“Any last words?” Carver shouts.

  Boone doesn’t answer. He begins to struggle with his bonds, feet kicking, his face distorted with effort.

  “Five!” Troy drawls. “Four! Three!”

  Boone begins to howl what sounds like a constant stream of no. It’s a horrible sound that pierces the night, shrill and full of terror.

  “Two! One!”

  His body jerks with the shots, howl cut off instantly. Stephanie’s nails dig into my hand. She begins to shake again. I clasp her hand in both of mine while the rifles’ roars fade to silence.

  Holly enters from outside, heading straight for us. Stephanie cringes, but I know when my daughter is more determined than angry. She stops in front of Stephanie, her eyes full of tears. “I forgive you,” she says. “I forgive you, Stephanie.”

  A raw, broken sob emerges from Stephanie’s chest. “Thank you, Holly. I don’t deserve it, but thank you.”

  She rises to her feet, tears streaming to her chin. I smile at Holly through my own tears, grateful for mercy I know was not easily given, and take Stephanie’s arm. I catch her as she stumbles on her way to the door. She’s so light under her bulky clothes. Skin and bones.

  We both shiver in the cold. Clara and Jesse move aside with the others, allowing her to pass. “Stephanie,” Jesse calls, his voice subdued. “I do, too.”

  I don’t think Stephanie has heard until she stops and looks over her shoulder. “Thank you,” she whispers.

  We walk through snow to the chair that was wiped down after Boone. Stephanie sits on the faint smears and sets her forearms on the chair arms for Marquez to tie down. “No,” I say to him.

  “It’s okay.” Stephanie nods at Marquez. “Go ahead.”

  Her arms vibrate. I take the other fabric strip from him and tie it loosely, then hold her hand while he secures her legs. She’s pale, breathing fast, her eyes filled with fear and sadness and a kind of crazed relief. I point to the side of the firing line. “I’ll be right there. Just look at me. I’ll be with you. Okay?”

  Stephanie’s teeth chatter. Her head jerks in a nod, and her hand squeezes mine. Then, with what seems a huge effort of will, she forces her fingers open. I walk to the line and face her. To my right, the firing squad waits with their rifles. Their breaths plume in the headlights’ glare. “Any last words?” Carver asks.

  Stephanie tries to speak, but nothing comes out. She tries again. “I’m so sorry for the pain I’ve caused.”

  She finds me as Troy begins the countdown. Her eyes are black in the night, unreadable. “It’s okay,” I whisper. She must understand because she nods, trembling all over.

  I hold her gaze, waiting for the rifles’ reports, to watch her jolt with the bullets’ impact. I can’t breathe. I can’t shake the thought that this is wrong. It’s wrong. I will wake at night three years from now and wonder who Stephanie might have been.

  “Two,” Troy says, with far less enthusiasm than in previous executions.

  With a grunt, Barry drops his rifle. “You know what? I’ve done enough killing for today. If someone else wants, they can take my place.”

  He offers his gun to the assembled crowd and gets no takers. In the silence, Joy searches my face, her rifle sinking to her side as she glances toward Kamil. When her gaze reaches Carver, a silent conversation moves between them. Stephanie isn’t much older than our kids.

  Carver’s exhalation turns to fog that hangs in the air. He studies Deb and Dana, who still stand in their firing positions. “I’m willing to carry out this sentence, and I’m willing to discuss alternatives. I’ll leave it to the victims’ families to decide.”

  It seems only fair that they decree her fate. Though I’ll understand if they go through with it, I hope they don’t. Carver seeks out Holly and Jesse in the crowd. Brother and sister gaze at each other, then face Carver. “No,” Holly says. She seems so small and tired, yet her answer is sure. “Don’t do it for us.”

  Carver nods once, then turns to Deb and Dana. The two women watch Stephanie shiver in her chair. Stephanie leans forward, squinting into the glare. “It’s okay,” she says. “I’m ready.”

  Dana’s rifle dips. On her weathered cheek, a tear glimmers in the headlights. “I can’t. Ray believed in restorative justice, that repentance deserves mercy. He wouldn’t be okay with this.”

  “I can,” Deb spits out.

