red hill - jamie mcguire

waves, but no matter how terrifying it was, that was the only way to reach my children.
I drove three miles north of Anderson’s eastern limits, and then cut east once I thought I was clear.
The Jeep bounced over an overpass not nearly as wide as the soldiers’, and then kicked up red dirt as
I barreled toward my chosen point. Three miles was enough to stay out of sight of whoever might
have been guarding the north entrance. I didn’t even come across any shuffling things.
The Jeep slowed to a stop. For the first time, I realized that my purse hadn’t made it with me to the
Jeep—or my cell phone—and my stomach turned. The phone lines probably weren’t working, but it
made me feel sick not to have any way to even try to call Andrew . . . or anyone else. I looked around
for shufflers, locked the doors, and then crawled into the back seat. I pulled up the piece of carpet
hiding the tire iron. That and a small flashlight were the only things of use.
I waited in the driver’s seat, ready to drive away at the first sight of a shuffler. My ears perked at
every sound, and my muscles twitched every time a gust of wind rattled the leaves and grass around
me. I hummed a random tune, picked at my fingernails, made sure my sneakers were double-knotted,
and then talked to God.
As the sun set, the level of anxiety I was sustaining felt nearly unmanageable. My mind struggled
not to revisit the moment John and his wife and baby were murdered. I also fought imagining
whatever awful scenes I might stumble upon once I breached the streets of Anderson. The guarded
entrances were both helpful and a hindrance. The armed guards, fearful and quick on the trigger,
would at least keep the threat of shufflers to a minimum.
Darkness began to paint shadows across the woods, and with the rise of the half-moon came the
fall in temperature. I rubbed my hands together, and then wrapped my arms around my ribs for
warmth, wishing I had something heavier than a scrub jacket. Soon, I would be walking around in the
dark, my ears and a tire iron my only weapon against anything hunting from the shadows, and the tire
iron wasn’t going to be much help. Anyone that hadn’t been hiding under a rock could tell you that the
only way to kill someone of the dead persuasion was to obliterate the brain stem. I needed a gun or at
least something sharp enough to penetrate bone. Beating in the skull of a shuffler would take more
time than I could spare.
It’s incredible, the way the imagination can physically affect the body. My heart rate had doubled,
and I was beginning to sweat. The more my fear crept up, the more I kept reminding myself that my
girls needed me. They were probably scared to death, and no matter what happened or what state they
were in, I wanted to be with them.
Nathan
ZOE INSTINCTIVELY KEPT HER HEAD down, or else she was mimicking me, as we hurried to the car.
Gunshots rang out two houses over, and I looked over to see my neighbor Lyle Edson shooting
someone approaching his front porch in the face. An ambulance raced by, the back doors open and