"Sure, come on in." "Thanks," she says and walks through the kitchen door as you step aside to let her in. She has a bit of an accent—maybe British—and she slaps and shuffles her sandals as she walks. She pulls her hat off, and light brown hair falls just above her shoulders, appearing sharply cut at the ends. She shakes it and then folds it up in a bundle to place under the hat again, this time backwards.
"Sorry to show up unannounced," she says, leaning against the stove, her bony hip almost turning on a burner. "And who do we have here?"
You follow her stare to the cracked-open door leading to the living room and your nephew's head peeking in.
"That's Johnny, my nephew," you say.
Max pushes through the opening and trots next to you in a protective stance, ears popped up but head tilted to the side.
Rachel crouches low and makes a kissing sound, which draws in Max. He walks over to her and stands confidently at her side, and she strokes his back.
"Good dog," she says. "What's his name?"
"Max. He seems to like you."
She gives him a few pats on his head, and he walks to your side and sits.
Johnny enters and sits on the edge of a kitchen chair, looking up at Rachel with a toothy smile. "Hi."
"I don't believe we've ever met. It's a pleasure."
Your nephew laughs and giggles, and his cheeks turn a shade of red. Apparently, your nephew is fond of Rachel. He has good taste, at least.
Rachel glances around the kitchen and stares at the light overhead. "Your electricity working is brilliant. It's off in Vince's place."
"So how is Vince doing?" you ask.
Rachel tilts her head down to gaze at the floor. She stays this way for a moment, then looks up, her expression somber. "Not sure. He left several weeks ago on an emergency business trip. He mentioned a matter of grave importance, and since he works for the CDC, I figured it was some outbreak of meningitis or some such thing. Really, he was very hush-hush about his work. Now that I know about the Zeta virus, I can't but wonder if he was called away to deal with early cases."
"And he hasn't contacted you since?"
"No. That's not unusual when he's on assignment. He stays incommunicado for long periods. I've come to stay with him for a month or so at a time every year since the early 2000s. This happens all the time.
"You never questioned your cousin about his line of work?" I'm not in the habit of interrogating family, no," Rachel says with a roll of her eyes.
"I didn't say interrogate, but you're not curious about the diseases and outbreaks he investigates? What does he do for the CDC? He told me he taught high school."
"Look, he's a private man, and I don't typically ask questions of people kind enough to open their homes to me. Am I curious? Quite. But when he asked for privacy, I gave it, one hundred percent."
Something doesn't add up. Why would Vince lie for so long? You've had conversations with him before on science and viruses. It doesn't make sense that he'd hide his true profession.
"So why are you here to see me? We're a few days into the outbreak, and you're coming over now?"
Rachel runs her hands along the edge of the sink and stove, stands, and paces the kitchen. "I thought Vince would be back by now, or at least made contact. I fear that he won't. If the virus isn't controlled within the next few days, hell, within the next twenty-four hours, our way of life will never be the same again. To survive, we'll need to rely upon others. Vince has always spoken highly of you. It's time for us to plan for the future."
"He spoke highly of me?"
"He spoke well of you and your ability to lead, to strategize, and to manage a team. We're entering a phase of humankind where leaders are needed for survival, and I want to align myself with someone like you from the start. And I have a certain skillset I can offer to you as well."
Hearing this, you can't help but reply
"What kinds of skills can you offer?"
Rachel leans back and raises her eyebrows. "To the point, I see. Well, I should have prepared for a job interview. Firstly, I'm well-schooled in reality television programs and have a knack for speaking my mind on all matters of politics, philosophy, and religion. I am above average at karaoke, which changes to exceptional the more pissed I get."
Rachel folds her arms, and her face takes on a more serious expression. "More to the point, I'm a good judge of character and can tell someone's motive in an instant. I'm trustworthy and loyal to the point of risking my own well-being. I work well in a group but have the capacity to think on my own. And I have a will to survive in a world slowly becoming unlivable for humans."
Rachel pauses, takes a deep breath, and relaxes with a lean against the far wall. "And I make a mean grilled cheese sandwich."
There's something charming in her words, almost cunning, and you get the sense that she's downplaying her true abilities.
Rachel walks across the kitchen to the window and peeks through the curtains. "The dead are rising fast, and we don't have much time. We're in a race now to find a few people to count on. Hopefully, we can start with each other."
Johnny turns to you and shrugs. "What do you think, Ares?"
Rachel looks away from the window and catches your gaze. "Yes, what do you think?
"I'd be happy to get to know you more," You say, flirting.Rachel raises an eyebrow, and her lips form a thin smile. "Aren't you being the forward one now? Let's focus on our survival and not get all hung up on things that could distract us from that goal." "Oh, come on. Sometimes distractions can be fun," You say, moving closer.
Rachel laughs and backs away. "Feisty, aren't we? We truly just met. Let's not jump into anything just yet."
She takes out a slip of paper and places it on the kitchen table. "That's my cell if you need to reach me, for as long as phones still work."
She shimmies over to Max and pets his head. He glances at you and wags his tail. When she's finished, she walks to the back kitchen door. "It was a pleasure meeting you, Mr. Johnny."
