We just have to worry about the monsters who are people.
Ken wondered why the leopard hadn’t protected them in the last minutes; why she hadn’t moved to save the girls. The predator had destroyed anything that threatened them to this point. Why not on the train?
Because he doesn’t attack humans.
The moment his subconscious pushed the thought to the surface it was flatly obvious. Sally had only attacked the zombies. Ferociously, murderously. But nothing against unChanged.
Christopher brought up the rear. He glanced once more into the cab before descending the steps to join the others. “He’s waking up. Fast.”
Ken didn’t have to ask who he was talking about. There were two very dangerous people in there. And one who was beyond deadly.
He looked around. The train, he saw, had indeed derailed. It stood at a slight angle to the tracks, useless. Which meant that not only would Aaron, Elijah and – if she could – Theresa be likely to come after them, that likelihood would increase due to the fact that there was nowhere else to go.
The gullies on either side of the train had flattened out. There was hardly any dip now, just an easy slope that dropped perhaps a foot or so. About twenty feet away to one side was thickly forested area. To the other lay fields and farmland, green and lush. Hardly anywhere to hide unless they managed to reach some wooded hills that looked like they were at least a few miles away.
The logical choice – the sensible choice – would be to take to the forest. That would allow them cover, give them a chance to lose themselves before Aaron and the others could hunt them down.
But the forest… that was where the zombies had come from. What if there were more?
Ken looked back. The others were staring at him. Waiting for his directions. That had made him uncomfortable before. It didn’t anymore. Something had changed in him. Maybe when he made that jump from the boxcar, maybe before.
He nodded toward the fields.
“Come on.”
61
The first obstacle came quickly.
Irrigation canals ran throughout this part of Idaho. They ranged in size, from a few inches across and a few inches deep, to yards wide and yards deep.
Before they hit the first field, Ken and the others reached one of the ubiquitous features. Water coursed through it, a steady stream that had been hidden from their view by the tall grasses that sprouted from its banks like a green curtain. The water flowed flat and fast. A bad sign. A bit of white, even some ripples, would have meant it was shallow. This nearly featureless surface meant the rains had swollen the water volume to capacity.
It was likely at least six feet deep. Maybe more.
And they couldn’t afford to just drop down and experiment to see how far it went. Couldn’t risk one of them getting swept away. Drowning. As a teacher, Ken had had the dangers of the canals drilled into him. Idaho had one of the highest rates of child drownings in the nation due to these irrigation features. Two hundred thousand gallons of water a minute could sweep by when at capacity. Even more when rain poured extra water into the ditches.
A few ring-necked ducks and a single trumpeter swan, oblivious of humanity’s end, swam across the water. They dipped heads and fed. Continued on without care for the group at the edge of their domain.
“Anyone see a gate or something else we can get across?” said Buck.
Everyone looked back and forth.
“Hard to tell,” said Christopher. His voice was still grim. Ken already missed the brightness the younger man had brought. He hoped the happy version of Christopher wasn’t gone, just buried beneath a momentary shock, a present grief.
Ken looked at the water. He turned left.
“You see something, Ken?” said Maggie. She hurried after him.
He shook his head. But within a hundred feet they found a control gate, buried below the surface of the rushing water. Perhaps only three inches under the stream, clear liquid flowing over it in strangely hypnotic ripples that formed, broke, formed again.
“Good eye,” said Buck. He looked at Maggie. “Can you get across without slipping?”
“I’ll have to.”
“I’ll go first,” said Christopher.
Ken nodded. “You stand on the other edge, I’ll be here. We’ll feed the others across.”
“I can make it,” said Buck.
Christopher snorted, “What, afraid you’ll go gay if you hold hands with me, Bucky?”
Buck flushed, “Don’t call me that.”
“What? Gay or Bucky?”
“Guys,” said Ken, “we don’t have time for this.” But he was almost glad to hear them at it. It was a bit of normalcy. What passed for normalcy now. Levity’s poorer cousin in the apocalypse.
Christopher slipped across the gate. White splashes rose around his feet as he fairly danced over the buried concrete, miniature explosions that quieted instantly as he passed.
He reached the opposite bank and reached held out his hand. “Come on, Bucky.”