"Fun?" said Caleb. "Are you insane? My parents are out there!"

  "I didn't see your parents earlier," said Tom. "Are they all

  fucked up?"

  "You know what I mean, Tom. Out there in the city. I haven't

  been able to reach them." Caleb pulled out his cell phone and checked

  it. He frowned and put it back in his pocket.

  "My grandma's in a nursing home," said Shelley, wrapping her

  arms around herself and frowning at the floor. "I have no idea if she's

  okay."

  "Hey, dumbshits," said Tom, throwing out his arms. "I just

  turned psychic! No one out there is fucking okay! It's just us trapped in

  the zoo and the crazy shit outside. We're all that's left."

  "You don't know that," said Ella.

  "It's obvious," said Tom. "You get straight A's and shit, you

  should know better."

  "A's aren't straight," said Ella. "They're sort of like triangles."

  Tom shook his head. "Fucking weirdo."

  A two-tone chime came from the speakers set around the room.

  Bing-bong. Caleb spun his chair back to face the bank of buttons and

  dials.

  Gregory's voice came from the speakers. Ella still called him

  Gregory, despite Lori's insistence on calling him Dad. Dad was an

  inaccurate label. An inaccurate name. And there was no socially-

  accepted label for her stepdad. Ella tried just calling him Stepdad from

  time to time. "Hello, Stepdad," she'd say, but everyone said that was

  Ashton Memorial

  45

  too weird, even for her.

  "Good morning, Keepers," said Gregory's amplified voice.

  "Sir!" said Caleb, leaning into a microphone and clicking a

  button. "Sir, where are you?"

  "Is that you, Caleb?" said Gregory. "How nice to hear from

  you. How are you doing this morning, young man?"

  Caleb frowned. "Fine, sir, fine. But where are you?"

  Silence came from the speakers for a moment. Ella and the

  others looked around at each other, puzzled. Tom rolled his eyes and

  crossed his arms.

  Finally, Gregory's voice returned. "I'm afraid I cannot divulge

  my location at this present time. Things are ... complex. And

  dangerous."

  Ella walked over and pushed past Caleb. She leaned into the

  microphone. "Stepdad? I mean, Gregory? Where's Mom? Where's

  Lori?"

  "Ella, is that you?" said Gregory's voice. "Thank goodness. I'm

  glad you're safe. The safety of you and your sister are very important to

  me."

  Ella sighed. "Where's Lori? Where's..."

  "Lori's with me, Ella. She's here, she's safe."

  "Let me talk to her."

  "I can't right now, Ella. And I'm so sorry. She's not able to talk

  at the moment. She's had a terrible shock."

  Ella blinked at the microphone. "What do you mean?"

  "Well, I'm afraid you're about to have the same shock too, Ella.

  I wish I could tell you in person but circumstances are preventing that.

  Please, sit down."

  Ella remained standing.

  "Are you sitting?"

  "No."

  "Please, Ella, sit."

  Ella sighed and moved one of the chairs back and forth, causing

  the wheels to squeak. She didn't sit.

  "Are you sitting now?"

  "Yes."

  And he told her. He told her how Mom had changed into one of

  Robert R. Best

  46

  those things outside. How he had barely saved Lori from her. How he

  had rushed Lori to the safety of the zoo and was hiding her until he was

  sure they were safe. Ella stopped hearing words. Her blood rushed in

  her ears and hot tears ran down her cheeks. Caleb and the others were

  silent.

  "Mom's dead?" said Ella.

  "Yes, child, yes. She almost got your sister, too. But I saved

  her. I'll save you too. I'll save all of you."

  Shelley walked over to put a hand on Ella's shoulder. Ella

  snapped her shoulder away, shaking violently. "Mom's dead?"

  "Yes, Ella, yes. I know how you feel. My wife of all these

  years. Your mother. But I'm your father and..."

  Ella leaned into the microphone and screamed, "You're not my

  fucking father! Give me back my sister!"

  * * *

  Angie sat in the passenger seat, watching the freeway speed by.

  The rain had let up somewhat. Park sat in the driver's seat, steering the

  car. Maylee and Dalton were asleep in the back seat.

  "You're gonna have to sleep soon," said Park.

  "I know," said Angie. "I just can't yet. I'm still shaking."

  They were both silent for a moment, driving through the gray

  rain.

  "Look at that," said Park, nodding out the window.

  Angie looked and saw what had once been a graveyard. Every

  grave had been dug open, leaving a ragged and empty hole. "My god,"

  she said, quietly.

  "What the hell is doing this?" said Park.

  Angie shrugged, her shoulders aching. "I dunno. A virus

  maybe?"

  Park snorted. "No. You know how hard it would be to dig

  yourself out of a grave? These things aren't much stronger than a living

  person would be. No way a virus dug them out of their graves."

  Angie watched the graveyard disappear past the window and

  listened to the click of the windshield wipers. She looked over at Park.

  "What are you saying?"

  "This is a plague."

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  47

  "So like a virus, then."

