Ken had heard the driver’s voice. Raspy, craggy. But there had been something else underneath the gruffness. Something that he had recognized and that kept him from being surprised when the mask came off and revealed long curls of red hair.
The driver was a woman. A bit on the chubby side, perhaps about forty pounds north of what the celeb magazines would have considered an appropriate candidate for beach attire.
Then again, the writers of those magazines were probably either dead or zombies.
The world may have ended, but at least our girls and women aren’t going to be subjected to impossible body image standards anymore.
“What are you staring at?” the driver snapped. Her voice was just as cracked without the gas mask, and now Ken could see why. There was a half-healed wound curling around the side of her throat where it looked like someone had tried to yank her jugular out and only partially failed. It looked like it had been a devastating wound, the kind of thing that would have necessitated major surgery and a long stay in the hospital before the Change.
Now… thick black thread, a hasty bit of sewing that passed for first-, second-, and last-aid. Maybe a few hours’ rest, and then back to the business of survival. Ken didn’t know who she was, but this girl was tough.
And, he realized, she wasn’t staring at him. Her eyes kept flicking to the mirror above her seat, the one that was positioned so the bus driver could keep an eye on the students at all times, but her gaze pushed beyond him, to….
Ken turned, following her gaze. He saw Christopher. Christopher’s mouth was agape. Still handsome as ever, managing to look more like he was on his way to a photo shoot than like someone on a one-way trip to the end of the world. But he was clearly dumbstruck by something. He was holding an axe in his hand, and Ken wondered where he had gotten that, but he wasn’t looking at it. No, he was looking back at Theresa.
And, abruptly, Ken realized that the kid looked exactly like Ken himself had once looked. Not youthful, it wasn’t that. No, it was the stunned look on the kid’s face, the look Ken had worn the first time he saw Maggie, walking into church in a blue blouse and a beige skirt.
Whenever he told the story Maggie would insist she hadn’t worn any such thing, but Ken knew she was wrong, because he could still remember the giant double-pump his heart did when she walked in (late, he remembered, always late to church). The prettiest girl he’d ever seen. And he knew somehow that, beyond beauty, he was seeing someone that would matter to him. Not love at first sight, perhaps, but definitely something more than hormones, more than simple lust.
He hadn’t thought of marriage in that first moment, but he had walked over to her after the services and done his best to strike up a conversation. Not usual for him – he wasn’t a ladies man by any stretch – but he had little choice. We are all rushing headlong at sometimes terrifying velocity toward our futures, and to try to avoid them is only to court disaster. And in this case he had no wish to avoid his future. Only to find out what part she would play in it.
Now, Christopher’s mouth moved up and down like a nutcracker in the midst of a nut shortage. Open, shut, open, shut.
The redhead at the front of the bus wasn’t amused. She frowned. “Are you an idiot or something?”
Christopher’s mouth snapped shut with an audible clack. The dumbstruck look disappeared – or at least faded – from his face. “No,” he said. He looked like he wanted to say something wittier, but the single syllable was all he could manage.
Christopher held up the axe in his hand. It was black, with a curved blade that looked like the kind of thing Ken associated with medieval movies. The word “Cass” was scrawled across the haft in thick red letters. “Where’d you get this?”
“Took it off some Goth chick,” said the driver. “She was ranting about vampires.” She shrugged. “Got her stories wrong, that’s for sure.”
“You stole her weapons?” That was Buck. Ken had almost forgotten about him. The big man gaped at their driver.
She returned his gaze evenly. “No, I didn’t steal them. But when she got bitten and turned, I used them to cut her into little pieces. If it makes you feel better, you can imagine me asking if I could cut her arms and legs and head off, pretty-please-with-a-cherry-on-top.”
The redhead looked like she might continue her sarcastic rant, but her eyes flicked down and forward and she screamed, “Hold on to something!”
Ken saw why.
He expected the redhead to brake.
She didn’t.
Is she insane?
8
“What are you –?“
“Slow down!”
“Don’t –“