Late into the night, despite my lack of sleep the night before, I’m wide awake, thinking about Lucas. Hank snores away at the other end of the room. Gilbert’s cot is near the door, and Ethan’s cot is only a few feet away from mine, which is next to the window. I try to look out into the streets. Occasionally, I will spot a greyskin lurking around in the moonlight and every time I do, I get a sick feeling in my stomach.

A tear slides down my nose and onto my pillow as I stare into the night. The moon is full and foreboding. I think not only of Lucas, but others that I have lost. My sister. My parents. Hattie.

Hattie…what would I have done without you?

I bury my face into my pillow so my cries will not be heard. I try to think of the future, but I feel like there is no future. All I can do is think about the past and those that brought me to where I am.

Chapter 8 - Waverly

Three Years Ago

I never found out why there was smoke in the distance, hovering over the city like some menacing cloud that promised an imminent storm that would soon destroy us all. Perhaps it was an explosion? Maybe someone tried to set a building full of those grey people on fire? It didn’t matter. Hattie was driving us as far away from the city as possible. She tried calling her husband, Charles, but there was no answer. She stared straight ahead, her eyes wide as we moved forward, but I knew she was worried that something might have happened to her family.

I felt sick about my own family. My mom…my dad. I used Hattie’s phone to try and call my sister, but I got no answer. For a couple of minutes, we listened to the radio as she drove, but it was all the same. No one knew what was happening, and all the reports said that it seemed to be a virus that had affected people. Hattie switched it off and we rode in silence the rest of the way to her house.

I never knew that she lived almost forty-five minutes away, seemingly in the middle of nowhere. I had always just assumed that she had a house somewhere within Oakridge. It was small, but comfortable. A giant oak tree in the front yard shaded most of the property, and Charles’ truck was parked in the driveway. We looked in every direction to make sure none of those grey things were lurking around before we got out.

Hattie ran toward the front porch, but before she reached it, Charles and their son came out to meet her. Both of them held a rifle in their hands.

“Are you all right?” Charles asked her, hugging her tightly. “I’ve been trying to call you for the past hour.”