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  Eve’s body shook. The inability to see what was going on made the situation ten times more terrifying. She tried to raise herself up on her toes, but couldn’t move with Hicks pressed against her.

  “We can talk this out,” Major Johnsen said.

  The sound of his voice helped ease the cries of the Charleston group, but not all was silent. The soft sobs of Blake cut through Eve, shaking her to the core. Who the hell did these people think they were?

  “Nothing to talk about, Major. This is how things are done. You cooperate, or you watch your men get gunned down. It’s your choice.”

  Major Johnsen’s sigh was so loud Eve felt like it had penetrated her skull. She clenched her hands into fists, digging her nails into her palms. The Major would give in. He was a good man, and he’d do whatever it took to keep their group safe.

  “Lower your guns,” Major Johnsen said less than thirty seconds later.

  Hicks grunted but did as he was told, kneeling to lay his weapon on the floor.

  Finally, Eve was able to get a look at the situation. From where she stood, she could see out into the dark night where the rest of the Charleston soldiers stood, lined up along the bus. Their hands behind them. Probably tied. At least a dozen men with guns stood in front of them, and inside the plane stood more than ten armed men. All dressed in black riot gear.

  Their leader was probably seven feet tall and so broad he looked like he would be able to crush a person with just his thumb. He wore a smug smile that said he was used to people doing what he wanted, and the sadistic glint in his eye sent a shiver through Eve. This man was no one to mess with.

  “Welcome to New York,” he said, his voice booming through the plane. “If everyone does as they’re told, this will be quick and painless.” He flashed a grin that looked lethal on his face. “For the most part.”

  “Son of a bitch,” Hicks muttered, looking over his shoulder at Eve. “This is going to get ugly. But no matter what happens, stay with me. Understand?”

  Eve slipped a shaky hand into his, and Hicks gave it a squeeze just as the huge man started talking again.

  “My name is Ramirez, and I’m the head of reconnaissance, which means I go out and find survivors, like you. Our settlement has food and safety and supplies to get us through the rough years ahead. Unfortunately, you won’t all be going.” He paused, giving his words a moment to sink in.

  A low rumble moved through the plane, but it was so quiet that Eve couldn’t make out even a single word. The group seemed to take a collective deep breath, almost as if they were bracing themselves for bad news. Little Blake hugged his father, and a teen Eve didn’t know burst into tears. Eve’s own body tensed in response to Ramirez’s words. Who would be excluded? The soldiers because they were a threat? The elderly because they couldn’t contribute? The unhealthy because they were a drain on resources?

  “Now,” Ramirez said, taking a step forward. “We’ll have a quick screening process, and those lucky enough to make it through can move to the buses. I want everyone in a single file line!”

  He turned without waiting to see if the group would comply. He didn’t need to. He was too big and intimidating. His men were armed and ready to follow orders, and it was clear by the way Ramirez carried himself that he would be more than willing to kill every last one of them.

  Hicks pulled Eve forward. Already the others had started to line up, meaning Eve and Hicks found themselves at the back of the line.

  Eve stood on her toes, studying those in front of her. Her gut twisted when her gaze landed on Stephanie. Now more than ever the older woman’s shaking hands stood out. She clenched her hands into fists and pressed her arms to her sides like she was trying to force them to remain still. It didn’t work.

  “What’s going to happen?” Eve whispered, turning to Hicks.

  He shook his head and gave her shoulder a squeeze as the line slowly moved forward. “I don’t know.

  Dread spread through Eve and she took a quick peek at Ramirez. The man stared the Charleston survivors down like he was considering eating them for dinner. “Who do you think they are?”

  Hicks moved his face close to hers, lowering his voice. “It’s just a feeling I have, but outside they asked a lot of questions. Things we’d already established with our contact at Staten Island. It’s possible that someone intercepted our transmission after we left Charleston and decided they’d like a shot at our supplies. Or worse. The best thing we can do at this point is cooperate. If we try anything, they’ll kill us.”

  Eve shuddered and Hicks slipped his arm around her. She had a million questions, but she was afraid to ask them. Afraid to have them answered.

