From the dark brown frown with cracks as fine as hair came an exhausted sigh. The battered voice sprung forth in a cloud in the chilly late autumn air, and it expanded with momentum until it stretched too far to be anything significant anymore. The plume of breath was merely a miniature copycat of the billows of smoke that seeped outward and beyond from the chimneys in the rows of houses dotted along the street. In the distant sun rays running abruptly on holiday hours the windows of the bungalows reflected the copper sunset, and the many residents were just starting to return home from a long days’ work. And though their minds and bodies may have been exhausted, a few waved to the large wooden wagon rolling down the road carrying a handful of farmers on their way back from the fields.

 	A pothole in the road made the occupants sway from side to side. Winifred Ross didn’t mind the nudge that woke her from a zoned-out lull, but it brought the awareness of a prickling cold back. She shivered, her jaw quaking, and she rubbed her arms for warmth, her hands leaving faint dark marks behind from the soil that stayed caked onto her palms. The earthy scent had become a permanent feature of the middle-aged woman, something she preferred to not be known by. 

 	Determined by an out-of-date recycled calendar in which the numbers and names of the days didn’t match, it had been roughly almost two weeks since the group had arrived at Chico. It had been almost a month since the incident at Fort Riley. It had been exactly a month since the Farm fell. The ever-present background tick of her wristwatch was a grim reminder that every second counted down the final moments of innocent lives and the lingering minutes that came after. It was a thought Winifred kept trying to drown, but like most dead things, it floated back to the surface. 

 	Like the other travelers in the wagon Winifred resorted to watching the residents on the streets, specifically an elderly man wearing a heavy cardigan and a scarf reduced to fraying threads who had been hanging ornaments on the naked tree guarding the lawn. In a slow circle he turned to face the horse-drawn wagon and nodded in recognition. Already reminders of the upcoming holiday season began to emerge around Chico haven. It turned Winifred’s worn-out frown into a smirk; a nostalgic reminisce of Christmastime. 

 	The wagon began to slow and with a loud, energetic neigh the palomino horse came to a stop right next to the brown brick face of the bar, The Ax & The Round. Across the street and a little way’s down a group of children squealed with laughter over the rusted cries of the merry-go-round and swing set in the playground of the schoolhouse. While waiting for guardians to pick them up from school, the handful of boys and girls played games only their youthful imaginations could take seriously. 

 	“E’ryone off,” the driver of the wagon called out, muffled beneath the black scarf he ticked his chin into. The six passengers exchanged their thanks with the man as they clambered off the backside of the wagon. Winifred said her goodbye’s to her co-workers as they all vanished down their separate routes. In turn, she headed for the schoolhouse with her hands hiding in the pouch of her oversized maroon sweater. As a habit she looked both ways down the quiet road, but before she could cross the street a familiar voice called out to her. 

“Win!” It was unmistakable who it was, yet Winifred had not expected to see Daryl Romanson back in Chico Haven so soon. His hair had grown longer, curling around his earlobes and grazing his shoulders; his facial hair was more profound and ragged. The man aged more every time Winifred saw him. With a smug smirk he waved to his old friend and crossed the gap with a quick jog. Trailing along behind him was a light-skinned, burly woman sporting a ginger bob cut known as Big Anna. A dirt-stained black coat hung open with a patched grey sweater underneath. Each small nub of a fingertip poked out through the tips of red and orange gloves. Big Anna’s size alone pegged her comparison somewhere alongside professional wrestlers and the tales of her survival could one-up anyone else’s, yet the less-than-dainty woman preferred her place as a librarian who strongly advocated reading amongst the youth. 	

“Back already,” Winifred commented as she gave Daryl a brief hug. The smell of beer lingered around the two, which was not surprising in the least. 

“I got enough stuff to keep Wess happy,” Daryl replied with a shrug. 

“For now,” Winifred remarked. The scavenging soloist worked exclusively for Chico’s number one inventor, Westley Jeromiah. But in-between runs, the old group from Fort Riley would force Daryl to spend time with them. 

“And look at you, girl, puttin’ on a bit’a weight,” Big Anna said with a wave to Winifred’s stomach as though she were Vanna White and Winifred’s body was a vowel. 

“At least I’m still young,” Winifred retorted in a pretend defensive tone. 

