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  She had managed to grab the baby, her dad’s backpack, and some clothes before the fire had driven her outside. She recalled that awful night, and how she had frantically looked for Jake, calling his name (like that would help) until she found him in their side yard, where she had forgotten she left him, staring entranced at the flames.

  Together they had watched their family home burn to the ground. She didn’t even try to put it out. Water had stopped running by then. All she could do was watch. She still felt the knot in her throat, her mood rotating from sad to angry and back again, as she had watched, completely helpless as everything she had ever known was destroyed. No sirens. No neighbors to help. Nothing to do but watch.

  There were still some photos of her parents and friends on her phone, and she turned it on and looked at them when she was feeling particularly alone. She also checked her phone for texts or calls. She had a solar-powered charger in her backpack, and would use it whenever she could, balancing the small solar panel on the awning of the stroller. But really, who was she expecting to call? Aside from her the photos, the only thing she had to remind her of her parents was Jake.

  The Warning

  As she did every morning, Callie opened a pocket on her backpack and took out a beat-up US road atlas. She opened it up to a folded-back page and spread it out on the kitchen table. She had found the atlas behind the counter at a gas station just after she started out. Her GPS was still working then, but it was getting sketchy. She wouldn’t have a signal for hours at a time, and then the 4G icon popped up. Maybe the satellites were going? But for the last couple of days, nothing. So she used the atlas.

  She had a pretty good idea of where she was heading. Straight down Highway 101 along the coast was the best route. Not on the freeway, but parallel to it. Through neighborhoods where she could find shelter and food… and maybe people. She went into the kitchen and rooted around until she found a bill with an address on it. She was in Silver Beach. She thought she might have heard of it before but had never been there. She found it on her map and circled it with a red felt pen. She looked at the scale guide and estimated how far she had to go. On the map, Carlsbad was only inches. But in reality she was looking at weeks, especially with the baby. Maybe months.

  Callie sighed and closed the atlas, put it away, and dropped the red pen in the backpack pocket. She snapped the pocket shut. She looked at her two charges. The baby—Ryan!—was rolling back and forth, holding onto a stuffed zebra she had found in the child’s bedroom. Jake was sitting on the couch, staring straight ahead.

  “Give me a couple minutes, guys, and then we’ll be ready to go.”

  A quick rummage through the kitchen counters and pantries resulted in two cans of fruit cocktail, a plastic bottle of water, and some crackers. Starvation wasn’t really an issue because of cans and bottles. Once in a while she would find a fruit tree, and fresh fruit was always nice. She did miss meat, though. She’d tried some Vienna sausages she'd found, but they were pretty foul. She hadn’t finished them. Canned chicken and tuna were okay, but they weren't really meat.

  A cheeseburger, though. She smiled at the thought. A double cheeseburger. French fries. And a vanilla shake.

  Now none of those things exist.

  Callie backed the stroller out to the driveway, carefully led Jake down the steps, went back inside, and shouldered her pack. She took a last look around.

  “Thank you,” she whispered (as she always did) before closing the door. She pulled the twig out of the lock on the gate, and then had a thought. She closed the gate, ran back to the back yard, and picked up the soccer ball. She held it up before Jake.

  “Remember this, buddy? I think we should keep it.”

  Did his eyes focus? It was so hard to tell. She put the soccer ball in Jake’s backpack, opened the gate, and they were off.

  ***

  They made good time today, which was good, because it looked like rain, and Callie was in a relatively good mood. Until she saw the dolls.

  She spotted the first doll, and not sure what it was, moved onto the sidewalk to take a closer look. She made a face. Ugh!

  Someone had nailed a baby doll to a tree. A big nail, right through the center of its cloth torso.

  She moved on, and saw another one. This one was nailed upside down to a wooden mailbox post. Then another. And another. Some were not nailed, but hanging, twine tied to an arm or leg. There were dozens of them, and they hung from the trees like malformed, exotic fruit. It was unsettling, and she stopped.

