He inspected the shovelful of splintered wood, scraps of paper, insulation, and clothing.
Tally prodded a pile of soggy drywall with a broom handle. She wiped the tears off her cheeks with the back of her hand. “Should be searching for Shay instead of doing this.”
He looked over at her staring out the gaping hole in the wall.
Across the street, black-and-yellow hazard tape around the smoking foundation fluttered in the morning breeze. Two police cars blocked the driveway while rival TV news crews and their vans dominated a neighbor’s yard. A small crowd milled around the park.
His focus drifted back to the shredded insulation and twisted wires dangling from the ceiling.
Tally jammed the broom handle into another pile near the demolished bunk beds and struck something plastic.
A woman’s muffled voice echoed in the room. “—for our top story. Yesterday’s vile attack has left—”
He winced at each image flickering again—flames raging through the brown house, his father dragging scorched bodies, the charred hand waving in the air, the fire encircling the crater in the park, the red van door sticking out of the piano.
“—making it the third deadliest in Douglas County since the start of the Oregon Meltdown.”
He stormed past Tally, lifting the shovel high into the air and swinging it down with all his might.
“Police advise residents to re—”
He smashed the portable radio against a two-by-four. “Dirge freaks killed the Jensens and”—he hit it again even harder—“destroyed our house.” He swung a third time with all his might. “Now I’m just another damn refugee.”
She grasped his arm. “Come on, Nate, not this again.”
He glared at her, then tracked the shovel as he launched it across the room. When it ricocheted off the closet door, he scuttled over the mounds after it, pushed some papers aside, and opened a squashed wooden box.
She murmured, “Twice buried, twice dug up.”
He smiled at the thick stack of one-hundred dollar bills he pulled out. “Still sure you don’t want your share?”
She stomped over the debris toward him. “Got no use for stolen money.”
He turned away and flipped through the bills. “Wasn’t stolen, and you know it. You watched me dig it up, and you heard the cops say I could keep it ’cause it wasn’t from any of the bank robberies.”
She scoffed and draped a tan money belt over his shoulder. “Whatever. You only showed ’em one, not the whole coffee can full.”
After grabbing the belt, he stuffed the money inside the main pouch, zipped it closed, and lifted his baggy T-shirt enough to buckle it around his waist above the frayed camo rope belt. He took something from his pants pocket and held it up between them.
In the laminated photo, a small group of spectators kept a safe distance from an alligator piñata dangling above an eight-year-old boy wearing a blindfold and wielding a baseball bat.
Her voice was choked with sadness. “We were so clueless back then about all the shit coming at us.”
They both gazed past it toward the hole in the wall framing the ruins of the Jensens’ house and the devastated park.
He slipped the photo into the smaller pouch of the money belt, zipped it closed, and covered it with his shirt before following her into the living room.
His brother darted past wrapped in an emerald green flag emblazoned with a crimson red dragon.
Nate sneered at him. “Leave it to Maggot to play capture the flag.”
“Maybe he knows money’s not the only thing that matters.”
Nate closed his eyes and let the memories wash over him—sending a back-heel pass to her near a makeshift goal, running through a dim motel hallway with his team, balancing a trophy on his head, carrying the Screaming Dragons’ flag on a victory lap.
Her footsteps crunched the broken glass scattered across the floor.
A chunk of ceiling plaster dropped onto the crushed piano, blasting another eerie chord through the shattered house.
He startled and opened his eyes, snagging his crumpled hat from a hook and stumbling after her through the six-foot hole where the front door had been.
They stopped at the edge of the driveway to watch Elena heave a duffel bag onto the roof rack of the white camping trailer hitched to a gray SUV.
Scott hustled around the corner and tossed two pairs of work gloves to Nate. “Need that plywood hauled over to the hole in your wall. I just sent Caden up to Liz and Marta’s to grab the rest of our gear. He can give you a hand when he gets back.”
A man’s gruff voice boomed from the other side of the SUV. “Let me guess, the Finleys are hightailing it north like everybody else around here.”
Scott said, “Let me guess, McCurdy’s got a better idea.”
A portly man with a bushy beard strode into sight and ran his hand over the spotless hood of the SUV. “Course I do, along with a hunch your rigs were parked back in the garage when that rocket hit ’cause there’s hardly a scratch on ’em. Electra got throttled up at our place, so I can’t even offer her as a loaner. Anyhow, you guys are welcome to stay with us. Plenty of room in the Annex—right, honey?”
Tally rolled her eyes. “Oh yeah, Pop, six people in an eight-by-eight bomb shelter sounds cozy.” She followed Nate toward the stack of half-inch plywood sheets leaning against the sycamore.
Scott crouched beside the trailer and adjusted the safety chains under the coupler. “Not about to spend my life hiding in a damn hole in the ground.”
Elena hoisted an even bigger bag onto the roof rack closest to the solar panels. “Here you two go again. Just what we need at a time like this, especially after losing the Jensens and those utility workers.”
Nate and Tally put on their gloves, positioned themselves at opposite ends of the used plywood, and hauled the top sheet toward the side of the house.
McCurdy made a feeble attempt to rearrange the duffel bag. “Dirge can’t pull off any more attacks with the Guard all over their butts. It was just dumb luck they got anything off the ground.”