“Keep tellin’ yourself that, sweetheart,” Big Anna teased. She softly punched Winifred in the arm and winked. Someday Winifred would work up the courage to ask Anna to stop with the play-punches she didn’t know left little bruises. Sharing a town with Big Anna was like sharing a room with an older sibling. It made Winifred glad she was an only child. 

“So you coming with us for drinks?” Daryl asked. 

“Can’t – gotta pick up Danielle from school,” Winifred said. Nervously she shifted from side to side, and she gave them an apologetic little smile. Big Anna countered it with a “pfft,” and a roll of her eyes. 

“My treat,” Daryl added in with a high, persuading voice like it was the best offer in the world. 

“Next time,” Winifred attempted to assure them, albeit obviously lying. Perhaps socializing and psychoanalyzing everyone was a fond past-time of hers, but putting on a poker face to tell a fib was not. 

“Ross, you say that every time. One day I’m gonna get you wasted, girl,” Big Anna told her, ending the statement with a flirtatious laugh. 

 	The owner of one of the few fruit stands in the marketplace, Io, walked past with his round glasses hanging off the tip of his reddened ski-jump nose. The three said hello to the middle-aged man who smiled enthusiastically and nodded to each. The language barrier with Io always prevented actual conversations from happening, yet everyone knew him to be an unnaturally nice man. 

“Anyway, we’re going to get going,” Daryl decided. “See you later?”

“You bet,” Winifred told the two. “Dinner tomorrow Daryl, don’t forget again.”

“I won’t!” Big Anna called out when they began to walk away. 

 	Turning back to the schoolhouse, Winifred briskly walked across the street to avoid the small pack of paramedics on their bicycles going by. Recognized by the blue and white bands they wore on their arms, the groups of often three to four patrolled the streets, always mobile. More often than not they took on the responsibility of an Old World police officer as well and, when it came down to it, the “policing paramedics” were a major asset to Chico’s control. Armed and educated: a vital force. 

Not that they were any more respected that any other form of questionable authority. But seeing them so active provided that comforting security that helped Winifred sleep at night. 

From the chain link fence enclosing the playground where a row of overgrown hedges spilled onto the sidewalk, Winifred could see Danielle playing some hand-clapping game with her often-talked-about friend, Dora. But when she saw Winifred approaching, Danielle stopped playing altogether and ran to the fence, exclaiming loudly, “Winnie! Win, guess what? Guess, Winnie!” 

“I dunno, tell me.”

“No, I said guess!” Danielle protested. 

“Ms. A said she got the highest on the geography test,” her friend Dora announced. Danielle beamed up at Winifred, her grin exposing the gap where both teeth had fallen out. There was a smudge of deep pink on her cheek, either crayon or jam, and her yellow coat had a new heart drawn in black marker on the right shoulder. 

“Good job, Danny.” Winifred began to crouch down in front of the young girl to ask her more about it when the three teachers standing beneath the towering sycamore tree spotted Winifred and a flurry of gossiping sprung up amongst them. Trying to ignore it, Winifred smiled back at Danielle and opened her mouth only to be cut off by the sound of crunching leaves beneath hard footwear. 

“Ms. Ross? A word?” Amelia Dobrici, a woman who looked like the human equivalent of a hawk. She had a narrow face with large eyes and a pointed nose, a receding chin much too small for the rest of her face. Her voice was like a cat’s purr, and somehow she always managed to put too many “ee” sounds in every sentence. She always moved with high intent, like every little task was a top secret mission. There was little about Amelia Dobrici that Winifred could consider pleasant. 

“Just one sec, ‘kay?” Winifred said to Danielle, who shrunk away from the sight of the elderly teacher. Through the fence Winifred gripped Danielle’s hand and gave the bright girl a reassuring look. It wasn’t often that a child so used to breaking the sound barrier with her voice would respond so timidly. Seeing Danielle looking embarrassed was a dead giveaway as to why Winifred needed to be spoken to. 

 	Winifred stood and walked around to the gate, waiting as Amelia unlocked the heavy padlock and let Winifred enter. A handgun was concealed beneath her blouse which she emphasized by keeping one hand draped over it, a rule amongst teachers who were no longer just academic influences and part-time surrogates, but also survivalist instructors and bodyguards. 

 	The two drifted over to a plastic castle where a lonely boy was poking at an insect with a twig. For a brief moment the two women stood in a silence disturbed by a sparrow’s song while Amelia collected her thoughts, her fingertips pressed together beneath her chin in deep thought. During that time Winifred glanced over at the other two teachers who watched excitedly from the corner of their eyes. 