  Who would do this? she asked herself. And perhaps more importantly, Why?

  They stood at the center of an intersection in a small-town neighborhood. A two-car collision in the middle of the intersection. A silver SUV had smashed into the left side of a smaller car. She couldn't see the driver of the second car. Or of the SUV, for that matter. Had they survived and escaped?

  She approached the SUV and peered through the open back door. An empty infant seat. She glanced down at Ryan. He had been so lucky she had heard him crying. How many other babies had wasted away in empty houses, their parents lying beside them, dying themselves?

  She noticed something on the hood of the small car. She walked over. Oh gross. The skin of a cat, spread out, legs and tail pointing in five different directions.

  She shook her head and stepped away. Okay. This is getting weird. The dolls. The cat skin. Was it a warning? Maybe someone wanted this street to himself?

  The neighborhood looked safe enough. The houses were smaller and older, and there was one that was boarded up, but not too bad. No smoke, no broken windows or smashed-in doors. A dried-up corpse lay on a driveway, but she was well used to that by now.

  Callie dropped Jake's leash and knelt down. She took off her backpack. She pulled out her cell phone and turned it on. As it was booting up, she scanned the area again. She really didn't want to have to detour. She knew the freeway was only a mile or so to her left, and she wanted to stay close. But something felt off about this neighborhood.

  The sky was dark and foreboding, the clouds heavy with rain. She wanted to get inside soon. A nice, safe house. She could walk through the rain, but it was really too hard with the baby and Jake.

  Her phone was up and she quickly opened her GPS app. The map showed her location, and she zoomed in. Her forehead scrunched in concentration. She didn't want to backtrack, and going left would take her to what looked like a business park or a parking lot. She would feel too exposed. If she went about half a block ahead, she could make a right, and that would lead her to another street that ran parallel to the freeway. She looked up and could see the green street sign about a quarter-mile up the road. That's where they'd turn right. Then just skirt this area. No problem, she thought as she turned off her phone. Easy peasy.

  Ten minutes tops.

  A raindrop fell on her arm.

  She looked at the baby again, and then at Jake. The darkened windows of the houses seemed even darker. The rain began to patter on the roofs and the sidewalk. She turned Jake around and pulled a poncho out of his backpack and pulled it over him.

  “What do you think, guys? You ready for a little jog?” She shouldered her backpack and tightened the straps. She even fastened the waist strap, just in case. Just in case what? she asked herself.

  “Nothing,” she muttered. “It's fine. Everything is going to be fine.” Callie picked up Jake’s leash and put her hand through the loop. She swallowed. “Let's do this.”

  She started at a fast walk. Another doll nailed to a garage door. The rain wasn't too bad. They'd soon be past this neighborhood, and if the rain stayed like this, they'd make another hour or so before it got too dark.

  Her footsteps echoed hollowly on the pavement. Am I always so loud? There were old, towering trees in front of most of the houses, which both sheltered her from the rain and increased the darkness. The hanging dolls slowly turned in the breeze.

  The corpse of a teenage girl beside a soccer ball lay in the gutter. One of her legs w
as missing. Callie moved away and went around a red VW Bug in the middle of the road. There was a definite cattish shape on the windshield. She kept her eyes on the street, occasionally glancing up to check her bearings. The intersection where she would turn right was getting closer.

  A screen door slammed open and bounced off the house nearest her. Callie’s stomach sank. Don't look, don't look.

  She turned to look and horror took her so tightly that she stumbled and fell to her knees. The stroller rolled away from her.

  A clown stood on the front porch of the house directly to her right. His face was painted white, his mouth a red gash. His eyes were circled in black. They looked empty. An orange halo of wiry hair fringed his bald head. He wore light-blue coveralls, stained and dirty. They were halfway open in the front, revealing a filthy white undershirt—wifebeaters Jake had called them.

  The clown staggered down the steps to his front walk and stared at her. He was tall. And broad. And horrifying. She watched in paralyzed fascination.

  The rain continued to fall.

