air.
Up on the roadbed, a bent, gray-haired man waited for them, an old bolt rifle in hand. He fired a shot and dropped another deader as it wandered out of the woods.
Cori managed, “Thanks, Mister…”
“ Name’s Walt, Missy. An' I don’t reckon I’ve seen me a black girl out here for an awful long time now.”
Cori shrugged. “Name’s Cori White. My niece is Sherrie. Blondie there is Rachel Van De Vordie, and the lucky guy with all these chicks is Joe Heffernan. A friend of Rachel’s told us it was safe here.”
“ Well, wouldn’t say safe so much as secure . Who’s the friend?”
“ Shea Jonas.”
“ Yeah, I know Shea. Always out on her horse. C’mon, an' I’ll take ya into town.”
Walt swung around to head for the golf cart parked on the edge of a cornfield. He hobbled more than he walked, his shoulders swinging side to side as his legs, bent inward at the knees, swung forward in quick, slanted arcs.
“ What happened to you, Mister Walt?” Joe asked.
“ Joe!” Cori snapped.
The old man chuckled. “Mine’s bowed in as far as yours is bowed out, boy. Don’t worry, Missy. Kids his age ain’t never seen no one who’s had polio. Damn good blessing, too.”
The horses clopped along behind the golf cart as the old man led them through a checkpoint over another bridge. At the edge of town, a young man with blonde hair and a thick, blonde beard came out to meet them. A young woman with dark, waist-length hair moved in step with him at his side.
“ They say they got word from Pony Shea we was safe down here,” Walt said. “Must've figured here was better’n where they was.”
“ Thanks, Walt," the young man said. "How’d the trap do?”
“ Pretty good. Ol’ Petey brought his friends in just fine. Dropped near ‘bout a dozen deaders. Damn near hit these folks when they stumbled into the middle of things, though.”
“ I’ll take ‘em from here, Walt. Thanks.”
“ All yours, Boss.” The old man shuffled back to his cart, climbed in, and turned back out of town.
The four newcomers sat on their tired horses, uncertain. Wet, bedraggled, clothing hung from their frames, ripped to shreds in places, and the kids' backpacks hung limp from their shoulders. The guards at the checkpoint hadn’t backed away to let them through.
“ Which one of you is Shea’s friend?” the young man asked.
Rachel raised her hand.
“ How do you know her?”
“ We show together, Mister. Up at Shone’s Farm.”
The young brunette nodded. “I’ve heard Pony talk about it, Danny. She’s still upset about missing show season.”
“ Let ‘em in,” the young man said. Guards stepped back as the young man looked over the newcomers. “When's the last time you folks had a decent meal?”
“ I don’t remember when, Mister…” Cori began, hesitating.
The young man smiled. “They call me Danny Death. This’s my girl Jenny One Sock.”
“ Those’re funny names,” Joe said.
Danny shrugged. “Last names don’t mean much these days, kid. Take Shea… we call her Pony around here, ‘cause she's always out riding around town on one of her horses.”
He slung his rifle over his shoulder and held out a hand.
“ C’mon down. We’ll walk you in.”
The group dismounted, stumbling a bit when their feet hit the ground. Danny radioed someone to let Pony know she had company, then led the newcomers down Main Street. A gate across the road connected with a tall fence topped with barbed wire. The same fence ran along each side of the street, punctuated with gates opening onto side streets. Danny made a few more radio calls, asking for food and clothing, while Jenny opened the gate onto Brewster Street. As the group trudged along, Danny gathered the backpacks from the kids. With a few shakes, he found the packs nearly empty.
He stopped the group at a low, red-brick school house where a soccer field had been fenced in.
“ We’ve got a few horses of our own in town," Danny said. "You’re
Up on the roadbed, a bent, gray-haired man waited for them, an old bolt rifle in hand. He fired a shot and dropped another deader as it wandered out of the woods.
Cori managed, “Thanks, Mister…”
“ Name’s Walt, Missy. An' I don’t reckon I’ve seen me a black girl out here for an awful long time now.”
Cori shrugged. “Name’s Cori White. My niece is Sherrie. Blondie there is Rachel Van De Vordie, and the lucky guy with all these chicks is Joe Heffernan. A friend of Rachel’s told us it was safe here.”
“ Well, wouldn’t say safe so much as secure . Who’s the friend?”
“ Shea Jonas.”
“ Yeah, I know Shea. Always out on her horse. C’mon, an' I’ll take ya into town.”
Walt swung around to head for the golf cart parked on the edge of a cornfield. He hobbled more than he walked, his shoulders swinging side to side as his legs, bent inward at the knees, swung forward in quick, slanted arcs.
“ What happened to you, Mister Walt?” Joe asked.
“ Joe!” Cori snapped.
The old man chuckled. “Mine’s bowed in as far as yours is bowed out, boy. Don’t worry, Missy. Kids his age ain’t never seen no one who’s had polio. Damn good blessing, too.”
The horses clopped along behind the golf cart as the old man led them through a checkpoint over another bridge. At the edge of town, a young man with blonde hair and a thick, blonde beard came out to meet them. A young woman with dark, waist-length hair moved in step with him at his side.
“ They say they got word from Pony Shea we was safe down here,” Walt said. “Must've figured here was better’n where they was.”
“ Thanks, Walt," the young man said. "How’d the trap do?”
“ Pretty good. Ol’ Petey brought his friends in just fine. Dropped near ‘bout a dozen deaders. Damn near hit these folks when they stumbled into the middle of things, though.”
“ I’ll take ‘em from here, Walt. Thanks.”
“ All yours, Boss.” The old man shuffled back to his cart, climbed in, and turned back out of town.
The four newcomers sat on their tired horses, uncertain. Wet, bedraggled, clothing hung from their frames, ripped to shreds in places, and the kids' backpacks hung limp from their shoulders. The guards at the checkpoint hadn’t backed away to let them through.
“ Which one of you is Shea’s friend?” the young man asked.
Rachel raised her hand.
“ How do you know her?”
“ We show together, Mister. Up at Shone’s Farm.”
The young brunette nodded. “I’ve heard Pony talk about it, Danny. She’s still upset about missing show season.”
“ Let ‘em in,” the young man said. Guards stepped back as the young man looked over the newcomers. “When's the last time you folks had a decent meal?”
“ I don’t remember when, Mister…” Cori began, hesitating.
The young man smiled. “They call me Danny Death. This’s my girl Jenny One Sock.”
“ Those’re funny names,” Joe said.
Danny shrugged. “Last names don’t mean much these days, kid. Take Shea… we call her Pony around here, ‘cause she's always out riding around town on one of her horses.”
He slung his rifle over his shoulder and held out a hand.
“ C’mon down. We’ll walk you in.”
The group dismounted, stumbling a bit when their feet hit the ground. Danny radioed someone to let Pony know she had company, then led the newcomers down Main Street. A gate across the road connected with a tall fence topped with barbed wire. The same fence ran along each side of the street, punctuated with gates opening onto side streets. Danny made a few more radio calls, asking for food and clothing, while Jenny opened the gate onto Brewster Street. As the group trudged along, Danny gathered the backpacks from the kids. With a few shakes, he found the packs nearly empty.
He stopped the group at a low, red-brick school house where a soccer field had been fenced in.
“ We’ve got a few horses of our own in town," Danny said. "You’re
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