broadcasting system.”
“Yep.”
He swallowed. “I’ve been through a lot in my life, Austin-“
“George…”
“No. Listen. I’ve been through a lot. And I have a feeling—a feeling in the pit of the stomach—that this may be the end.”
“George,” I said. “Can I change? The blood is seeping through.”
He nodded and left. I quickly changed, and threw Les’ shirt against the wall. I loped up the ramp, down the steps, up the other flight of steps, through the meat department, through the door to the lounge, up a flight of steps, and knocked on the door. There was a pause, then a panel in the wall above opened. It was another one of Homer’s paranoia installments. Mary’s eye glowered down at me, vanished. The sound of scraping furniture, a lock unlocking, and the door opened, spilling light all over me. Mary stood there, grabbed my hand, and helped me through, though I didn’t need it. Mary is just tender like that. My eyes adjusted to the dim light. One of the two light bulbs wasn’t working. Several Homer’s Grocery employees milled about, and customers clung to each other. A tall man in a leather jacket and sunglasses, smoking in the corner. An elderly woman with her husband. A grandpa in a wheelchair whose legs—I later Anthony Barnhart
36 Hours
68
learned—had been lost in a tractor-trailer accident. A young woman with several young children, crying so hard her chest seemed to heave out, revealing ribs underneath a tear-soaked shirt. A police officer whose car had crashed, he told us later, and who had barely escaped the infected; his partner had not. And several teens from school who had escaped, only to crash near the main Clearcreek intersection bordering the grocery.
Les and Hannah stood near a window with blinds; they seemed excited. The window overlooked the aisles of the store. A lamp shed golden light over their profiles.
I walked over. “What’s going on?”
Then a voice came over me, and I swung around with joy. “Amanda!”
Amanda stood there, beaming. I had met her through my sister Ashlie, and we became good friends. “Hi, Austin. Les and Hannah were telling me about what happened. I’m so happy to see that you’re fine.”
“I’m happier about that,” I said with a smile. “How’d you end up here?”
“I jumped in the back of a truck leaving the High School. It crashed at the intersection, and I jumped out, completely unhurt. A miracle, I know. And so I ran across the street, and people were leaping on people and tearing at them, eating them. It was so horrible. I got into this store just before they closed the doors. And I saw Bryon here, too.”
“Bryon’s here?” I gaped.
She nodded. “He’s in the restroom.”
“This is great,” I said. “Wonderful.” And it was. I could almost forget the nightmares outside the store.
Amanda demanded, “What about your sister, Austin? What about Ashlie?
Please tell me she’s okay.”
I swallowed. “I can’t.”
She seemed on the verge of collapse. “She didn’t become one of-“
“I don’t know. No. At least, I hope not. She was sick today. She’s at home. In bed, I hope.”
“So do I. Les? What about Chad? Oh. Ichthus. I wonder if it’s happened down—Oh. It’s everywhere.” She seemed to jump around dotes of questions and answer them with her own ferocity. Then, “Hannah! Where’s Peyton? I know you wouldn’t leave the school without him.”
I winced. Les hadn’t heard Hannah’s story, but had gotten the picture from her tears. Hannah violently turned away and stared through the blinds, though her Anthony Barnhart
36 Hours
69
eyes were stony, deep, focused on nothing but the memories. A tear trickled down her swollen cheeks. Amanda needed no more and backed off, literally backing into the chained and leather-jacketed Bryon Hunter coming through the door.
His face exploded in brilliant excitement when we locked eyes. “Oh my gosh!
Austin! Les! Hannah! When did you get
“Yep.”
He swallowed. “I’ve been through a lot in my life, Austin-“
“George…”
“No. Listen. I’ve been through a lot. And I have a feeling—a feeling in the pit of the stomach—that this may be the end.”
“George,” I said. “Can I change? The blood is seeping through.”
He nodded and left. I quickly changed, and threw Les’ shirt against the wall. I loped up the ramp, down the steps, up the other flight of steps, through the meat department, through the door to the lounge, up a flight of steps, and knocked on the door. There was a pause, then a panel in the wall above opened. It was another one of Homer’s paranoia installments. Mary’s eye glowered down at me, vanished. The sound of scraping furniture, a lock unlocking, and the door opened, spilling light all over me. Mary stood there, grabbed my hand, and helped me through, though I didn’t need it. Mary is just tender like that. My eyes adjusted to the dim light. One of the two light bulbs wasn’t working. Several Homer’s Grocery employees milled about, and customers clung to each other. A tall man in a leather jacket and sunglasses, smoking in the corner. An elderly woman with her husband. A grandpa in a wheelchair whose legs—I later Anthony Barnhart
36 Hours
68
learned—had been lost in a tractor-trailer accident. A young woman with several young children, crying so hard her chest seemed to heave out, revealing ribs underneath a tear-soaked shirt. A police officer whose car had crashed, he told us later, and who had barely escaped the infected; his partner had not. And several teens from school who had escaped, only to crash near the main Clearcreek intersection bordering the grocery.
Les and Hannah stood near a window with blinds; they seemed excited. The window overlooked the aisles of the store. A lamp shed golden light over their profiles.
I walked over. “What’s going on?”
Then a voice came over me, and I swung around with joy. “Amanda!”
Amanda stood there, beaming. I had met her through my sister Ashlie, and we became good friends. “Hi, Austin. Les and Hannah were telling me about what happened. I’m so happy to see that you’re fine.”
“I’m happier about that,” I said with a smile. “How’d you end up here?”
“I jumped in the back of a truck leaving the High School. It crashed at the intersection, and I jumped out, completely unhurt. A miracle, I know. And so I ran across the street, and people were leaping on people and tearing at them, eating them. It was so horrible. I got into this store just before they closed the doors. And I saw Bryon here, too.”
“Bryon’s here?” I gaped.
She nodded. “He’s in the restroom.”
“This is great,” I said. “Wonderful.” And it was. I could almost forget the nightmares outside the store.
Amanda demanded, “What about your sister, Austin? What about Ashlie?
Please tell me she’s okay.”
I swallowed. “I can’t.”
She seemed on the verge of collapse. “She didn’t become one of-“
“I don’t know. No. At least, I hope not. She was sick today. She’s at home. In bed, I hope.”
“So do I. Les? What about Chad? Oh. Ichthus. I wonder if it’s happened down—Oh. It’s everywhere.” She seemed to jump around dotes of questions and answer them with her own ferocity. Then, “Hannah! Where’s Peyton? I know you wouldn’t leave the school without him.”
I winced. Les hadn’t heard Hannah’s story, but had gotten the picture from her tears. Hannah violently turned away and stared through the blinds, though her Anthony Barnhart
36 Hours
69
eyes were stony, deep, focused on nothing but the memories. A tear trickled down her swollen cheeks. Amanda needed no more and backed off, literally backing into the chained and leather-jacketed Bryon Hunter coming through the door.
His face exploded in brilliant excitement when we locked eyes. “Oh my gosh!
Austin! Les! Hannah! When did you get
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