Katey sipped from her bottle of water. In the distance, the heat surged up from the highway—abandoned, with only some cars left where they had stopped, ran out of gas. Sometimes the remnants of the drivers were still in their seats or close by. Victims of the madness. The midday heat of a midsummer sun formed ripples in reality, sometimes showing things she knew weren’t there. They had started this morning when it was still cool; now the tarmac was sweating.
Her husband, Mike, was staring through binoculars toward the distant outskirts—a small city that could promise shade, water, and food. Still, the risk they took walking along a highway bothered her. They would be visible from miles away. It seemed like a bad idea to her. Mike thought otherwise, so she shut up, like she always had. She knew the consequences.
Marissa, her daughter, walked next to her, caressing a bruised eye.
“Mom,” she had said this morning. “You are right. This is stupid.”
The bravery of the adolescent had been beaten out of her with one strike from Mike. She knew better than to try again. Mike was in charge, walking up front, telling them when to drink or eat, holding the gun.
“We will enter the town from the east,” Mike said to them without looking. “You two search the houses. I stand guard.” He waited a while, then turned his head and barked, “Agreed?”
They both nodded, as if they had any say in it.
“Honey, shouldn’t we wait until it is dark?” Katey tried.
“Don’t be stupid,” Mike spat. “Nothing there. I looked. Let’s not waste time.”
Katey nodded. Marissa looked through him, making her statement without words. Mike let out a huff of air through his nostrils.
***
They reached the outskirts, only a short walk left.
Katey saw the impact before the sound reached them.
“Bang!”
A red dot stained Mike’s pants at his left thigh, getting larger every second.
“AAHH!” he screamed and dropped to the ground. “Dammit, I will fucking kill you!” He fired his gun toward the nearest house.
“Drop the gun!” a voice from within the house sounded. Heavy and aged with experience.
“Never!” Mike screamed, and shot twice more at the house.
Katey knelt next to him. “Stop wasting bullets, dear,” she tried.
Mike hit her with the back of the gun. “Shut the fuck up!” he screamed at her. “Move!”
Marissa was crying behind her, so Katey went to hold her.
Mike tried to shoot again, only to hear the gun was out of bullets. “Ah, fuck.”
Another shot was fired from the house. Katey watched in slow motion as the bullet entered and exited Mike’s head. She put her hand over Marissa’s eyes, then doubled over and retched.
“Put your hands up,” the voice in the house said.
It took Katey a while to figure out he was addressing her. She looked at Mike’s body, blood still gushing out of the hole in his head. Nausea came up again, only held back by Marissa’s elbow.
“Mom! Put your hands up.”
She did.
***
Out of the house came a man, a visored gun aimed in their direction.
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“Come closer,” the man yelled. “Come on, move it!”
Katey’s whole body was shaking, thick tears pooled out of her eyes. Marissa was already moving toward the man and the house. Through her tears, Katey saw it—no hesitation in her step, no tears in her eyes. She followed.
“Well, well,” the man said, still aiming the gun at them. A smirk crept over his face. “What do we have here?”
His eyes went from top to bottom, first Katey, then Marissa.
When they were closer to the house, he instructed them to put their hands on it so he could search them for weapons. He lingered where he shouldn’t, too long for it to be about weapons.
Marissa looked at her mother. Her eyes were big; tears started to form. Katey released a single nod at her.
“Inside,” the man said. His eyes had a twinkle in them.
When Marissa made the gesture to comply, Katey stopped her. She knew this look. Instead, she hugged her, whispered, “Cover your ears, dear,” kissed her cheek, and went inside.
***
“So we can stay,” Katey said when she emerged from the house. She walked with steady steps; every step hurt a bit less than the one before. “Dave will let us stay.”
“What?” Marissa blurted out. “Mom, we don’t want to stay.”
Her voice was trembling — first a gasp, now venom dripped from every syllable.
“He has food, shelter, and water,” Katey said, holding Marissa’s shoulder. “I can endure. Let’s stay.”
Marissa’s voice grew harsher, louder. “You shouldn’t,” she said. “We don’t need it.”
“Dear, we cannot survive by ourselves. We don’t know how.” A hug. “I need to take care of you.”
Marissa slapped her mother’s cheek. “Like you did with Dad?” she said, pointing at her bruised eye.
Katey looked to the ground. “You’ll survive. That’s all that matters.”
“No,” Marissa spat the words at her. “It is not.”
Dave came out of the house, redoing his belt. “Good. So let’s put you ladies to work,” he grinned. “No work, no food.” His finger pointed toward Marissa. He winked at her. Marissa’s face turned pale.
“You.” He slapped Katey on her behind. Katey looked down. She saw Marissa’s face—her nose wrinkled as if a bad smell lingered, shaking her head softly. “Search those houses.” He pointed at the houses in the distance.
“You,” he pointed at Marissa. “Strip the idiot,” nodding his head toward Mike’s corpse. “Bring me his gun and all his clothes.” Marissa looked at him, her upper lip trembled, her eyes full of fire. “Then bury him.” Dave pointed at a shovel.
Marissa looked at the sky, a silent prayer not to snap. She hesitated.
Dave came closer, raised his hand, muscles stretched like an athlete waiting for the starting signal.
“Go, Marissa!” Katey yelled at her.
Slowly, Marissa took a step, not losing Dave from her sight. She grabbed the shovel and turned, walking toward the corpse of her father.
***
Katey returned when the sun started to set, pushing a shopping cart full of scavenged items.
“He will be pleased.” She looked over the items—food enough for a month, bullets, and hard liquor. “Perhaps he will be more gentle.” Mike never was, no matter how hard she had tried.
She looked at the house.
She saw the silhouette of Mike on a chair in front of it, unburied.
Her breath caught in her throat.
“Marissa—”
She left the shopping cart and ran toward the house.
She stopped. “No, Marissa!” She dropped to her knees, hands before her eyes. “Marissa, what have you done?”
On the chair, not Mike but Dave was looking at her, a blank stare, unblinking, cradling his stomach with both hands. Blood dripped from the shovel at his feet.
“What do we do now?” Katey felt shivers wash over her like a cold wave. “How will we survive?”
Marissa came out of the house. Mike’s gun hung loose in her hand. Her face was pale, set.
“Honey, we cannot survive,” Katey whispered, her voice scraping raw. “Look at us. We need—”
“Look at you.” Marissa’s words were flat, final. She didn’t point the gun, but her grip tightened.
A cluster of shots cracked in the distant twilight. Katey flinched, then her head swiveled toward the sound. Her features softened as a flicker of old hope—people, order, safety—lit in her wet eyes.
“There,” she said, pointing a trembling finger. “They’ll help us. They’ll know what to do.”
She took a step away from the house, away from Dave, away from her daughter.
“Mom.” Marissa’s voice broke. “Don’t.”
Katey took another step, driven by a decades-old instinct to seek the nearest authority, no matter its face.
“I am your mother,” she started—the automatic reprimand—but the words withered in the air between them.
Marissa watched her go. She looked at the gun in her hand, then at the shopping cart full of tribute. She nodded once, a small, sharp gesture that had nothing to do with obedience.
She turned and walked west, into the cooling dark, the opposite direction of the guns.
Katey glanced back only once, saw the empty space where her daughter had stood, and hurried faster toward the sound.