  The line moved forward and the group filed out of the plane. At the bottom of the ramp stood Ramirez and two other men. The first asked the survivors questions—their names, ages, health histories—and wrote it all on a clipboard. The second man drew blood, writing the name of each person on the vial and stowing it away before moving on to the next.

  Eve watched from her limited vantage point as the first two people were questioned and released, one after the other in quick succession. When it was Stephanie’s turn, Eve’s body went rigid. Even from a distance, the tremors in the older woman’s body were obvious. Stephanie was in the middle of answering questions when one of the men in riot gear grabbed her. She screamed and fought as the man pulled her to the side of the plane. All around Eve people cried out, demanding to know what was going on. Hicks’s arm tightened around her shoulders and when Stephanie disappeared from view, Eve tucked her face against Hicks’s chest. Less than thirty seconds later, a gunshot broke through the night. Eve’s whole body jerked, then all the tension disappeared, leaving her feeling like a wet noodle. Or like she was the one who had been shot.

  Silence fell over the group.

  “Keep moving!” Ramirez called.

  The atmosphere was tense and silent after that. The next four people made it through with no problem, then it was Eve’s turn. She stepped forward, shaking so hard her teeth chattered.

  The man with the clipboard didn’t even look up. “Name.”

  “Eve Parker.” She clenched her hands into fists.

  “Age.”

  Her throat tightened. “Twenty.”

  “Any surgeries?”

  “Just my wisdom teeth.” She glanced toward Hicks, who gave her a nod.

  “Any illnesses to report?” The man finally looked up, and when he did, Eve trembled even harder. His eyes were cold. “If you lie we’ll find out from the blood work. It’s better to just be out with it.”

  “N-none. Well, allergies. That’s it.”

  The man nodded, then went back to scribbling on his clipboard. “Sexually active?”

  Eve’s face flushed, and she couldn’t help looking behind her. The expression on Hicks’s face was grim. “Not recently.”

  “On birth control?”

  “No. I mean, I was, but I haven’t taken it in a while.”

  The man didn’t even nod as he wrote it down. “You’re done.”

  Eve stepped forward and held out her right arm as the man with the clipboard repeated the same questions to Hicks. The second man tied a tourniquet around her upper arm, then ran an alcohol pad over her veins. She tensed, preparing herself for the needle. It went in so smoothly she barely felt it. The man filled a vial, then swished it around. He set it in the tray with the others. By the time he had taken the tourniquet off her arm, Hicks had stepped forward.

  Eve waited, avoiding Ramirez’s gaze because she was afraid he’d tell her to move on. She didn’t want to move on, not without Hicks. The tension around her was so thick she felt ready to implode. Having someone she trusted made her feel stronger.

  When Hicks was done, he laced his fingers through hers and pulled her toward the bus. They’d only taken three steps when sobs broke out behind them. Eve’s blood froze in her veins and she stopped moving, but Hicks pulled her toward the buses.

  “Keep moving,” he said,
“don’t look back.”

  Eve kept her eyes forward, but they were so full of tears she couldn’t tell how close they were to the bus. When the gunshot cracked through the air, a sob broke out of Eve so hard it felt like she’d been ripped in half. She clung to Hicks, burying her face in his chest.

  It wasn’t until they had almost made it to the bus that Eve noticed that all the soldiers had been loaded onto one, while the other survivors were on another. Her grip on Hicks tightened and she dug her nails into his side so hard he sucked in a deep breath. Men in riot gear stepped forward to meet them, and she sunk her fingers in deeper. Desperate to hold on.

  The man didn’t say a word when he grabbed her, ripping her away from Hicks. Eve screamed and fought. Panic swept over her. But he had her around the waist and was dragging her toward the bus while another detained Hicks. Hicks, who was usually so calm, was fighting with everything in him. His eyes were big and round as he watched Eve being dragged away.

