The Survivors by Will Weaver Read Free Book Online

Sarah murmurs.
    â€œI really miss seeing my grandkids,” the driver continues. “Family is all any of us really have.”
    After forty-five minutes and several brake-squeaking stops, Sarah sits up suddenly; she must have dozed briefly—and she wonders if the bus driver will remember her stop. It’s not as if they have a big driveway and mailbox.
    â€œThere’s your brother,” the driver says, squinting ahead.
    Sarah is filled with a rush of relief—which quickly fades as she sees Miles standing shirtless with a canteen hanging off his shoulder. Gun over his shoulder, bandana across his nose because of the highway dust, and holding a tall, knobby walking stick, he looks like an extra from one of those old Mad Max movies.
    â€œRegular school wouldn’t hurt that boy,” observes the driver as she brakes the bus.
    â€œNo kidding,” Sarah says.
    â€œBut he watches out for you—that’s a good thing nowadays,” the driver says.
    â€œThanks for the ride,” Sarah says, and steps down.
    â€œHey, Goat Girl, how was your first day at school?” Miles says, pulling down his bandana. His face is streaked with dust and sweat, and he’s stinkier than ever.
    â€œOkay,” Sarah says with a shrug.
    â€œThere’s still time for you, son,” the driver calls down to Miles through the open door. “You’re only one day behind.”
    â€œNo thanks,” Miles says.
    The driver laughs, then closes the door and drives on.
    â€œIs Emily all right?” Sarah asks; she covers her mouth briefly from dust kicked up by the bus.
    â€œShe’s fine,” Miles says.
    â€œDid you feed her like I said?”
    â€œYes. She’s fine!” Miles says. “Come on, let’s go. We don’t need to stand around on the highway all day.”
    He heads down the ditch to the woods trail. Sarah knows to step in his tracks—so it appears like a single set of footprints—until they’re safely into the woods. There, it’s a twenty-minute walk through the late-summer woods. The aspens have yellow leaves, and a few scarlet maples stand out against dusty green pines. Forests used to scare her.
    â€œHow are we going to do this in winter?” Sarah asks. “Get to the highway, I mean.”
    â€œOn snowshoes or skis,” Miles says.
    â€œGreat,” Sarah mutters.
    â€œOr maybe by snowmobile,” Miles adds.
    â€œWe’re getting a snowmobile?” Sarah asks.
    Miles shrugs. “I hope.”
    As soon Sarah comes in sight above the cabin, Emily starts to “Baaaack, baaack!” She jumps up and down as if she’s on springs. Emily goes crazy on her rope, and races around in tight circles until she winds herself against her tree. Then she reverses directions and unwinds herself like a runaway top. Sarah laughs and grabs her as she races by. They tumble onto the grass in a heap of girl arms and goat legs.
    â€œDid Miles feed you?” Sarah murmurs. She feels Emily’s udders, which are tight with milk.
    â€œYes, I fed her,” Miles says with annoyance, and heads over to the sawmill shed.
    She holds Emily by her long ears and looks into her pretty yellow eyes with their little dark bars for pupils. People have round pupils; goats have rectangular ones. Miles was the first to notice that (which was annoying), but Miles doesn’t know where she likes to be scratched (right behind her stubby little horns), or what all of her little head butting and hopping gestures really mean.
    â€œSarah! You’re home,” her mother says. She comes around the corner of the cabin. From the dust, her black hair is streaked with gray, and Sarah has a sudden, scary image of her mother as an old woman.
    â€œYeah?” Sarah says.
    â€œYou survived day one of school!” her mother says.
    â€œBarely,” Sarah mutters.
    â€œHey, how was school?” Artie asks, appearing beside Nat and draping an