He stopped at a corner building, four stories, brick. Old and distinguished.

“We’ve got the basement.”

“I just knew you’d live in the basement. Anyone else still here?”

Chuck shook his head as he pulled out keys, opened a series of locks. Then stepped inside a hallway, keyed a code into a wall panel.

“Everybody is dead or fled. It’s my uncle’s place—one of his properties. He’s got a big-ass house on Long Island. Or did. He died the end of week one.”

“I’m sorry.” Fred rubbed Chuck’s arm.

“Hell of a guy. Lights,” he called and they flashed on. “I like my toys.”

“I’ll say.”

Arlys stared. The enormous and well-finished space resembled some sort of high-tech HQ. Computers, monitors, stations, some sort of communication system. Some counters and swivel chairs, the biggest wall screen she’d ever seen, and a leather recliner.

One corner held a kitchen—stainless-steel appliances, cluttered counters.

“Bedroom’s through there—haven’t been using it much. You guys can take that. Bathroom’s attached, but I’ve got another one over there.”

Fred wandered, head clocking back and forth, eyes more than a little dazzled. “You must be really rich.”

“Well, my uncle was. Who’s rich these days? I guess you are if you’ve got supplies and a roof over your head. So we’re rolling in it. You want eats?”

“No, not me.” Arlys pressed the heels of her hands to her eyes.

“Want a beer, and to talk about it?”

“Not now. I don’t think I can now. If I could get some sleep first.”

He gestured toward the bedroom.

Arlys walked toward it, turned around. “Thank you, Chuck.”

“Hey, there’s no buds like cyber buds. Go crash, and we’ll talk on the flip side.”

Fred watched her go. “She needs sleep and some quiet.” Then she smiled at Chuck. “I wouldn’t mind a beer.”

“Sure thing.”

“And I can tell you some of it. I can tell you so she doesn’t have to. Unless she wants.”

“Got my napping couch over there. Have a seat. I’ve got some chips and salsa to go with the beer.”

Fred dumped her pack, her coat, sat down on the big leather couch, sighed. “She really likes you, and trusts you. I can see why. Um, do you maybe have some ice? There were men in the tunnel, and they tried to … One of them punched me.”

Chuck gave her a long, quiet look as she cupped her bruised jaw. “A lot of people suck, that’s why I like the quiet.”

“A lot more don’t.”

“Maybe. I’ll set you up, Red Fred. Ice, beer, chips, and salsa.”

“Is it really spicy salsa?”

“Set your mouth on fire.”

“That’s my favorite kind.”

CHAPTER TEN

With Max at the wheel, they crossed the Susquehanna. The tire chains bit through the snow—an inch, then two—as they pushed west.

He picked up the 414, kept to the rural areas, passing a scatter of homes and little farms as the hills rolled and forests thickened. A few times, with Eddie asleep in the back, he worked with Lana to ease an abandoned or wrecked car onto the shoulder of the winding two-lane road.

“Maybe we should find a place to stop. You’ve been driving more than three hours, and the roads are getting worse.”

“We’ve barely hit a hundred miles today. I want more before we break.”

In the back, Eddie stirred, rubbed his eyes, and sat up. “Ain’t letting up, is it? Storm’s coming in from the west, looks like, so we’re heading into worse. Want me to take the wheel for a spell?”

“Not yet.”

He made it another twenty miles before he had to stop for a three-car pileup.

“Well.” Eddie scratched his beard. “Looks like we’ve got some work to do. Lana, you mind taking Joe to do some business while me and Max see about pushing this mess out of the way?”

A warning look from Max told her he wasn’t ready to share what they could do with their new companion.

She took the dog, trudged through the snow to a stand of trees.

Max and Eddie walked toward the wrecked cars.

Behind the wheel of the hatchback, the body of a man slumped.

“That’s a bullet hole in the windshield there, and in him, too, I guess.” Though he’d gone a little pale, Eddie moved closer. “I don’t know much, but I know this dude hasn’t been dead long. I mean not like a couple of days.”

“Somebody put some bullet holes in this Subaru, too. And there’s some blood on the seat.”

Pulling lightly at his scraggle of a beard, Eddie let out a sigh. “Gun rack in the truck there—and no guns in it. I ain’t no CSI type, but I watched it some on TV. Looks to me like the truck dude shot at these two, killed the one here, wounded the other. Wrecked the shit out of the truck, so he couldn’t drive it.”

“I’d say you’re right.”

“So, you know…” Eddie looked around, searching for tracks, afraid he’d find them. “Maybe we should clear this mess out of the way, quick as we can, and get the hell out of here. In case.”

The hatchback rolled easily once in neutral with Eddie guiding the wheel and Max pushing from the rear.

Lana walked back as they worked on the Subaru.

“Tire’s flat. Looks like the wheel’s bent, too.” Eddie rolled his shoulders. “Gonna take more muscle.”

“I’ll help.”

“Don’t you strain nothing,” Eddie warned. This time, he cut the wheel, left the door open, and put his back into it from the front.

It only took Lana one shove to know muscle alone wouldn’t be enough. She added a different kind of push, and though she tried to keep it light, the car jerked forward.

“We got her!” Eddie called out. “Just a little more.”

Max, his hair covered with snow, laughed under his breath. “Ease back, Amazon Queen.”

They pushed again, had the car bumping over the shoulder, and stopping crookedly in the shallow ravine beside it.

Eddie shot Lana a grin. “Stronger than you look.”

She only smiled, flexed.

“We can get around the truck,” Max said.

“Yeah, room enough to squeak by. Give me a minute first.”

Eddie slid down to the ravine, pulled the keys out of the Subaru, stomped through snow to the back to open it. “Could be some useful things got left behind. Should check the other car, too.”

“I’ll do that.” Max thought of the body. Lana didn’t need to see it. “You help Eddie.”

She slithered down, opened the suitcase in the back while Eddie poked through a big cardboard box.

“Got food,” he said. “Looks like somebody grabbed stuff out of the pantry.”

“Just take the box. There are clothes in here—men’s clothes. And…” She took out a framed photo of a man in his thirties, a woman of about the same age. He wore a tux with a white rose boutonniere, and she a billowy white dress.

“Their wedding photo,” she murmured. “But only men’s clothes. He must have lost her to the virus.”

“We oughta take the suitcase, too.”

“Yes.” She put the photo back inside. She wouldn’t leave it to fade in the back of a car.

Between them, they managed to haul the box of provisions to the road while shoving and pulling the suitcase. Max joined them with a duffel bag and a rifle.

“In the trunk. The gun and there’s ammo in the duffel, some warm weather clothes, a roll of cash stuffed in a boot. For all the good that does anyone now.”

“Gonna check the truck.”

Eddie jogged to it while Lana and Max started to pack the new finds in the car. Eddie came back with a half bottle of Jack Daniel’s and three cans of Bud.

“I suspect somebody was driving under the influence, and maybe that caused the wreck.” He wedged them into the car, turned in a circle.

“Pretty country. Damn pretty country. Find a stream, build yourself a cabin. Life wouldn’t be half bad.” He grinned over at the dog, who leaped through the snow, rolled in it. “He sure likes it.”