehouse area, fully lit now by the afternoon sun through the skylights.

Wayne was downstairs. How did he get here so quietly? She didn't see a Jeep. He was already talking with Seth, who had on his stained pink shirt and striped tie, like he was still middle management.

Sue ran down the rattling iron stairs.

"...both of them," Wayne was saying.

Seth nodded gravely and looked up at Sue. She had her mouth open but something in Wayne's eyes told her to shut it.

"Bad news, Sue: Zach and Ted are dead. Call everyone around."

The manager's office bathroom was the only real private room in the warehouse. That's where Sue waited for Wayne after the meeting, drinking a long-h.o.a.rded Abita beer, playing with the candles on the rust-stained toilet that could no longer be used, fixing herself up as best she could in the mirror. Finally, he came in.

"What happened out there? Where's the Jeep?"

"Shh," he said.

"They tried to kill you, didn't they? Why didn't you tell Seth?"

"I...not really. Maybe they were going to."

"Maybe? What did Seth say? Will they come?"

"I didn't put it to them, I don't think that's wise." Wayne put his hand on the wall behind Sue.

"What, we're just going? Just us, no caravan?"

He dropped his arm. "Seth can't be trusted."

She stamped her foot. "How are we going to make it anywhere without that kind of backup, Wayne?"

"Do you hear me? I don't trust Seth anymore. I don't think Zach and Ted were acting alone. I think it came from higher up."

Sue leaned back against the wall. "They did did try to kill you." try to kill you."

"Well, they didn't get a chance."

"The dead got them first."

"I got...you know, I went ahead and shot them." got...you know, I went ahead and shot them."

"Oh, Christ."

"I was scared, I kept thinking about the plan, I don't even know if we were right anymore. I panicked."

"Shh, it's okay." She put a hand on his chest. "You were right, you were right, just like we planned, just a little different. And it's good you told Seth and all that they were killed by the dead, that's fine cover, you did good."

"I don't know...I worry that they, that Ted or Zach, might..."

"What?"

"Might wander back here, I don't know. I can't stop thinking about it."

"You didn't finish them?"

"I don't know!"

"Christ, Wayne. You're unbelievable, that could really be-"

"Shut...just, be quiet. Listen." He held her wrists to her chest but she didn't like the maneuver and pushed back away from him. "Go talk to Patty, get the kids' stuff ready so we can go. I'll talk to Ian."

"Ugh. Where's the Jeep, anyway? How are we leaving?"

"It's four blocks from here, loaded up with MREs and water." Her eyes went wide. "Don't freak out, just get the s.h.i.t ready, tell Patty so we can go."

"We'll have to walk?" walk?"

"A little ways, yes. It's no real problem."

She swallowed then, leaned against his chest and whispered, "Can we just go now, forget the kids?"

"No. The kids." Now he pushed her away. "The kids are half the d.a.m.n point, Sue."

"What do you care. You don't even know their names," she said. "Patty's not coming."

He sighed. "Whatever. Just get everything together, keep it quiet, don't spook anyone. Give me that beer. We're leaving at daybreak. Get some sleep."

She left the bathroom and headed upstairs, shaking and wondering if she could sleep: tomorrow would start no better than today had. In the cla.s.sroom/orphan bedroom, she stepped over the mattresses in the dark and just grabbed clothes from unwashed piles as she pa.s.sed, stuffing them into a backpack, trying to get things for the ones she'd decided on but just not entirely sure, in the dark, with this pitiful flashlight. Children slept like the dead. Patty was asleep on the floor. Devon breathed and it sounded like a greasy drain gurgling. The shoes: she had to be sure of the shoes. She put the correct pair next to each child's head. Morgan, Leticia, Greg, Shawn, Sarah. These were the ones; she could help these ones.

Sue had just fallen asleep when Wayne woke her up to say the dead had found the warehouse.

The sun vanished, and others like him emerged from the forest. They shambled by, paying him little mind, some marred and broken and beautiful beyond expression, others as plain and dull and ugly as the laughing ones with the roaring metal things and the wheels.

The night was cool and damp. When he tried to breathe, the air felt empty and used up. It had nothing to give him. Fortunately, he needed nothing right then-nothing physical, at least. He could just sit there, oblivious and unknowing.