  Suddenly, another soldier rushed forward. He slammed the butt of his gun into Hicks’s skull and his eyes rolled back. Eve screamed when her friend slumped to the ground. She fought harder, desperate to get to him. Her heart was beating so fast she thought it was going to explode. The man holding her huffed and swore as he slammed her into the ground, jerking her hands behind her. Tying them together.

  Only ten feet away lay Hicks. Unconscious. A trail of blood running down the side of his head. She was jerked up and dragged away, and by the time she was on the bus, Eve’s sobs shook her body so hard she felt like her brain was banging around against the inside of her skull.

  The soldier shoved her into a seat mere seconds before the door slammed shut. Then the engine revved to life and the bus lurched forward, taking off into the darkness. Heading into the unknown. Eve twisted in her seat, trying to catch sight of Hicks. He wasn’t on the ground anymore and the other bus hadn’t moved.

  She turned back to find Ramirez standing at the front of the bus, looking them all over like a pirate surveying the spoils of war. When his eyes met Eve’s, he grinned. The look sent a shiver shooting through her.

  “Don’t worry, darling,” he said, his smile taking on an evil look. “We’re going to take real good care of you.

  Learn more about Kate L. Mary

  My name is Harman Ferenc Džugi, and this is my apology to the world.

  * * *

  “A curfew is in effect between the hours of six p.m. and six a.m. until further notice. Only military, medical, and emergency personnel are permitted on the streets during curfew hours. Unauthorized persons will be detained. Anyone exhibiting symptoms of illness will be quarantined.”

  Tinny and fuzzed, the announcement echoed off the empty brick buildings that faced Third Street, and then was lost in Downing Park’s lush trees. But anyone still alive in Newburgh, New York had been hearing the same recording every hour, on the hour, for a week. If they didn’t know it by now, they were too dumb to survive much longer.

  Harman kept his face down as he waited for the foot patrol and Humvee to pass his hiding spot beneath a trimmed hedge. The thud of the National Guardsmen’s boots and the creaking of their gear were uncomfortably close. But he knew how to avoid being noticed. Twenty years of crime and no jail time—it had to be some kind of record.

  Two sets of combat boots paused in front of Harman’s hiding spot, and he held his breath.

  A soldier said, “Man, I wanna smoke.” A respirator mask muffled her voice.

  “I hear that,” her companion said. “I’m sweating like a pig in this damn mask. I hate this thing.”

  “Yeah? Hate it more than puking and pissing blood?”

  He snorted. “Depends. Can I smoke while I puke and piss blood?”

  They laughed. Then a snarl from their C.O. sent them off after their company.

  Harman exhaled into the grass. Though he was only five-foot-eight and wiry, he hadn’t been able to wedge his whole body under the bushes. If the soldiers had bothered to look over the hedge, they’d’ve spotted him.

  The Humvee’s rumble faded as the vehicle turned onto Carpenter Avenue and rolled toward the park. Harman scooted out from under the bushes and looked around. A blue-and-pink sunrise promised another warm summer day. People should have been leaving for work, getting ready for school, eating cereal and drinking coffee. But Newburgh’s streets were empty, her homes were dark, and only fear moved freely.

  Harman cinched his backpack, brushed leaves and dirt from his short, black ponytail, and jogged away from the Guardsmen. He stuck to lawns and weedy medians to muffle his footfalls and gave a wide berth to the corpses he encountered. There were far fewer on the streets now that he was north of the Big Rotten Apple. Either people had fled the area, or they’d stayed home and died.

  He was in Newburgh after walking for two-and-a-half days from Newark. It was a distance that was nothing to a man who’d hiked all over South America. As he’d followed Route 9W from New Jersey, he’d kept his eyes and ears open and his Colt pistol at hand. He figured it’d take another day to reach his final destination—Kingston—find his brother, and do what needed to be done.

  A heavy pall of smoke tinged the sky reddish brown and stung Harman’s nose. Apparently, stealing wasn’t enough fun for Newburgh’s looters, so they’d set fires. Everything southwest of Broadway was no more than smoldering ash amid the blackened carcasses of buildings. Everywhere else, the damage was hit-or-miss. In the same way that AVHF killed thousands of people yet left some untouched, the looters and vandals burned and robbed some places but left others alone.

