Year One (Chronicles of The One #1)(65)

She pressed the heels of her hands to her eyes, then dropped them.

“There are things we can use. We’ll need to make room.”

“You don’t have to think about that right now.”

“Yes, we do, Fred.” She took the photo, slipped it into her coat pocket. “We all have to think.”

She walked to the living room. Katie sat on the couch with a baby at each breast. The third slept in Bill Anderson’s arms. Chuck peeked through a chink in the curtains.

“Rachel and Jonah?”

He glanced back at Arlys. “Outside. We don’t want anyone happening by and getting our supplies. Sorry, Arlys. I want to say we’re all sorry.”

“I know. Mr. Anderson—”

“Make it Bill now.”

“Bill, I didn’t ask about Mrs. Anderson, or Masie and Will.”

“Theo helped me bury Ava before he took sick. Masie, she … she’s with her mom now, her husband and our two grandchildren with them.”

“Oh, Mr.… Oh, Bill.”

“It’s been a hard winter. It’s been … a horrible time. But Will was in Florida on business, and I have to believe, I have to hold on to hope he’s all right. The last I heard from him he was okay, and trying to get home.”

Arlys sat on the edge of the chair next to his. “I’m so sorry.”

“A lot to be sorry about these days. Then you’ve got this.” He brushed a finger over the baby’s cheek. “You’ve got to hold on to it.”

“How many people are still in the neighborhood?”

“Four last count, but Karyn Bickles took sick a couple days ago. I was going to check on her when you rolled up. Some died, some left.”

On a fresh sweep of cold air, Rachel came in. “We’re going to take shifts watching our supplies. I’m sorry about your family, Arlys.”

“Thanks.” There would be time, plenty of time, for sorrow later. “Bill says there are four left in the neighborhood, one of them sick. Bill, Rachel is a doctor.”

“So she told me. The hard fact is a doctor won’t help Karyn. She’s got the virus. I’ve seen enough of it to know.”

“I might be able to make her more comfortable.”

“Well, I’ve got a key to her place. I can take you over.”

Practical matters, Arlys thought. Next steps. “The rest of us should go through the house, see what we can use. What we have room for. We can’t stay here without heat or water.”

“Jonah and I were talking about that. We thought maybe south, maybe into Kentucky or toward Virginia,” Rachel said.

Arlys nodded. Direction didn’t matter to her, but south made sense. Get out of the hardest grip of winter in the weeks it had left.

“We could plot out a route—and alternates. Bill, you should come with us.”

“My boy may be trying to get home. I have to be here when Will gets home.”

“You can’t stay here alone.”

“You shouldn’t.” Katie looked at Rachel, lifted a baby for Rachel to take, burp while she shouldered the other. “You should come with us.”

“We could leave the route for your son,” Fred said. “Leave a big note or sign telling him where we’re going. And, if we have to go off route, we can leave signs there that he could follow. I bet he’s really smart, isn’t he?”

A smile ghosted around Bill’s mouth. “He is. He’s smart and strong.”

“He’ll follow the signs,” Fred told him. “He’d want you to come with us, and he’ll follow the signs.”

Bill shifted to look out the window, to his own house, his own porch and yard. “We bought the house when Ava was pregnant with Masie. It strapped us, but we knew what we wanted for our family. We had a good life here. A good life.”

“I know how hard it is,” Arlys consoled. “But we need to make a new place, and here we’re too far from a water source, too exposed once the snow melts. I’ve seen things, Bill. It’s not just the virus killing people.”

She stood. “I’ll start upstairs—there’ll be blankets and linens and…”

Understanding her sudden distress, Bill rose as well, passing the baby to Fred. “Theo and I, we cleaned up, and he helped me do the same. Your mom and my Ava would’ve wanted that.”

Tears rose up, spilled out before she could stop them. Bill simply hugged her. “It’s all right, honey. Tears wash some of the worst away.”

*

When she’d cried all she could, Arlys went back to her parents’ room. Blankets, sheets, towels. Maybe they could get another car for supplies. She could drive it.

Bandages, antiseptics, more baby aspirin, more ibuprofen, over-the-counter sleep aids from the bathroom. Soaps, shampoos, razors, skin-care stock.

She slipped one of her mother’s lipsticks into her pocket with the photo as a keepsake.

Scissors, sewing supplies.

Despite the circumstances, she found herself more than mildly mortified to find lubricant and Viagra in her parents’ nightstand drawers. Rachel stepped in as Arlys stared at the bottle in her hand.

“Any meds—OTC or RX—for my stock?”

“It’s, ah, Viagra.”