  "No, not that kind of plague." Park scratched at his beard,

  watching the road. "An old-fashioned, Bible-shit style plague. Locusts

  and shit like that."

  Angie turned back to the window, saying nothing. Way off in

  the distance, she saw a corpse stumbling alone through a field. It

  staggered from side to side, reaching at nothing.

  "This," said Park, "is a curse."

  They both fell silent. Angie laid her head against the cool glass

  of the window. Her head bumped along with every rough spot in the

  road, but she was too tired to care. She stared at the gray pavement

  going by.

  "You asleep?" said Park after a few minutes.

  "No," said Angie, not moving her head.

  "You should be."

  "I know," said Angie. She lifted her head up and turned to look

  at the kids sleeping in the back. Her eyes lingered on Maylee. Park

  glanced at Angie, then back at Maylee. He turned back to the road.

  "I know it's not my place," he said, quietly, "but you sure give

  her a lot of shit."

  Angie looked at Park. Part of her brain felt like it should be

  angry at him for what he said, but she was too tired to muster it.

  "It's not your place," she said, almost at a whisper. She looked

  back at Maylee again for a moment, then turned back to face the road.

  Angie sighed. "She turns fifteen in a few days."

  Park watched the road for a moment, then smirked over at her.

  "You worried about finding her a present?"

  Angie smirked back. "Not that. I'm thirty, Park. My oldest child

  is about to turn fifteen. Figure it out."

  Park nodded. "You were fifteen."

  Angie nodded. "Yeah."

  "That doesn't mean she'll do the same thing."

  "I know. But it doesn't matter."

  And they were both silent again. Angie laid her head back

  against the headrest. She closed her eyes and focused on the rocking of

  the car.

  Angie sits crying on the living room floor. She hears Dalton

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  48

  wailing in his crib. Maylee is asleep in her room, Angie thinks. Then

  she berates herself for being stupid. How can a kid sleep through all

  this screaming?

  Jake stands with his hand on the doorknob. He has his coat on

  and his car keys in his hands. Their car keys. They only have the one

  car. He looks down at Angie without expression.

  "We're done," he says. "I'm sorry."

  "Fuck you you're not sorry!" screams Angie, sobbing. "If you

  were sorry you wouldn't be doing this!"

  "Whether I'm sorry or not, this is what I'm fucking doing. I can't

  take this. I can't take the sobbing kids, our crappy lives or you. I'm

  done." He turns the handle and opens the door.

  "What the hell are we supposed to do?" Angie says. She has no

  job and no experience. She's never worked. She and Jake married while

  she was in high school. He always worked. Angie stayed home. That's

  how they'd planned it. That was what their lives were going to be.

  They'd stayed up nights talking about it, before Maylee was even born.

  "Whatever the fuck you want," says Jake. "That's not the point.

  The point here is that I don't care, Angie." He opens the door and

  walks out. Angie sobs as the door slams shut. Dalton wails from his

  crib and Angie somehow knows that Maylee is awake and listening.

  She realizes she's dreaming and anger floods through her. Now-

  Angie is furious at Then-Angie. Get up, she wants to scream. Quit

  crying! She realizes that since this is a dream, she can change things if

  she wants. She can revise history so she gets up, chases Jake down and

  punches him in the face. But she knows there's no point. No point to

  playacting with herself in her sleep.

  She stares through her Then-eyes at the floor. The stained carpet.

  The messy room. Chaos. She's never felt so out of control. Helpless.

  No, thinks Now-Angie, blinking Then-Angie's eyes. Never Again.

  Angie jerked awake and pulled up from the headrest. She looked

  around, disoriented. The landscape outside had changed from farms and

  truck stops to strip malls and fast food.

  "We're closer," she said, rubbing her eyes.

  "Yep," said Park, steering the car. "You got a good hour there.

  Feeling better?"

  Angie nodded.

  "Good," said Park, smirking at her. "Don't want you yakking on

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  49

  me."

  Angie said nothing, staring out the drivers side window. "Oh my

  god."

  The other side of the freeway, the side leading away from

  Ashton, was packed full of unmoving cars. Two unending lines of

  stopped cars, stretching back and ahead as far as Angie could make out.

  "Yeah," said Park. "Been like that for miles." He nodded at the

  road in front of them. There were just a few cars ahead of them,

  moving at roughly the same speed they were. Other than that their side

  was empty. "We're all the only ones stupid enough to be headed to

  Ashton."

  Angie glanced back to the kids. Still asleep. She turned back to

  face the road. "Must be bad there."

  "I think the theme of today is that it's bad everywhere."

  Up ahead, on the other side of the freeway, a car broke away

  from the others and raced across the grassy strip dividing the two sides.

  It drove up onto their side and down the wrong direction, toward their

  car.

  "Shit!" said Park, wrenching the wheel to one side. They

  swerved and the car raced by them, speeding the wrong way down the

  freeway. The cars in front of them swerved back and forth. "Asshole!"

  Angie and Park had seconds to notice that a truck had followed

  the first car.