  Carver nods and raises his rifle. Joy does the same. Stephanie’s chest heaves quickly, though she doesn’t move. Deb sights through her scope, then widens her stance and sights again. My stomach sinks when Troy starts the count. “Five. Four. Thr—”

  “Goddammit!” Deb shouts. She lowers her rifle, raises it again, then drops it to her side almost against her will. “All I can hear is Amy saying this is wrong. She hated the way people treated Stephanie. She talked about it all the time.”

  “What do you want to do?” Carver asks.

  Deb shakes her head bitterly. “I can’t kill her, but I can’t look at her.”

  “What if we say she has to leave town?” I ask tentatively, afraid to disturb the delicate balance of this moment. “We can send her with enough supplies to last for a while.”

  Stephanie shivers in her chair, straining to hear. I leave the others with my suggestion and draw my knife on the way to her. I cut through the fabric on her wrists, then free her legs. “What’s happening?” she asks.

  “I’m not sure,” I say. “I think they might let you go. We’ll give you supplies to get far away from here.”

  “But I don’t want to go. I don’t want to be alone.”

  “You don’t have to be alone. There are Safe Zones in Idaho and Seattle. You could go to one of those.”

  Stephanie shakes her head, limp hair brushing her shoulders. “Tell them to do it. Please. Tell them I want them to.”

  She searches over my shoulder like she hopes to find a gun pointed in her direction, as scared of this outcome as she originally was of dying. I kneel in the snow and place my hands over hers. “Stephanie, look at me,” I say, and wait until she does. “I know you’re scared, but this is a good thing. You’re alive.”

  “I don’t want to live,” she whispers, and begins to cry.

  I pull her to her feet and guide her into the warmth of the pool area. The others file into the main part of the house, where the discussion continues. Deb and Dana glance our way through the glass. I move Stephanie out of view and brush her hair from her cheek. “That’s how you feel right now, honey. It’s possible you still won’t want to live a week or month from now, but that’s for you to decide. Maybe you’ll find a reason to go on. I think you can, if you want to.” In a sad bit of irony, I recall Dalton’s words. “You can always find something to hope for.”

  She watches me with a deep misery in her eyes. “How can I, after what I did?”

  Her face is gaunt, though they had more than enough food. She looks uncared for in many small ways—her greasy hair, her scaly skin, her baggy, grungy clothes—and I open my arms to this sad, lost girl. She clings to me while I wonder when she was last touched or held or told she was loved. Humans purposely created zombies, but how many monsters have we unwittingly created by denying people basic human connection?

  I pull back, holding her arms. “Maybe you go on because of what you did. You help people from here on out. Try to balance the scales.”

  “No one will like me.”

  Gabe enters the pool house and comes our way. “Everyone on water crew liked you,” I say.

  At the sight of Gabe, Stephanie’s shoulders curl inward with shame. He stops, making no attempt to cover the hurt in his hazel eyes. “Hey, Steph.”

  “Hi, Gabe,” she whispers. “I’m so sorry.”

  “I know. Rose is right, though. We liked you. I guess I thought you knew that.”

  “I think I did.” She wipes her face. “I just forgot for a little while.”

  “I can see how that could happen,” Gabe says kindly, but in a way that doesn’t excuse her actions. “They decided to let you go, but you have to leave. I’m packing for you. Anything in particular you want?”

  “I don’t have anything I care about. Clothes and food, I guess.”

  “Okay. I found you a good water filter.” Stephanie recoils, and what little there is of Gabe’s smile falters. “I didn’t mean it like…”

  “I know. Thank you. I’m sorry for…everything. I’m sorry I broke your trust like it was nothing.” Stephanie’s lips quiver. “It wasn’t nothing.”

  Gabe lowers his head and nods at the ground. “Thanks. I’ll finish packing.”

  Over the course of the next twenty minutes, it’s decided Stephanie will take one of the small motorcycles in the garage. It’ll get her out of town quickly while the Lexers are frozen. After that, whether she lives or dies is up to her. As much as it’s up to anyone.