  Callie came to her senses and scrambled to her feet. She suddenly realized she wasn't holding Jake's leash. She whirled around and nearly screamed in frustration and terror. He was about twenty feet behind, beside the soccer ball that lay next to the dead girl.

  “Jake!” Of course he didn't react. She glanced over at the clown. He was striding toward her, and it was then she realized he was holding a hammer.

  She turned toward the stroller, which was about five feet in front of her, out of reach, and then back at Jake.

  The clown was getting closer. His nose had been painted red. She could hear his heavy breathing.

  “Please,” she whimpered. “Please don't do this.” The clown glanced over at Jake and moved in that direction. He raised the hammer.

  Callie looked again at the stroller. One of Ryan's hands had grasped the blanket she used to cover him and was tugging at it. Those little fingers…

  She darted toward Jake and grabbed the leash and wrapped it several times around her wrist. She tugged and he followed. She ran with her brother stumbling behind her, his poncho flapping madly. She ran and left the baby—Ryan—behind.

  Tears coursed down her cheeks, mixing with the rain. Callie sobbed, her throat raw with pain and guilt.

  She ran and staggered and slipped and stumbled and got up and ran until her legs began to throb and her chest heaved. She slammed into the rear bumper of a car and spun and tumbled into the street. Tugging on the leash, getting to her feet, she sprinted up the nearest driveway past a blue minivan and ran behind the house.

  Callie was soaked to the bone, her clothes plastered to her back and shoulders. She took her backpack off and tucked it beneath the wooden porch.

  Tugging Jake closer, taking up the slack in the leash, she leaned against the back of the house gasping, sobbing, hating herself. She tried to vomit but nothing came out, just thick strands of saliva. She spat and wiped her mouth.

  Jake stood passively beside her, his chest rising and falling. Jake. This was his fault. Her eyes narrowed as she stood up.

  “Why did you have to walk away!” Callie sobbed, pushing Jake back a foot or so. She shoved him again, and he stumbled, teetered, and fell on his butt. He didn’t try to break his fall.

  Callie looked down at him, sitting on the cold, wet concrete. Her older brother, who had taught her how to do a layup and helped her with her pre-algebra homework. He had even introduced her to Star Wars.

  He was just sitting, not even trying to stand up or shield himself from the rain. She thought of a lyric from an old song her dad had played on Christmas last year.

  “…and Tommy doesn’t know what day it is,

  He doesn’t know who Jesus was

  Or what praying is how can he be saved,

  From his eternal grave?”

  An eternal grave. That’s what this was for him. And all those others. Only Jake was still alive. Because of her.

  Callie’s heart cracked.

  She knelt and wrapped her arms around Jake.

  “I’m sorry,” she whispered into his sodden hair. “It’s not your fault.” She reached around him and half-hugged, half-lifted him.

  Jake allowed himself to be pulled up to standing. He didn’t really help, but he didn’t resist, either. He was just… compliant. Was that the word?

  She led him to a relatively dry spot against the back of the house. They were sheltered by a tattered awning.

  “Now, you stay here,” she said unnecessarily and headed back along the rear of the house, peering into windows, but it was too dark to make out anything of substance.

  She tried the back door, but it was locked. She shoved the door with her shoulder; it rattled in its frame, but wouldn’t open. Rubbing her shoulder, she glanced around and spied a cinder block supporting a drain spout coming down the corner of the house. She looked at the window.

  In all the weeks she had been traveling, she had managed to avoid breaking into any houses. Open doors, unlocked windows. That was the way to go. Something didn’t feel right about breaking into a house. It didn't make sense; it wasn’t like there were laws anymore… no one cared if she broke window or two, but she could always find an unlocked house.

  This is different. He could be after us.

  She looked over at the minivan. There was someone in there. Behind the wheel. Which meant they probably had the keys. She swallowed. She didn’t want to do this, but she didn’t want to do a lot of things these days. She approached the driver’s door. Between the clouds and the rain, it was extremely dark and hard to see, although there was clearly an adult-sized shape behind the wheel.