He smiles and buries his head in his hands. "Good to meet you, too."
"Thanks for the chat," she says as she opens the door and steps outside to the yard. The sky above has a few fluffy clouds hanging, with the backdrop a powder blue. "By the way, I have a few things I thought might be helpful."
She steps to the side of your home where there lies a duffel bag, and she lifts it and hands it to you. "Good luck. Give me a ring for anything."
Rachel strides away and disappears into the alley.
You close the door, heave the duffel bag over to the kitchen table, and unzip it. On top is a machete, long and sharp and heavy. You take inventory of the rest of the bag as you unpack it:
- A six-pack of bottled spring water.
- A few meals worth of non-perishable food (10 units).
- A canteen.
- A flashlight.
- A first aid kit.
You place the food and water in cabinets and take the rest of the items to the inventory pile.
You can never have too many vehicles, so you head outside to find a new one.
You step outside and look through the area around your home. After a quick tour of the vehicles available, you inspect the two door coupe. A common car on the road, coupes blend in, take up little space, and provide good maneuverability with low maintenance needs.
You check the time—11:00 am.
You peek through the window and spot a man at the front door. He stands perfectly straight like he's at attention in a military formation, but he looks far from being fresh out of service. His hair is shaggy and unkempt, he wears a bushy, untrimmed beard, and his clothes are a dull and faded blue button-down shirt and blue jeans, with a braided leather belt and brass buckle of someone named Comet Joe. Slung over one shoulder, he's carrying a backpack, and he's holding a gym bag.
"He looks creepy," Johnny says. "Wow, Comet Joe! Look, he has Comet Joe on his belt."
The man leans forward, knocks, and tilts his head to look through the narrow slivers of glass decorating your front door. Max runs to the door and lets out three sharp barks. You unlock and open the door, keeping your body braced against it with the security chain still latched. Max tries to push his way through the opening, but you hold him back. "Hello?" you say to the man, more a question than greeting.
"Are you Aaron?" he asks in a gravelly voice. "I'm Woody, Jaime's cousin." Even at a short distance away, the man has a strong body odor radiating from him.
"Yes, but Jaime said his cousin Moses—"
"Dang it, I told him not to call me that!" Woody says. His cheeks flush with anger, and he stomps his foot.
"Woody, like in the cartoon?" Johnny whispers to you.
"Well, come in." You step aside, and he walks in with a brisk, determined motion. Max starts toward the stranger, who stiffens at the dog's approach, and you speak a command and point to his mat in the corner. The dog takes a few hesitant steps, looks back, and then trots away.
"Well trained," Woody says.
Johnny steps by your side and waves his hand to Woody, who smiles with perfect white teeth through the forest of his beard.
"Hey there, little man. My cousin told me about you. Told me you were smart as a whip."
"That's Comet Joe on your belt!"
"Sure is. One of my favorite graphic novels," Woody says.
"Really? I love Comet Joe and even his partner, NepJune. She's saucy," Johnny says with a huge grin and wide eyes.
"Saucy?" you say.
"I don't know what it means, but Comet Joe tells her that all the time." Your nephew rummages through a pile of comics and finds a glossy-covered issue with the hero on the cover surrounded by blue flames.
"That's the Collector's Edition Annual," Woody says, pointing to the book. "Back home, I have the gold version with the PlutOliver trading card."
"Wow!" Johnny says, his mouth stuck in the shape of an O and eyes wide.
As Woody steps over the front-door threshold, he eyes you with curiosity. "Would you be of Native American descent?"
"Yeah. Why?"
Woody perks up. "I figured you was. You see, I study Indigenous Americans and have lived with various peoples. Makes me feel a bit at ease 'round 'em."
"I see."
Woody crosses farther into the room and scans from ceiling to floor, then left to right. "Okay, I see. You got your supplies all in one location, some damage to your home, but you have no real security to speak of. This place won't keep out a looter or the infected. I like the alarms on the points of entry. You even got electricity. Seems out in other places 'round here. All that said, I'm real glad to be here."
Woody places his bags down by the sofa and takes out a wrapped sandwich from inside the gym bag. "Either of you want a baloney and pepperjack sandwich?"
Sure," You say, always happy to have some food.
Woody shuffles through his bag and finds two more sandwiches wrapped in wax paper. He hands one to Johnny and one to you, and you open it and take a bite. It's salty but peppery, and the cheese has a smooth texture.
"Thanks." You take another bite.
"It smells like feet but tastes good. Thanks," your nephew says.
"Make no mention of it," Woody says and takes a full corner bite of the sandwich, then turns it and shoves in the next corner. "Me, I love meat. If I was a pig, I'd be a cannibal."
Your nephew busts out in laughter. "If he was a pig!"
Your new guest finishes his meal and lets out an intense belch, drawing more laughter from Johnny. "Anyway, I 'ppreciate you lettin' me stay here. I won't be trouble, can fix things up, and keep it clean."
"Sounds good, Woody. Just so you're aware, there's a woman upstairs, Jillian, who's sleeping. She's a guest and, without going into a long story right now, she's had a rough day. She probably won't even come downstairs, but I want you to know she's here."
"All right. I won't bug her. Good to know who's all in the house."