Huh, he was really bleeding.

She smiled, pleased on one count at least.

Roslyn turned and took her first slow steps toward the gate, nursing her hand to her chest. The pain proved to be a useful distraction from her rising fear.

The gates were old and ominous. They’d always reminded her vaguely of where the Addams Family lived.

What was left of the world outside?

Neil raged on behind her. Soon enough the cold wind carried his voice far, far away.

The man at the gates watched her progress with eagle eyes. Roslyn averted hers and studied the cracked asphalt driveway. Already weeds were growing through. Wouldn’t take long for Mother Nature to reclaim what she’d lost.

Heroines in books always held their heads high, but it took her a while to find the courage. When she finally looked up, the man straightened, pushing off from the van. He was built solid in a way that did nothing for her nerves. Getting away from him might just be a bit of a problem.

No. She’d manage.

Never say die.

Behind him the town lay sprawled out, slumbering. No signs of life. It looked like the southern side of town had burned down. She remembered the sky had been full of smoke. This would be the first time she had stepped outside since the morning of Christmas Eve. She hadn’t known where else to go and she hadn’t been the only one. All roads heading west had been choked with cars as people tried to flee. The radio news reports had been full of crazy carnage and chaos. A lab somewhere in Asia had apparently cooked up the bug and accidentally released it. Within days it went global. No one could have prepared for this. Principal Barry had made the decision to lock the gates, sealing them in. No one had protested. At the time it seemed the only course of action. They hadn’t known Principal Barry had already been bitten.

Her car still sat around back in the staff parking lot. It would be there for a long time to come.

“Is your hand alright?” he asked as she slipped through the gap in the gates. He had a deep, smooth voice, deceptively warm and friendly. Light brown hair fell over his forehead. He had dark eyes and a neatly trimmed beard.

What the hell did he want with her?

Bad question. She didn’t really want to know.

Her chin rose but her knees knocked, shaking from more than the winter winds. “Worried you’re getting faulty merchandise?”

He gave her a curious look, but said nothing.

Maybe he had been hoping for Janie.

Maybe he’d return her, demand a full refund. God knew she wasn’t anybody’s prize. Average height, average weight, average pretty much everything. But she was old enough to be comfortable in her own skin.

Maybe looks didn’t even matter anymore.

What did he want, and why her? Was there no one else left out there?

The man’s gaze drifted over her, in no rush at all, beginning with her red, home-cut hair. She resisted the urge to shove a hand through it, and attempt to calm the crazy. Screw him. She’d hacked the bulk of it off a few months back, mostly for practicality’s sake. Making herself less attractive to Neil had been part of it, though not something worth admitting to. It hadn’t succeeded, on account of Neil being a letch, but maybe it would work with this guy. She had to make a ridiculous picture, a grown woman with a shitty haircut wearing the remnants of a school uniform.

She rubbed the toe of her battered black sneaker against the drive. Shoes courtesy of the Lost and Found bin.

Maybe he really would call the whole thing off. Or maybe he’d turn around and demand Janie.

No. That wasn’t something she could live with.

Roslyn braved a smile. His eyes widened, looking startled, if anything. It soon gave way to skeptical. Fair enough. Dewey decimal 791, Public Performance: she sucked at it.

Up close, the man was even more intimidating. A black AC/DC shirt drew tight across wide shoulders. The colors were faded, like he’d worn it a hundred times. He stood half a head taller than her, his body built lean but solid. He had to be about half a decade older than her twenty-eight. In no way did his face look boyish, despite the twinkle in his eye. The rifle strapped to his back spoke of serious things, its muzzle sticking up beside his head.

She would still get away. There had to be others out there. Rational people. Trustworthy.

Her knuckles throbbed, the back of her hand swelling and darkening. Any escape attempt involving punching him was right out. Sneaky would be her best bet.

“I’m fine,” she said. “Let’s go.”

The man tipped his chin, turned toward the van and pushed back the side door. No ninjas, but lots of supplies: canned goods and blankets, a couple of guns, some knives, and one shiny aluminum baseball bat. Her hands itched to wrap around the smooth handle and exorcise some fear and frustration.

He reached inside for a backpack, threw it over a shoulder. His gaze returned to hers, assessing. The corner of his mouth rose and little lines deepened beside his eyes. Ah, she’d apparently amused him. Her scaredy-cat shaking hadn’t stopped. She clearly wasn’t kidding anybody with her evil eye.

“I’m not going to hurt you,” he said.

And for once, Roslyn didn’t say the first thing to come to mind. Something along the lines of his shoving a can of soup up his ass to keep his false words company. Nor did she start in on the hundreds of questions sitting on the tip of her tongue. Instead she sucked in a deep breath, let it out slowly, and lied to her new arch-enemy. “Alright.”

“What’s your name?”

“Roslyn Stewart. Yours?”