  Only a few of us see her off. Barry, Carver, Tom, Joy, Pop, and I walk to the base of the driveway, where her bike waits. The saddlebags are packed with food and supplies, a gas can is strapped behind her seat, and she wears a backpack. “You’re sure you can drive this in the snow?” I ask.

  Stephanie nods. Her face, visible between black beanie and thick scarf, is as pale as moonlight. “I’ll be fine.” Her voice wavers, and she swallows hard. “Sorry isn’t enough. I can’t ever make it up to the people I hurt, but Rose said I could try to help others. That’s what I’m going to do.”

  “I hope so,” Carver says. His expression is stern, though his eyes aren’t. “I should have given you a better chance. I should’ve immediately shut down the people who treated you badly. For that, Stephanie, I was wrong, and I am truly sorry.”

  Stephanie nods, lips twisted in an effort not to cry. She swings a leg over the motorcycle. “Godspeed,” Barry says, then joins Joy and Carver on the walk back to the house.

  “Bye, Rose,” Stephanie says.

  I cover her hand on the handlebars. “Be careful out there, okay? Don’t forget I’m rooting for you.”

  She inhales deeply enough to see her chest rise beneath her many winter layers. “I’ll try. Thank you.”

  The bike’s headlight flips on, and its engine roars in the quiet night. Stephanie dons the safety glasses I insisted she wear. She refused a helmet with the excuse it would compromise her peripheral vision, though I suspect she doesn’t care if her head cracks open. I squeeze her hand a final time, and then we watch her ride into the dark.

  “Know where she’s going?” Pop asks once the roar has faded to a diminishing buzz.

  “No. Neither does she. I hope, wherever it is, she finds a purpose and some peace.”

  Tom turns to me, his half-smile creasing his cheek. “Never change, Red.”

  “What’s that supposed to mean?” I ask. “That I’m a big old pushover? It’s not like I wanted Boone to live, but Stephanie’s different.”

  I know I’m softhearted and quick to forgive, maybe too much so. I don’t know at what point those traits cross into stupidity and weakness, but I think that if we’d watched Stephanie’s body dance with bullets earlier, it would’ve crossed another kind of line. The kind of line that leads to dark places. I believe she’ll do good from here on out, that my impression of her inner light will be proven true.

  Pop looks on, eyes twinkling, as Tom puts his arm around my shoulders. “It means exactly what I said. Promise you’ll never change.”

  I look between them suspiciously and find nothing but love, respect, and a bit of amusement. “Fine,” I say. “I promise.”

  46

  CLARA

  We spent two nights in Boone’s house. It was weird at first, but swimming in the indoor pool was amazing, especially once we fired up the hot tub. Yesterday, we split into teams and visited places like the farm store for gardening stuff, the hospital for medical supplies, the solar store for panels and batteries, and the library for helpful books. Today at dawn, half our group began hauling our spoils back to Barry’s. For the rest of us, the past few hours were spent checking off items on an obscenely long holiday gift list. It was the most fun I’ve had since zombies; the only thing better than gift shopping is gift shopping when money is no object.

  In late morning, we meet at the fairgrounds, which we’ve emptied of everything useful. We plan to return to Barry’s this evening and come back tomorrow if the weather’s still cold. The temperature is inching toward a thaw, however, and this is likely our last day.

  “I guess that’s it.” Rose stomps her feet to warm them. “Why don’t you kids take a final look around?”

  Jesse takes a deep breath and squares his shoulders. “Mom, I can help—”

  “Let me do this, baby. He’d want it that way.”

  They found Ethan. He hadn’t turned. We’ve seen enough bodies to know how grotesque a corpse becomes over months, and I’m glad Jesse doesn’t argue. Rose heads toward the spot where Ethan fell, accompanied by Dad, Sam, Craig, and Mitch. Holly watches after them, then very deliberately spins in the other direction. After this is done, we’ll go to my house, where Mom and Jeremy wait. I want to see them, but I don’t want to see them more. I’m sure Dad won’t let me, anyway. And then there’s Nick. Poor Nick, who died trying to be a nice guy.

  A Humvee rumbles into the fairgrounds and pulls to a stop. Joy, Marquez, Kamil, and Amber step out. “I got my massage books and some other stuff at my apartment,” Amber says happily. There are plenty of frozen bodies downtown, but with the Humvee that wasn’t a problem.

