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remember why I like older men.”
    He kissed her softly on the lips and
drew back, breathing her in and staring into her eyes. “You’re so beautiful.”
    An easy smile shaped her lips. “I wish
we were in our own bed.”
    “Me too, hotstuff .”
    “We’d spend the entire day in bed
watching Netflix and eating popcorn and Junior Mints.”
    Paul exhaled a forlorn breath and kissed
her on the forehead, so she wouldn’t see the sadness creeping into his eyes.
Those days were as dead as everything else and it made him want to cry. “What I
wouldn’t give to spend all day with you in bed,” he said, rolling onto his back
to find Mike and Matt peeking over the back of the couch. Paul’s face fell. “Jesus
Christ,” he said curtly.
    Sophia shrieked and pulled the blanket
over her head, leaving Paul alone in the light.
    “What’re you guys doing?”
    Mike furrowed his brow as he thought it
over. “Were you guys wrestling?”
    “No, we weren’t wrestling!”
    “It sounded like you were hurting her,”
Matt whispered.
    “I wasn’t hurting her. She’s fine.”
    Mike’s eyes flickered to the lump lying next
to him. “She’s not moving.”
    Paul elbowed Sophia in the side, making
her giggle. “See? She moves.”
    Mike nodded. “Cool. Hey, do we get guns
today?”

 
 
 
 
    Chapter Seven

 
 
 
 
 
    The early morning sun was a welcome
invasion. The SUV’s heater worked fine but the sunshine was nice, giving the
false impression it was just another pretty day in the heartland. The fresh
powder slowed their speed but did little to dismay the SUV’s four-wheel drive. Paul
couldn’t stop a slight grin from playing on his lips. After a bit of hedging
last summer, he decided to spring for the Trailhawk package
even though Sophia thought it was a waste of money. It wasn’t. Not in this
snow. Pushing his sunglasses up the bridge of his nose, he gave it more gas and
scanned the sparkling landscape ahead. Interstate 35 was eerily clear of
vehicles in either direction, lulling the group into a somber trance. They
passed an abandoned car or truck every few miles but nothing blocked the road.
Nothing moved. It was quiet. He took a drink of Folgers made with cold water
back at the house. Every hill they crested, Paul expected to find a police blockade
or a makeshift military base or a FEMA tent or something waiting on the other side, but they never did and the
whole thing left as bad a taste in his mouth as the shitty-ass coffee.
    Unless everyone was hiding, they could
be talking human extermination. In the past two days, they’d seen three people
– the three riding in the back with Dan. Instead of a mass exodus of vehicles,
snow blew across the lonely roadway in skittering lines. The nationwide travel
ban did little to stop the spread but, for the most part, kept the interstates wide
open. Everything happened so fast there hadn’t been time for much else. No
quarantines or tornado sirens or presidential PSAs and Paul figured that when
people started getting sick they called into work and, ultimately, became entombed
in their own homes. Some, like Paul and Sophia, broke the travel ban and got the
hell out of Dodge before it was too late.
    Snow crunched beneath the tires. Dead trees
and white fields rushed past on both sides of the road. Houses and buildings
sat with no signs of life, each one quieter than the one before it. Every now
and then, something minor would catch Paul’s eye that didn’t quite sit right: A
car door hanging open with no one around, an orange snowplow parked in the
middle of the road, a spilt basket of laundry outside a laundromat – small things that poured salt onto the wound nonetheless.
    They crossed the state line into
Missouri and a triumphant feeling surged through Paul’s veins, filling him with
hope. Considering the snowfall, they were making good time. He looked into the
rear-view mirror at the others stuffed in the back. Matt sat between Dan and
Carla in the