“As you know,” Amelia began, only to pause again. She pursed her lips together and continued. “As you know, there have been… incidents… involving Danielle, in which she… assaulted other classmates.” A sigh built-up inside Winifred’s chest; she knew where the conversation was going, and disappointment was not unfelt. 

“Today has been the…” Amelia needed to count on her fingers for added effect. “… fourth time Danielle has assaulted classmates. This time it was a… bite. This sort of attitude and behavior is not acceptable… Ms. Ross.” 

“I’m sorry about that,” Winifred was quick to say. The violence was one thing, but the concern over biting another classmate was more than just a little unsettling. Winifred could only begin to imagine the worries it caused everyone around to witness it. “I’ll speak to her.”

“If this continues,” Amelia continued, not acknowledging what Winifred had said. “We will have to remove Danielle… from the school system.” 

“I understand,” Winifred solemnly said. 

“Alright,” was Amelia’s final response. She turned on her heel and marched back over to the two other teachers who waited eagerly, her arms folded neatly over her chest. The second they were rejoined by their older counterpart a storm of hushed words combatted each other for dominance. 

Winifred didn’t dawdle herself; she returned back to Danielle, who had already said goodbye to her friend and stood with her head bowed by the gate. In her hands she held a purple and green backpack with a dinosaur on the front that had the names of their makeshift family on it, along with two stickmen sharing a parachute. It was difficult being upset and stern with a child who had the act of being adorable down to a T. 

“What did they say?” Danielle asked. She knew she was in trouble and yet attempted to sound oblivious, totally innocent. 

“We’ll talk later,” Winifred told her. The two slipped through the gate after Amelia made them wait to be freed, and it rattled when it clattered closed behind them. Winifred took Danielle’s backpack from her and slung it over her shoulder, and she held Danielle’s small hand as they began walking down the sidewalk in the direction of home. It meant going by the family-run bakery that had genuine cupcakes displayed in the storefront window. Every day Winifred and Danielle would stop and look at the colorfully decorated creations; they would bask in the sugary warmth that wafted out each time the door opened and the bell above it would ring softly. Sometimes Danielle would declare that she would be a baker who travelled the world to “lost cilivizations” and discover old recipes the world forgot. 

 	Today wasn’t that kind of day. Danielle didn’t look up at the bakery with a sparkling hunger in her eyes; she watched the scuffed fronts of her shoes take small steps over the cracks in the pavement with a frumpy look. It brought up a lump in Winifred’s throat as the inevitability of starting the conversation loomed on the very near future. 

Winifred looked up as a quick burst of noise tore down the street, the rapid whirling clicks of bicycles speeding by. The group of paramedics from before was heading back down the same route, only with a stronger determination. One spoke into a walkie-talkie and barked orders to the rest. Like many others standing on the sidewalk, Winifred and Danielle stopped and watched the group pull up by the side of the schoolhouse. Amelia Dobrici ran out to greet them, her arms flinging everywhere in a flustered panic. 

 “I have to tie my shoe,” Danielle quickly said. 

 	Still watching the paramedics as they ran into the front doors of the schoolhouse with haste, Winifred didn’t notice as Danielle ducked out of sight and crawled away behind a scraggly bush. Through a hole where the leaves parted Danielle could see Winnie’s legs, still in the same position as –

 	A sudden boom, a gunshot, and a woman crying out hysterically. The sudden still tableaux of a dimming street came to life as the stock still on-lookers began to back away in shocked, hesitant gaits. Then the second gunshot rang out. 

Winifred jumped, her heart now suddenly working overtime, and reached down to latch onto Danielle. Her fingers grasped at thin air, and as the first few bits of the crowd began to push against Winifred in a fleeing panic, Winifred wheeled around and discovered Danielle had vanished. 

“Danielle?” Winifred called out. Over the many different voices shouting at once it was impossible to hear a response. Ahead a few soldiers rushed to the schoolhouse, weapons readied. 

“Danny!” Winifred screeched. 

Silence. The crowd had dispersed leaving only Winifred left on an empty street. A frantic fear came over her and she started to follow the crowd’s direction, turning every which way and calling out for the young girl.

“Danielle!” 

Someone responded. 

From the steps of the schoolhouse the soldiers began sprinting down the road, Amelia Dobrici waving a finger at Winifred and shouting, “It’s the child!” Blood soaked the front of her blouse. 