Unknowing, but not unthinking. His mind was a blur of images and feelings-people and places and things, and all the emotions they evoked in him. Several times in the long night, he clutched at his head and rocked back and forth, moaning, because the thoughts hurt him.

It wasn't that they were all images of violence or terror-very few of them were, in fact. The pain was from the cacophony of his mind, for all the images and feelings came at him without order, logic, or connection. He could not choose what he would think, or even pick from among a certain set: he could not call forth thoughts-he was only a.s.sailed and bombarded by them, and the a.s.sault seemed as painful as any kind of physical torture.

He lacked words for most everything that pa.s.sed through his mind, and that contributed more to his mental anguish. Without labels or categories, even pleasant feelings seemed disorienting and disappointing, for he could not understand or explain his pleasure. And this pain was increased by his inability to hold on to anything, or to antic.i.p.ate what thought or feeling might come next. Instead, he was constantly subject to the whim of some unknown force inside or outside himself.

When he could calm himself enough to observe and not be tormented by his mind, he noted that one person appeared repeatedly in his thoughts: a young girl with blond hair and fair skin. Her age and looks varied in his different thoughts of her, but he recognized her as the same girl. She was surrounded by different people, in various clothes, often outside among trees and flowers; in many thoughts she was making a happy sound with her mouth that he tried to duplicate, but could not, but the memory of it still gave him joy and contentment. But his contentment was disturbed, because he could not understand her connection to him or why he should think so much of her. He did not know her name. His inability to articulate or specify who she was increasingly oppressed and confounded him, till he let out his second loudest and longest moan of what seemed an endless night.

The longest and loudest wail came from him a couple hours later, when an even more fundamental deficiency tore at what was left of his mind and soul. He realized shortly before dawn that he could not name or understand his feelings for her. Seeing her with his mind's eye was a pleasant experience: it was not fear or pain or anger, for example-feelings of which he seemed to have retained a better, fuller conception. It was not a need or hunger, exactly, even though he intensely wanted to see and hear the girl again. But his wanting her was not the same as the physical thirst and hunger that wrenched his insides from his throat to his abdomen and twisted them into a knot of burning pain and grasping desire. If anything, thinking of her made him forget about his broken, torn body. It made him forget himself entirely and think only of her, and what she might need or feel or want.

It seemed all the more imperative to know what such a self-annihilating feeling might be called, and what might be expected of one who felt such a thing so intensely. As any understanding of this feeling seemed completely beyond the grasp of his damaged mind, he loosed a cry to the uncaring stars as long and piercing as any sent forth from a living man as he died, forsaken and alone. The fact that he was already dead only seemed to increase his loneliness and separation from anyone or anything that might ease his pain.

As the orange orb of the sun pushed up above the tops of the cool forest around him, the light soothed him somewhat, and he could let the feelings and thoughts of the girl occupy him, rather than hurt him. He would simply have to go on with them as his mental landscape. Looking at the stiffened female body across his lap, the smears of his blood and hers on the pavement around him, he realized these did not frighten or hurt him; and if they did not, then he would ignore the pain of his thoughts, perhaps even let their beauty distract him from the ugliness and destruction all around.

He laid the woman gently on the ground and folded her hands across her chest. Smoothing her beautiful hair one last time, he pulled himself up to his full height and shuffled away from the body. He had no plan, but something in the words on the sign-WELCOME TO LOUISIANA-made him think of her, the girl in his mind.

His shoes crunched on broken gla.s.s. He didn't like the sound.

Wayne watched from the darkness at the foot of the stairs. His flashlight hung from his belt. His right hand rested on his holstered gun.

The skylights were just useless blue rectangles now. All the lower-level windows were long-since boarded up. You couldn't see the dead ama.s.sing outside, but you could hear them, shuffling and grunting in the primeval twilight. Occasionally they banged on the aluminum walls and it echoed through the building to sound like a stage storm, making it hard to hear the living as they scuttled in between points of artificial light. Wayne held his watch to his face and pressed the light b.u.t.ton. The sun would be down in half an hour. Five minutes and they were out of here, ready or not. Where the h.e.l.l was Ian?

"Keep your voices down," Seth said, hissing, trying to rally the troops and failing miserably. Several men cl.u.s.tered around him, voices raised in the darkness, their wan faces washed in the cold light cast by various battery-powered fluorescent lanterns. Outside, the dead moaned.