  “Cool,” I say. “And not just because we want massages.”

  She laughs, her cheeks pink from cold and beginning to fill out from our improved diets. It’s not just her books; we all want reminders of before. Like the family picture I had in my House Zone bedroom, which is in my possession again. There are a few more things—a necklace of Mom’s, a drawing of Jeremy’s—that I plan to retrieve from home.

  “How about you?” Holly asks Kamil. “Get anything good?”

  “Some books,” he says to his feet. Kamil is beyond shy, but now that he’ll be living at Barry’s, we might get to hear him say more than two words at a time.

  “Nice. We can reinstate our book club.” Holly motions around us. “We’re supposed to be looking for any last things we want.”

  “You all do that,” Joy says. “I’m going to the ice rink for a few.”

  We walk for the Expo Halls. As we pass our truck, Nora opens the door and steps gingerly to snowy ground. Her face is swollen enough that I wish I had kicked the asshole who cut her, even if he was already dead.

  Holly points to the vehicle. “Get in there. I said you could come instead of going back with Alan this morning, but only if you promised to stay in the truck.”

  “Stop bossing me around,” Nora says.

  “No.”

  Nora presses a hand to her stitched cheek when she smiles. “I want to see it one last time.”

  Holly sighs and takes her arm. “Don’t fall. You’ll rip your stitches.”

  We reach Expo Hall Seven, the building where Holly, Sam, and Lily were when all hell broke loose. The building on whose roof we took refuge before we escaped. There’s no way not to think of Ethan. I take Jesse’s hand, and his lips flicker in a quick smile.

  Inside, a dusting of snow covers the floor. Two frozen Lexers stare with frozen eyeballs. We’re not sure if they can hear and see us in this state, and I refrain from sticking out my tongue like a preschooler. Soon enough, the zombies will thaw into monsters once again. But not these two, since Jesse and I plunge spikes into their brains.

  We move out the back exit to the storage area, then toward the gate through which we escaped. Marquez, Amber, and Kamil leave to inspect the other Expo Halls. The four of us stay, looking between roof and gate. Remembering.

  Holly takes a small notebook from her pack, jots something down, and zips it away again. She’s been doing it all morning. “What are you writing?” I ask.

  “Things I might say later. About my dad.”

  I ask what I’ve wondered, now that she seems ready to talk about it. “Why did you forgive Stephanie?”

  Holly stares at the spot where Ethan lowered himself from the roof. “You know I wanted to kill her myself. But after she spoke, I believed she didn’t mean for it to go so wrong. It wasn’t a little mistake, and it changed everything, but she was truly sorry. It pissed me off at first because being sorry wouldn’t bring my dad back.”

  She tears her eyes from the building. Though a different color than Rose’s, they hold the same empathy. “Then I remembered how she was treated. I wasn’t mean to her, but I didn’t try to include her the way I normally would’ve. The way I should’ve. I saw how all the little mistakes everyone made built into one giant, terrible mistake.”

  “I don’t know if I could’ve,” Nora says.

  “I think you could. I didn’t want to hold on to my anger forever. I didn’t want her to think I was going to. And I knew my dad wouldn’t have wanted her to die. He would’ve said she deserved mercy.”

  “What about Boone?” Nora asks.

  “Fuck that. He was an unrepentant monster. In that case, off with their heads.”

  Nora humphs. “It takes you ten years to forgive me for fake laughing about your crappy car, but you forgive Stephanie the mass murderer in ten minutes?”

  Holly laughs, face tilted to the overcast sky; like the rest of the Winter family, she appreciates dark humor. “I’d push you if you weren’t being held together by thread.” Nora opens her mouth to reply, but Holly raises a hand. “Did you hear that?”

  We stand in silence. Jesse whispers, “What did you—”

  “Shh!” Holly tiptoes toward the service vehicle bridge over Amazon Creek.

  I hear a faint high-pitched whine, like a small animal or baby crying, and catch up to Holly at the gate. It comes again from the creekbank just off the bridge—a plaintive, scratchy mewl.