As the guns of the soldiers lifted and pointed at Winifred, she shot her hands up in the air immediately. The group of five advanced slower, the two in the front transfixed on Winifred while the three behind swept the area. 

“Where’s the girl, ma’am?” the smallest soldier asked. 

“I don’t know,” Winifred said. The fear of losing Danielle escalated and was joined by a fear of being shot. There were a lot of things Winifred thought to say in her defense without even knowing the full accusation. Her brain didn’t connect with her mouth, however, leaving her stranded and wordless. 

“Tell us where she is,” the head of the pack insisted more forcefully. The five spread out in a semi-circle in front of Winifred, but their eyes weren’t the only ones watching. Winifred could see faces pressed against windows, bystanders enjoying the thrilling show. 

“I – I don’t…” 

“Win-nie-ee.” The defeated sob, the declaration of guilt, the way Danielle emerged from the bush with a pleading look in watery eyes. There was a small emptiness in Winifred’s head as she tried to wrap the remnants of her working brain around the scenario. It all felt momentarily like a nightmare, and Winifred looked on at the child in disbelief rivalling a rising abjection. 

“We need you to come with us.” Someone said it, and even if Winifred had heard it as clear as day, it was just a quick blur as the unexplainable dawned on her – but answers were not necessary when she knew what the final result would be. 

A burst of gravel peppered the wall inches from her head when she wheeled around and haphazardly scooped Danielle up in her arms. She buckled under the weight of the little girl, nearly tripping, but pushed on down a wide alley as a few other pops echoed behind her. The world slipped by too quickly to see anything and there was a pounding rush from behind that made her skittish terror increase. 
Up ahead there was a metal door ajar and Winifred made it her goal to reach the door –

There was no initial pain. Warmth began to leak down Winifred’s calf. It grew hot quickly, and it felt like something heavy was pushing through her leg. The second Winifred truly noticed it was when her balance caved and she fell to her knees, Danielle rolling out of her arms. Shakily Winifred looked down at the growing dark splotch in her jeans and came to the conclusion she had been shot. 

As pale as a ghost with eyes like a deer opposing a truck, Danielle gaped at Winifred noiselessly. Despite the urge to scramble forward and shield Danielle, a shock overwhelmed her and confusion settled in. 

“Keep running,” Winifred sharply told Danielle before the blubbering began. The child didn’t budge. “Don’t –”

A heavy thud collided into her back and Winifred was forced face-first into the rough gravel. A hot stream of whiplash ripped apart the back of her neck. She tried to squirm but a boot stood on top of her with all of its weight she yelped out weakly, “I’m pregnant! Please, please! I’m pregnant!” 

It loosened, but only marginally. A gun still stayed locked on her; that much she knew. 

Winifred flipped her head around to see Danielle, to see the paramedics strip the child in the stinging cold while she howled and screamed for Winifred to save her. They tore off her shirt and inspected every inch of her exposed flesh, unflinching when Danielle began crying about not wanting to die. 

“D-do what they say,” Winifred gently said to her, whether the girl could hear her or not. “It’ll be okay, Danny. I promise. Just do what they say.”

The boot kicked her in the ribs and retook its place between her shoulder blades. Through gritted teeth Winifred hissed and groaned at the pain. 

“There’s no mark,” one of the paramedics grumbled. Winifred closed her eyes and strained to not whimper, not in front of a very vulnerable Danielle. 

“She’s not infected,” Winifred pleaded. Another brutal kick to her ribs. It dulled the pain of the bullet wound which had only begun to claim attention, but it hurt enough to reduce Winifred to instant tears. 

“Winnie! Win[i]nie[/i]!” Danielle hollered. 

“Infected," one of them confirmed after a bout of analyzing. 

Airborne?” 

 “No… it’s –”

“A Carrier…”

“Bring it in.” 

 “Winnie, plee-ee-ease! Win-in-nie…” 

“It’ll be okay. I love you.” 

Danielle’s eyes were scrunched so tightly together and her smooth cheeks and chin glistened from the tears and spittle, and the way her face remained in a terrified scream with no noise coming out in-between pauses for breath was the last thing Winifred saw before a solid blow to her forehead brought her into an unthinking darkness.

---

[i] January, 2022

 	I felt happy when I heard they might have found a cure. I felt sick when I heard my sister was it. 

[indent]-	Lacy Greenfield[/indent][/i]