"So ... where we're going," Frank asked as they continued forward through the forested portion of the estate. "It's your pre-pandemic home ... or did you just sort of [i]occupy[/i] it?"

Allison didn't answer, at least not right away. She was overwhelmed at the moment, uncertain of what she was doing as well as whether what she was doing was good for her in either the short or long term. 

First, there were the deaths that had just occurred back there on the highway. During her life, Allison had seen dead people before: three of her four grandparents who'd died of natural causes and, even more tragically, two close friends who'd died of drug overdoses; and via the television -- when there still [i]was[/i] television -- hundreds if not thousands of people she didn't know who'd succumb to the ravages of I-55.

But until today, she'd never with her own eyes seen anyone murdered via violence. And more staggering, of course, was the fact that [i]she herself[/i] had done the killing. Adding to the confusion overwhelming her, Allison couldn't believe how easy it had been to do. She'd killed 5 men, shot them dead. Pointed her rifle -- and later her pistol -- and pulled the trigger without hesitation or regret.

She was sure that it had been the right thing to do, an act to save lives by taking them.

Second, of course, was what was walking through the woods in front of her. Allison had been alone for months, and now she was inviting a stranger onto her property, [i]into[/i] her home. She didn't know anything about this man, other than he [i]claimed[/i] to be an immune and had been fleeing the men who she'd just killed. For all she knew, his pursuers had been chasing him with good reason. Frank could be a murderer, a serial killer even; maybe he was the I-55 version of Typhoid Mary. 

As she watched him walking before her, Allison wondered whether she should simply shoot him here and now. She could don her protective gear and drag him out to the road to be burned with the other bodies. Hell, she'd already killed 5 men. What was one more.

But, and this was [i]third[/i], what about the baby? What about Little Robert, as Frank had called the child. Allison wasn't the maternal type. Oh, she'd had many nieces and nephews with whom she's spent time pre-pandemic, and many of them had considered her their favorite aunt because she fawned over them when they visited. But at the end of the day, they'd all gone home with their parents, leaving Allison without responsibility regarding them.

If she killed Frank now, shot him in the back and burned his corpse, what was she supposed to do with Robert? It wasn't something she was interested in figuring out. So, for now, the only course of action that made sense was to leave the job of caring for the kid to the man who'd been doing so already.

"It's my family's property," Allison found herself finally answering as they emerged from the trees and looked out over more of the estate. "It belonged to my grandparents." 

She hesitated. She wasn't sure she should be telling all this to a stranger. But at the same time, Allison couldn't see the harm. [i]Plus[/i], it had been so long since she'd talked to someone, [i]anyone[/i].

"My grandmother's [i]great[/i]-grandfather first settled here in 1901," she continued. "It was all timber then, not like it is today."

Allison found herself scanning the property and imagining what it would have looked like back then. It had begun as a 600-acre allotment, but after some forced sales to the State through imminent domain so that the Power Company could run a high-tension power line, as well as a sale decades later to deal with the hardships of a failing US economy, the estate had been reduced to its current size of just over 300 acres.

They'd just emerged from through the forest that surrounded the entire property and were walking through pasture. To their right was a small flock of sheep; to their right were a dozen head of cattle. As they continued up the drive, Frank would see fenced off pastures containing meat goats to one side and milk goats to the other. When they got close enough to the house, he'd begin seeing free range chickens, ducks, and geese. 

The last animals he'd catch sight of were Moe, Larry, and Shemp, the Australian Shepherds that had belonged to Allison's grandmother. There had been another one originally, named Curly, of course, but he had died defending the stock animals from a mountain lion. 

Allison had been the one to find Curly bleeding out, after she put a .30-06 bullet through the puma's chest cavity from almost three hundred yards. Her grandmother had been so proud of the shot and of Curly's bravery that she'd had both of them stuffed and displayed. They still stood in one corner of the country home's library, posed as if in battle with each other. Allison had thought it [i]creepy[/i] at first, but she'd come to appreciate it later once she'd gotten past the trauma of losing one of her canine friends.

"I grew up here," she said after they'd walked a bit farther. "My parents traveled a lot. Dad was a doctor, mom was a nurse. They worked with Doctors Without Borders off and on for most of my life." An emotionally drawn breath caused her to go silent a moment before she continued, "They isolated here when the pandemic erupted, with me and gramma and some other relatives. But they were already infected. We [i]think[/i] they're the ones who brought I-55 into the house. We're not sure. Dad thought so anyway. He blamed himself, even if the others said he was being silly."

Allison had made it a personal policy not to think on that subject. Who brought the virus into the house wasn't important. What was important was that because of I-55, she was the last remaining member of her family. Fault was of no concern.

She thought back to what Frank had said about his own experience with the virus. His symptoms and survival told her that his immunity was likely very strong. Because of her parents' medical background, she'd been better educated and informed regarding pandemics, including not just this one but the lesser but still deadly COVID-19 before it. 

She understood that Frank's symptoms, movement from one city to another -- each sometimes with its own local variants -- and survival meant that he was likely even more strongly immune than even she was. And the baby, well, that was simply amazing. Through the still-continuing radio reports, Allison had learned that less than 1 in 1000 children under the age of 4 had survived the pandemic, and the survival of newborns was even worse than that. Baby Robert was practically a miracle.

Allison's mind went to the woman lying in the ditch behind them. She felt bad about leaving Frank's [i]mate[/i] there like that. But they couldn't have taken the time to bury her, and Allison hadn't been about to handle the woman's dead body without protective gear. She was leery about just walking with Frank and the child, let alone making physical contact with his dead woman.

"We'll go back and take care of Jennifer properly," she said, asking, "Jennifer, right?" After Frank responded, she added, "We're not going to leave her like that. I promise."