Scott sprawled on the driveway beside the trailer. “Yeah, dumb luck that had me dragging bodies out of a raging inferno and searching for…”
Nate and Tally shuffled around the corner and set the plywood down. They stared through the jagged hole at the remnants of his bedroom as if they were observing a museum display.
She grumbled, “Imagine being stuck in the Annex with those two.”
“C-Can’t believe this is happening. W-We almost got killed too, but I don’t wanna go.”
She guided him back toward the front of the house.
McCurdy’s voice grew louder. “—all the way to Portland or Astoria anyhow. Feds already sealed off the border, and word has it they’re closing the bridges on Memorial Day. That only gives you a week and some change to run the gauntlet between the Dirge and fenders. Plus, you got zombies thrown in for good measure.”
Elena moved away from the trailer and faced him. “Don’t you dare go off on another rant about Zamas. Bad enough those poor souls got infected in the first place, but getting their homes torched and being forced out of town to live like lepers is criminal. Viruses and diseases happen, that’s all, like the common cold, covid, hendra, measles, bird flu, poxes, and all the rest. If everybody would’ve stayed calm and worked together, a whole lot of pain and suffering could’ve been avoided. All that fearmongering and arguing did nothing but push people apart even more. Don’t lump M-virus victims in with the Dirge and those idiot fenders turning a tragedy into a nightmare.”
McCurdy spit toward the street. “So you actually believe that bull about a virus naturally appearing out of nowhere in some backwater in Oregon, then popping up here and there around the country? Wake up and smell the coffee, Elena.”
“Try following your own advice for a change.”
He bristled but went on. “Mazama’s just five miles from where a buddy of mine says the Feds keep a secret underground camp to experiment with retroviruses. One of those damn things got away from ’em, sure as I’m standing here. Or maybe the Meltdown’s all part of their plan, who knows?”
Nate and Tally stood beside the stack of plywood and watched a police officer filming the rocket crater in the park.
Elena said, “Believe what you will, even grand conspiracy theories if it makes you feel any better. Meanwhile, we should be paying our respects to the dead instead of talking about this crap.”
“Then how come Oregon got the worst of it?”
She flipped a strand of hair from her face. “For God’s sake, viruses just start somewhere and don’t pay attention to borders. The quarantine got lifted ’cause nobody’s been infected for over a year. It’s not contagious anymore.”
He scratched his beard. “Can’t convince me of that. Heard about a guy over in—”
“We studied the maps last night. The Guard’s protecting the evac corridor and all the havens, so we’ll be OK. Once we get to Seattle, we can stay with Quinn. You remember my little sister from Randy’s memorial, right?”
A dazed look washed over McCurdy’s face. “Hell yeah, I do— I mean, uh, the Guard’s doing the best they can, but there’s not enough of ’em on the whole West Coast to protect us all. You can’t go south ’cause of Dirge snipers. And I hope you got the bucks to buy off any fenders you cross paths with. Defenders, my ass. Worthless scumbags, squabbling among themselves instead of facing the real enemy head-on like they promised. Won’t even stick with a ceasefire an hour after they sign it. It’s anarchy, plain and simple. Feds got their hands full with all the—”
“Listen, man.” Scott struggled to his feet beside the trailer and rubbed his jaw. “Like she said, we already made up our minds.”
McCurdy kicked at a beech tree root. “Hell, I know that, but I still gotta give you two grief for splitting. Roseburg’s a ghost town, I tell you. Somebody’s gotta take a stand against—”
“That’s the line Max always used to wrap up those rallies he spearheaded. Look where that got him.”
They all glanced up at the sky before turning in unison toward the smoldering ruins across the street.
McCurdy cleared his throat. “Anyhow, leave the plywood for the two of us to finish up so you can hit the road. I hear the Guard’s closing the freeway this side of Sutherlin. You gotta get to a haven by nightfall.”
Scott went back to checking the wires on the trailer. “Thanks. Do us another favor, will you? Don’t let anybody move into our place while we’re gone.”
McCurdy’s laugh sounded hollow. “Trashes my plan for renting it out as a Dirge hideaway. Good luck to you guys, for real.”
“Same back your way.”
Elena started to speak but stopped.
McCurdy nodded at Tally. “Say your goodbyes, honey.”
“But, Pop, can’t I stay and help with—?”
“Now’s the time, Talula.” McCurdy ambled up the street, sidestepping clumps of debris.
Elena pulled her close, kissed her forehead, and spun away. “Take care of yourself, sweetie.”
Nate and Tally looked down at their feet, then up at each other. He raised his arms as he edged toward her.
She gave him a quick hug and hurried away backward, the faint scent of her homemade rose perfume lingering for only a moment. “Let me know when you get to the Columbia.”
Nate resisted the throbbing pain in his chest that made him want to scream. “How? Nobody around here can—”
“Just ask the Red Cross to get a message to us. Max says they do it all the—” She froze, then covered her face with her hands, turned, and ran up the street.
He flinched when his mother put her arm around him and wiped the tears off her cheeks with the back of her free hand.
Her trembling voice burned like salt in an open wound. “I’m sorry, Natty, but it’s our only choice. We’ll come back and rebuild when everything settles down.”
He scowled and moved away. “Yeah, Mom? When’s that gonna happen?”