  "Goddammit!" yelled Park, slamming on the brakes. The truck

  collided with one of the cars up ahead. Glass flew across the pavement

  as the car and truck spun around each other. A few spins and they

  stopped, steam rising from both engines. Park turned the wheel hard

  and the car skidded sideways, stopping inches from the wreck.

  Angie looked to the back seat. Both kids were wide awake and

  staring.

  "You guys okay?" Angie said.

  Maylee and Dalton nodded. "What happened?" said Dalton.

  "Some people are fucking stupid," said Park. "That's what

  happened."

  "Are they hurt?" said Maylee, leaning forward.

  "Who cares?" said Park, putting the car into reverse and backing

  up.

  Robert R. Best

  50

  "Parker!" yelled Angie. Park glanced at her and stopped the car.

  "What?"

  Angie leaned in to whisper, sharp and brittle. "You will not talk

  to my children that way." She leaned back and spoke at a normal

  volume. "Maylee might be right. We should check on them."

  "They're the idiots. They almost got us killed."

  "Not the other car. The ones they hit."

  Park shrugged as if to indicate she had a point. "Fine. Let's

  check."

  He and Angie undid their seat belts and opened their doors.

  Angie turned to Dalton and Maylee in the back. "Stay here."

  Angie shut her door and looked up the road to the wreck. The

  truck and car were badly crumpled. Neither looked remotely drivable.

  She saw movement inside both.

  "They're moving in there," she said.

  "Yeah," said Park, shutting his door and readying his rifle. "But

  that could mean fucking anything nowadays."

  Angie nodded. "You just have two shots left?"

  Park nodded.

  "Let's be careful then."

  They both walked toward the wreck. Angie glanced over at the

  long line of cars filling up the other side of the freeway. She saw people

  staring at her, Park and the wreck.

  The truck shook as they approached. The driver's side door

  opened with a loud creak. A man climbed out, crawling across the seat

  on his hands and knees, and stood shakily on the road. He had a ball

  cap and a work shirt that read Chuck. He saw Angie and Park

  approaching.

  "Everyone okay?" said Angie, tension creeping up her back. Was

  the guy even alive?

  Chuck looked around, blinking his eyes. Then he rushed to Angie

  and Park. He moved like one in pain, using a kind of limping run, but

  moved faster than any of the corpses Angie had seen so far.

  Both she and Park stopped.

  "You better say something soon, buddy," said Park, aiming the

  rifle.

  "What?" said Chuck, seeing the gun and stopping. "Don't shoot!

  I'm still alive. I just need your car."

  Ashton Memorial

  51

  He resumed limp-running toward them. Angie took a step back.

  Park cocked the rifle.

  "Well, that ain't fucking going to happen," said Park. "Sorry

  buddy."

  "No!" yelled Chuck, stopping and whipping his cap off in

  frustration. "You have to! I have to get to my fiancé! You don't

  understand!" He had a wild look that made Angie nervous.

  "We understand," she said, holding up her hands in a gesture she

  hoped would stop him from coming any farther. "There's nothing we

  can do. We can't give you our car."

  Park stepped forward, still aiming the rifle. "So turn the fuck

  back, buddy. I've seen a lot scarier than you in the last 24 hours and I'm

  getting to my fucking girls!"

  Chuck stopped, looking honestly, tragically confused. Angie

  noticed blood creeping from his hairline. Shit, she thought. He's hurt.

  She considered calling an ambulance, but knew full well none would

  come. Not today.

  "But..." Chuck started.

  "Hey!" came a voice from behind Chuck. "Asshole!" Chuck

  turned to look. Angie and Park looked past him. The driver's door on

  the wrecked car was open. An older man, Angie guessed maybe in his

  fifties or sixties, climbed out. His arm was crooked and bleeding.

  Behind him an older woman climbed from the passenger seat.

  "Norman?" she called.

  "Stay in the car, Martha!" yelled the older man, presumably

  Norman. Martha limped to the back seat. A much older woman sat

  limply there.

  "Sir?" said Angie. "Are you okay? We saw the accident."

  "How nice for you," said Norman, walking toward them. "Now

  give me your fucking car!" Angie noticed something in his good hand,

  swinging with him as he walked. A crowbar.

  "This is nuts," said Park, slinging the rifle over his shoulder and

  holding up his hands. "You both have your little wreck party, we're

  going." He turned to Angie. "Aren't we?"

  She looked at her car, at the kids, then at Chuck and the

  approaching Norman. She sighed. "Yeah."

  They both turned and moved toward the car.

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  52

  "Hey!" said Norman from behind them. "Where the fuck do you

  think you're going?"

  Angie saw something hit Park in the back. It was shiny and fell

  to the ground with a jingling sound. She and Park stopped.

  Park looked to the ground, then at Norman. "Did you just throw

  your fucking keys, old man?"

  "You're giving me your fucking car, hillbilly!" said Norman, still

  coming.

  Chuck blinked at Norman. "Does your car work?"