She was starting to feel that way again. And it didn't really hurt that he was handsome and strong and had just saved her life.
Jenny laid her head on his shoulder, her face close to his sun-darkened cheek and neck. He wore only a T-shirt and jeans, but the jeans seemed perfectly tailored to fit him, and the black shirt was as soft as cashmere.
He carried her up a side street, into a neighborhood of huge old houses. The crowd didn't follow, and this street was relatively peaceful, with just a band of teenagers throwing rocks at the streetlights. The zombies spread out a little, giving them some breathing room.
Alexander brought them to the driveway of a big Greek Revival-style house, with a black SUV parked in the driveway, nose out as if someone were planning a quick getaway.
“Is this your house?” Jenny asked.
“This house belongs to Wells Fargo bank,” he said. “It's for sale. Nobody lives here. So I borrowed the driveway for a couple of hours.” He opened the passenger door of the SUV and set her down in the seat. He even buckled her seatbelt before closing her door.
He climbed into the driver's seat and started the engine.
“Where are you taking me?” she asked.
“Somewhere no one will be looking for you.” He pulled out of the driveway.
“I have to get back to my dad. He's pretty messed up right now.”
“What happened to him?”
“Ashleigh's opposite—Tommy?—hit my dad pretty hard with that fear thing.”
“He’ll be fine,” Alexander said. “The fear wears off after a few hours.”
Jenny thought about the time Tommy had attacked her and Seth. They'd had a night of confused terror, but they'd eventually been fine the next day.
“The only person in danger is you,” Alexander said. “And I'm taking care of that right now.”
He accelerated down the street.
In the rearview, the zombies all fell down at once, like a group of kids playing ring-around-the-rosy. Their pole weapons and body bags littered the street around them.
“Ashes, ashes,” Jenny sang under her breath.
“What did you say?”
“Nothing.” On top of the deep calm he inspired, Jenny was starting to feel something else—nervous, embarrassed, giddy. She was a little afraid of those feelings...but she liked them, too.
They took back streets through residential neighborhoods, avoiding the swarm of police, Homeland Security and federal agencies that were searching the city for Jenny.
Chapter Forty-Six
Heather rode from the Charleston International Airport in a Homeland Security car. Red flags were already up all over the city. Some kind of riot had broken out at the Southeastern Funk Fest, and local and state police were working to calm things down. The National Guard, already on alert, had been activated and would be rolling into the downtown area momentarily.
Local police had also identified an incident that required CDC attention. A couple dozen bodies had just been found in a big pile in a neighborhood not far from the festival, cause of death unclear. Heather worried that Jenny might have already gotten started on her apparent plan to kill ten thousand people or more. If so, more clusters of bodies would turn up before long, if not a massive-fatality incident.
The Homeland Security vehicle arrived at the incident scene, where police, fire, EMS and a small crowd of onlookers had already gathered. Heather jumped out of the car and joined Schwartzman, who'd been driven by another Homeland Security officer.
“We need to get these people out of here,” Heather whispered as they approached the scene.
“Let's see what's happening first,” Schwartzman replied.
“It would be a pretty big coincidence if she wasn't involved.”
“Shit happens,” Schwartzman whispered.
A gray, balding man in a suit approached, looking tired. He glanced at their badges.
“Y'all the CDC folks?” he asked. “I'm Cordell Nolan, county medical examiner. Spoke to you on the phone, I think.” He reached a hand towards Schwartzman, who hesitated a moment before shaking it.
“This is Dr. Reynard,’ Schwartzman said. “She’s one of our best epidemiologists.”
“Well, we got us an epidemic of something, but I can't say what.” Nolan shook Heather's hand. “Whole damn city's going up in flames. Anybody with any sense knows you let a few thousand kids run loose in the streets, with music, everything's gonna get wrecked. Mayor was hell-bent this was going to mean money for the city. Now look how much it's gonna cost to fix it back.”
“We're a bit more concerned about these bodies,” Heather said. She looked at the pile of corpses in the street. There seemed to be no rhyme or reason to their age, race, sex, socioeconomics, but they were all barefoot and wore toetags, which was more than a little odd. Body bags were scattered among them, along with random objects like mops and brooms, and what looked like the metal arms of overhead lights from a surgery bay.