  Callie went around to the passenger side and pulled the handle. The door was locked.

  Resolutely, she went around to the driver’s side and opened the door. The interior light popped on and she jerked back in surprise. Electric light. It had been a while since she had seen it. Then the smell hit her. A hot, foul, rotting-fruit stench forced her away from the door. She gagged, coughed, breathed deeply and was able to compose herself. Breathing through her mouth to lessen the stench (a trick she had learned the hard way after entering one too many corpse-filled houses), she leaned into the car.

  The rotting, jellied corpse of a woman wearing a burgundy warmup suit sat in the seat, her hands on her lap. In the seat opposite sat a gym bag and a cell phone.

  Callie leaned further in, aware of how close she was to the dead woman’s shriveled, breathless mouth, her teeth lengthened by drawn-back gums. Her eyes were sunken, glistening holes. Callie reached around the wheel for the keys, but wasn’t able to quite reach them. She couldn’t see over the steering console, so she had to operate solely by touch. Her face was inches from the foul face of the corpse.

  Callie had a mad thought that the mouth would open and from her dark, dead throat, the voice screaming above the sound of the pounding rain.

  “Get out of my car! What are you doing? Get out! Get out!”

  Callie felt blindly for the keys. Her fingers touched something leather, which could only be a key chain of some sort. She followed it up and found the ignition key. And twisted and pulled. The lights on the dashboard lit up.

  Callie cried out in frustration. She took a step away from the car, took a deep breath, leaned in and twisted the key the other way. It clicked off and she tugged it out of the ignition.

  She jerked out of the car as quickly as possible and slammed the door.

  It took her a few minutes to figure out the right key in the dark and rain, and she had to hold her flashlight in her armpit, but finally one that slid in smoothly and the door opened.

  Callie moved along slowly through the dark, unfamiliar house, the shadows thrown by her flashlight constantly moving and changing shape.

  She opened the back door and grabbed Jake and pulled him in.

  Then she fetched her backpack from under the porch. She looked around, thinking she had forgotten something, that something was off… and remembe
red. Ryan.

  But she hadn’t forgotten him; she had left him behind. And no matter how she twisted it, rationalized it, it all came out the same. She had abandoned him to be—what? Killed? Eaten? Raped? Did people do that to babies?

  Why else would he want us?

  Callie Makes a Decision

  Callie had changed out of her wet clothes and was wearing a bathrobe she found in a closet. She sat on the bedroom carpet, cross-legged, staring at the light of the camping lantern. No way she could sleep. Ryan’s face swam through her mind. And his little hand, those perfect tiny fingers, the last true memory she had of him. She didn’t even have any pictures of him.

  Somewhere outside a dog barked.

  Callie crawled over to Jake stretched out on a mattress. He was out. Fast asleep. The sleeping pill she’d ground up and put in his cold beef stew would make sure he stayed out.

  Callie stood up, stretched, and took off the bathrobe. She got dressed quickly, efficiently. She had found a black, nylon windbreaker in a hall closet and pulled that on over her sweatshirt. She debated tying a line around Jake’s leg and attaching the other end to the bed frame, but decided not to. If she didn’t come back, she wanted him to have a chance at survival, slim as it might be.

  She knelt beside him, kissed his cheek. He was getting stubbly. She’d have to shave him again. She put her lips close to his ear. “I’ll be back in a little while.”

  She left the door open and made her way to the kitchen. There was a butcher block on the counter, and she pulled out the biggest carving knife. She carefully wrapped it in a T-shirt and put it in her jacket pocket.

  Then she went to get her baby back.

  ***

  The rain had let up; it was now a steady drizzle, but much easier to see in than the earlier downpour. She could make out dim shapes: the shape of a tree here, a car there.

  Piles of clothing and half-eaten corpses she would see at the last moment and step over. She held her flashlight low, covering the lens with her hand, just allowing herself enough light to see a couple of feet in front of her.