Survivor Read Free Page A

me?”
    â€œNot sick.”
    â€œI don’t know.”
    â€œHow many are you staying with?”
    â€œJust me.”
    â€œWhat?”
    â€œI’m alone,” I replied.
    I could see what he was thinking. That I was crazy. That I’d probably just crawled out of some blackened, deserted building, completely out of step with what was going on, a raving lunatic. No matter what stirrings of sympathy he may have felt, he couldn’t get away from the fact that I might just be mad and so, in my own way, just as dangerous as the infected people. Maybe I would have thought that too.
    I tried to explain. “There’s this girl—Felicity. She might be in Central Park still. That’s where I’m heading. There might be others. I just haven’t seen anyone in person—”
    â€œWell, kid, I’ve seen a lot. I’ve seen good people do things that don’t make no sense,” he said, not looking at me. “No sense. You understand?”
    I nodded. He’d done stuff, too, probably.
    â€œSoon there’ll be—there’ll be people coming through here, and it’ll get out of hand—it’ll be something you don’t want to see . . .”
    â€œWhy wouldn’t I want to see people?”
    I’d dreamed of seeing people for twelve days . . .
    He looked over at his comrades. Soldiers, on the road to nowhere. One of them turned, leaning from his truck window, and made a gesture to Starkey to hurry up. The vehicle had rounded the intersection up ahead.
    â€œWe’re getting left behind!” the other guy yelled, and finally moved on, jogging after his friend and then climbing into the second truck.
    Starkey turned to leave.
    â€œWho are you?” I asked him.
    â€œI’m nobody,” he said as he held his rifle with both hands. “Just—just keep your head down, kid. Won’t be long.”
    Won’t be long? “What won’t be long?”
    He walked away. Square shoulders filling out his plastic parka. Hope departing. Just like that. No answer.
    I ran after him. Fell into step beside him. His eyes scanned the street. The guy’s expression was stone. He looked down at me like I was nothing. Like I, and all this around us, was too big a problem for one man and his buddies to deal with.
    â€œDon’t make me stay here,” I pleaded, falling into step beside him, heading for the departing trucks. “There’s thousands of those infected—”
    â€œThey won’t last much longer,” he said. “They’ll become ill and worse due to injury and exposure, lack of nutrition, all that. They can’t last long on just water . . .”
    â€œNo, you don’t understand, there’s another kind of infected—”
    â€œI’ve seen, kid,” he said, zipping his collar up tight against a horizontal snow drift. “There are two clear groups of the infected. Yeah? I’ve seen that. Those who are literally bloodthirsty killers, and those who are content with any liquid to survive. Either way, both groups need fluid constantly; got themselves some kind of psychogenic polydipsia, they need to drink. It’s the why that bothers me—why the two different conditions . . .”
    He seemed lost in the thought, a thousand-mile stare.
    â€œThat’s why you’re here?”
    He eventually shrugged in reply.
    â€œMaybe the ones who chase after people were already screwed up?” I said. “Murderers and criminals, stuff like that.”
    â€œMaybe, kid,” he said, looking at his trucks. “But I doubt it.”
    â€œThey’re driven to kill for blood,” I said urgently. “I’ve seen them. They prey on others, take advantage of them. They’re getting stronger while the rest—the general population of infected—are getting weaker. The gap is growing bigger. The weak congregate, for safety maybe. They flock to where there’s easy