CHAPTER 32

The morning after they buried Art Waller was cloudy and cool. The sun had just broken over the trees to the east and most of the sky was still a golden-gray. Smoke-colored rain clouds were moving in from the north. The breeze smelled vaguely sour, like garbage. People were already gathering outside their tents, getting ready for the day or talking to their neighbors.

There was a restlessness among the tents this morning that hadn’t been there before—or at least hadn’t been this noticeable. Billy Kline couldn’t exactly put his finger on it. He had seen enough fighting during his stays in the Sarasota County Jail to recognize the mute agitation and frustration that could eat up a crowd of people who had been too long contained. It was cabin fever fed by frustration and fear. That was close to what he was feeling now, but not quite.

Margaret O’Brien was by his side. Ed had sent the two of them out to the commissary to bring back supplies, but they never made it that far. Before they got to the clearing in front of the commissary tent, they heard the sounds of people yelling. They saw a commotion up ahead, people rushing forward to get a look.

“Billy,” Margaret said. She pointed to a crowd that had surrounded a small group of soldiers, who were blocking the entrance to the commissary. More people were streaming in from all directions. The soldiers looked anxious. Even from a distance, he could see them fingering their rifles nervously.

A large white rock flew from the crowd and struck one of the soldiers in the face.

A moment later, another rock arced through the air, and the crowd surged forward.

For a moment, it looked like they might overwhelm the soldiers at the entrance, but then Billy heard six distinct shots. The crowd stopped its forward surge, and the world seemed to grow perfectly still.

In the sudden silence after the shots, a voice shouted “Gas!” and a metal canister dropped into the crowd with a clank.

A thin jet of dark smoke rose up between the shocked crowd.

More canisters sailed through the air.

Then the people started shouting again. They ran in all directions. Rocks were thrown. More shots rang out.

“Oh, Jesus,” Margaret said.

Billy stood still, watching the commotion swirl around him. Already, he could feel the scratch in his throat from the gas.

“Run, Billy. For God’s sake, run!”

She grabbed him by the hand, and together they joined the flood of people running from the scene.

Ed and the others were waiting for them outside the tent. When he saw them coming, Ed rushed forward. “What happened?”

Margaret told him everything that had happened to them. “Ed, we have to get out of here.”

He turned to Julie Carnes. “Well?” he said.

Julie dropped down heavily onto a lawn chair. She looked much older than she had only a few days before, and though Ed felt for her, he knew there wasn’t time to coddle her. They had to do this, and do it quickly.

“Everybody get your things together,” he said. “Only what you can carry. Make sure you take all the food you can.”

“Ed,” Julie said. “How are we going to get out of here? We don’t have a car.”

“I’ve got an idea about that,” he said. He turned to Billy. “I keep coming back to you, son. You think you can help me steal a truck?”

Billy blinked at him.

Then he nodded.

With Ed in the lead, they made their way south of the camp, through a strip of pinewoods, and out the other side. Before them was a large, open, grassy field and a dirt road leading south. A pair of marines sat on the ground, sharing an orange. Behind them was a Humvee.

“That’s our ride,” Ed said to the others.

Julie looked at him, mouth open.

Beside him, Billy coughed gently. “Uh, Ed, I don’t think they’re gonna just let us take that thing.”

“I suspect they’ll listen to reason,” he said.

“Ed, what are you going to do?” Julie said.

He winked at her. “You guys just be ready to go. Billy, as soon as I give you the signal, you load everybody up and get us ready to move out.”

“Uh, okay. What’s the signal?”

Ed tipped the bill of his hat to Billy and said, “Just be ready, son.” Then he got to his feet and walked out of the cover of the trees and onto the grass. He walked straight over to the soldiers, smiling as he advanced.

“Hi, fellas,” he said.

The soldiers stared at him, but didn’t get up.

Still smiling, Ed reached under his shirt and pulled the pair of revolvers he’d tucked down into the small of his back. Before either soldier could react, he fired a shot right between the legs of one of the soldiers and leveled the weapons at their faces.

“I guess that’s the signal,” Billy said.

“I think I hate that man,” Julie said.

They drove south till they reached Putney Avenue, then headed west to Newton Road and turned north. They passed along the western edge of Albany. The city was dead. They saw a few wrecked cars, and several looked like they’d been burned. And there were bodies in the road. Everywhere they looked, there were bodies. The smell of death was heavy on the air. Margaret pulled her grandchildren away from the windows, and they didn’t try to resist.

“Do you think it’s like this everywhere?” Julie said.

From the front passenger seat, Ed said, “I don’t know. But God, I hope not.”

“We ought to dump this thing as soon as we can,” Billy said. “They’ll be looking for it, and this isn’t exactly the most inconspicuous vehicle around.”

“Yeah,” Ed agreed. “Good point.”

“Ed, please,” Julie said. “Don’t stop here. Get away from this place before you try to find another vehicle.”

They passed a badly decomposed body that was swarming with flies.

Ed nodded. “Don’t worry. We won’t stop.”

They found a large white Ford Econoline van outside Roanoke, Alabama. After dumping the Humvee behind an abandoned gas station, they continued north on nearly deserted roads. By nightfall, they had crossed the border into Missouri and started looking for a place to spend the night.

They were near Marshfield when Billy pulled the van to the side of the road and pointed.

“Look there,” he said to Ed.

Off in the distance, some four hundred yards from the roadway, was a large red barn with a sloping metal roof where somebody had written:

GONE TO CEDAR RIVER

NATIONAL GRASSLAND

YOU SHOULD TOO IF YOU CAN

Ed smiled. “Looks like it was meant to be, huh?”

“Yeah, looks that way.”

From behind them, Julie said, “Ed?”

“Yeah?”

“Ed, are you really sure? Can we really do this?”

“Yes,” he said, and he meant it, too. He felt good about this. Seeing this sign here, it was a shot in the arm when he needed it most. “We can do this,” he said. “Absolutely, we can.”

They spent the night in an abandoned farmhouse. There was no food left in the pantry, none that hadn’t gone bad, anyway, but there was fresh water from a well out back, and they were able to combine that with the ramen noodles they’d taken with them from the camp and turn it into a passable meal.

Later, after everyone else had gone to sleep, Billy Kline walked outside and stood in a field of ripe wheat and looked up at the stars. He watched a meteor shower and took deep breaths of the cool night air. A lot had happened to him in a very short stretch of days, but he felt strangely good, as though he had shuffled off a large weight.

He was starting over, and for the first time in a very long while, he was thankful to be alive.