  Garbled shouts carried from the park followed by the pow-ping-hiss of teargas canisters being fired. More shouts then gunfire, and Harman broke into a full run as he crossed South Street and got clear of the park. Dogs barked somewhere off to his left and he kept up the pace. A lot of people had died and left family dogs to fend for themselves. Those that had gotten hungry enough had escaped their yards in search of food. And, to a feral dog pack, Harman looked like lunch.

  * * *

  The airline attendant for Czech Airlines paused beside Harman and Luca in the dim flight cabin. “Buckle your seatbelts, boys. And welcome to the United States,” she said in Slovak. “Once we’ve landed, I’ll escort you off the plane.” She crouched beside their seats. “Remember, you’re in my custody until I turn you over to your aunt and uncle. Promise to stick with me?” They nodded and she gave them a wide smile. “Great.”

  After she’d gone, Harman buckled Luca’s seatbelt.

  “Harman?”

  “What?” Harman and his little brother spoke Romani.

  “I’m scared.”

  “I know.” Harman put his arm around Luca’s shoulders. “But I’ll take care of you.”

  “Do you think the Americans will try to kill us, too?”

  They were coming to New York to live with their Uncle Marko and Aunt Julie. Neo-Nazis had set fire to their neighborhood in Hermanovce. Their mother had died saving Luca from their burning house.

  “No-no, Luca. They’re letting us live with Uncle Marko.” Harman stared at the endless lights of New York City as the plane circled to land. “Don’t worry. I’m sure it’ll be better here than in Slovakia.” He pointed out the window. “Ei! Look at that huge city.”

  “Wow!” Luca gave Harman a tentative smile. “It looks like Christmas in Košice.”

  Harman smiled back. “Merry Christmas in June, Luca.”

  * * *

  Harman paused at midday in the shadows of a McDonald’s. It was the only building on the street that hadn’t been gutted by fire, though vandals had busted up the inside. There was a blue Honda Accord in the parking lot, its windows fractured and the headlights smashed.

  Across from where he sat eating strawberries, fire had reduced a house to rubble but hadn’t burned the detached garage or the green, manicured lawn. The only thing out of place in the front yard was a large plastic sandbox shaped like a turtle.

  He and Luca had had one of tho
se when they’d lived with Aunt Julie and Uncle Marko. Their uncle had hated it. The lid was supposed to keep neighborhood cats from pooping in the sand. It worked—when they remembered to put it on. Of course Kevin Rubenecki had made it pointless because he wet his pants every time he came over to play in the sandbox.

  Harman laughed. He’d forgotten about Kevin and how that kid and Luca had fought over the Tonka bulldozer. Was the incontinent bastard dead now? That would make Luca smile.

  Harman’s amusement faded as that thought soured his stomach. He closed the container of strawberries. He’d lost his appetite.

  * * *

  My brother, Luca Petru Džugi, who works as a virologist for PFD, released AVHF in order to kill most of you.

  * * *

  Motion to his right caught his eye. Harman glanced up from beneath his brows as he shoved the container into his backpack. The movement came from inside the McDonald’s. A young girl appeared behind one of the Plexiglas windows of the PlayPlace climbing structure. She watched him from within a giant, red capsule at the end of a yellow tunnel.

  Harman scanned the restaurant. Where were the adults? He didn’t want trouble. When he looked back up, the girl was gone. He closed his pack and stood. Best to get outta town.

  The child appeared at the bottom of a purple slide. She sat, and he exchanged a steady stare with her for a long moment. She was, maybe, nine? Black cornrows. Filthy, pink pants and an oversized New York Knicks sweatshirt. Enormous brown eyes set in a dark-skinned, gaunt face.

  The girl looked up at the climbing tower beside the slide, and then she gave a little nod. Donning a pair of green snow boots, she pushed through an inner door that separated the play area from the rest of the eatery. The girl went to the restaurant’s broken side door, stuck her head through where the glass once had been, and pointed across the street.

  She said in a loud whisper, “The dogs are coming, mister.”