“I had to put her down myself. I almost couldn’t do it. But you know my grandma, always on about the spirits. I think I heard her tell me to kill her. Can you believe that? I heard her in my head. She said “kill me.” So I did. It was the worst moment of my life.” There was only minor risk in telling him. Before his wedding, Tom had come to see Grandma. Shortly thereafter he called off the wedding. I often wondered what Grandma had seen that so convinced him.
“I don’t know what to say,” Tom said. He gazed down at me with a confused look on his face.
We were standing outside Mrs. White’s classroom door.
“They tell me your niece, Karie, is inside,” I said, motioning to the door. “I can handle it if you want, but I thought it should be your decision.”
Tom inhaled sharply, his hand covering his mouth.
Drawn by the noise, Karie appeared on the other side of the door. Her face looked almost like a China doll: her pale white skin was surrounded by a halo of black hair. But there was no mistaking those undead eyes and the frothy drool coming from her mouth.
Tom stared at her, wiping the tears from his eyes. He took a deep breath and then backed up to the wall. He loaded his gun and aimed toward the door.
I took a few steps away to avoid the spray of glass. I turned my back.
“I’m sorry, baby,” I heard him whisper.
Boom. The sound of the shot-gun echoed in the hallway and made my ears ring. I heard the little body hit the floor with a thud.
Tom slid down the wall and put his head on his knees. He wept. “I was there when she was born. They put that newborn baby in my hands. I was the one who showed her to my sister,” he moaned through tears.
I sat beside him, my arm around his back, my head leaning on his shoulder. What could I say? Despair was all around us. It was too much to bear if you let it in. The grief was palpable. We sat there for a long time listening to the sound of occasional gunfire outside the school. After a while, Jamie appeared.
“Everyone is ready,” he said.
I nodded and rose.
Standing up, Tom wiped his eyes. “Thank you,” he said, hugging me, and then he headed back to the gym. Jamie and I followed him.
“You were right,” Jamie whispered as he cast a glance toward Tom. We headed back toward the gym, but before we entered, Jamie stopped. He took my hand and looked carefully at me. “Layla, was Ian at your place last night?”
I gave Jamie’s hand a squeeze. It was not what Jamie was thinking, but I was not really sure what had happened between Ian and me. I also wasn’t sure why the look on Jamie’s face made me feel so embarrassed. Jamie and I had always been friends—he was Ian’s brother after all—but suddenly I felt worried about what he thought of me. In the end, I said nothing but walked hand-in-hand with Jamie into the gym.
When we entered, Ian spotted us. A strange look of shame and jealousy washed over his face. All the eyes in the gym turned toward me.
Jamie smiled down at me. “Go ahead,” he said, urging me toward the front of the crowd.
“Me? You’re the one with all the military experience.”
“Yeah, but I didn’t blow up the community center yesterday nor am I a historian who knows everything about warfare.”
“Ancient warfare.”
“Well, clearly, the medieval period is back in style.”
“Me?”
“It has to be you.”
I balked for a moment and then, taking a deep breathe, went to the front. I jumped up on the stage. I then remembered my third grade Christmas play. We’d been a living Christmas tree. I’d played the tinsel. Grandma had sewn me a shiny gold and silver costume. Ian had played a snowflake.
“Hello, everyone. You all probably heard the announcements we made this morning. Hopefully our neighbors have hung their houses with white, red, or black flags. We need to get the living accounted for and brought up to speed on the plan to keep the town safe. Jamie and Mrs. Finch should go in teams to attend to the red flags. Please be careful. We have no idea if those injuries are a broken arm or the bite from an undead. Black, we need an armed team to handle. If there is no flag, that likely means the house is either empty or there are undead inside. Look for survivors. Kill the undead. We’ll divide into groups. Any questions?”
“Sounds good, Layla,” Pastor Frank said, “but the other problem is that the power is out now. I don’t have a fireplace in the rectory. What should I do?”
I spotted a rolling whiteboard and pulled it onto the stage. I grabbed a marker and drew a grid on the board. “If you’re armed, put your name here. If you have a fireplace, a way to heat your home, put your name here. If you have need, put your name and your need here. We need to open our homes and our hearts if we want to make it through the winter.”
“Layla,” a voice called from the back.
I scanned around until I spotted an older gentleman in a marigold colored CAT ball-cap. A lit cigarette hung from his mouth. It was Larry. Now we had someone to handle dynamite. Relief washed over me.
“The boys found me yesterday and told me the plan to blow up the bridge. I can have it rigged by tomorrow. I just need a careful hand or two to help,” he said.
“Volunteers?” I called.
Mr. Jones and another young man I did not know raised their hands.