“We’re here, and it’s getting late,” Devon finally said, “so we might as well give it a shot. If we get there and things look iffy, we can always change our minds. That okay with you?”
Kiaya nodded, as did Hank, and I mimicked them.
“Okay,” Devon said, sighing.
We headed back over to where the guy stood waiting, and his face lit up like he knew what we were going to say before we did.
“You’re coming?”
“We are,” Devon said.
“Awesome!” He pumped his fist in the air like a little kid, and the gesture seemed to confirm what Kiaya and I had already picked up on.
“What’s your name?” she asked him.
He beat his fist against his chest and smiled. “Randall.”
“Nice to meet you,” she said, returning his grin with a shy one of her own. “I’m Kiaya.”
She introduced the rest of us, and as she did, Randall studied our faces, nodding as his lips formed our names like he was silently repeating them. He definitely had some cognitive issues, and it made me worry for him more than for us. He’d indicated that he had people depending on him, and thinking about the world we lived in now and the people out there who would take advantage of someone so trusting was frightening.
“You were traveling with family?” I asked Randall as we headed out of the store.
He nodded enthusiastically. “Yeah. My sister, Bethie, and her kids. We were going to California to see my aunt, but Bethie got sick.” Again, his face fell like he’d just remembered why we were here and what was going on. “She died.”
“What about her kids?” Kiaya asked in a soothing tone that reminded me of a mother talking to a scared child.
“Dee got sick too.” His frown deepened but only for a moment, then his mouth turned up and he looked around excitedly. “But Lexi and Mikey are okay. They’re back at the motel. You can meet them.”
“That’s good,” I said, patting his arm.
Dear God, I hoped Lexi and Mikey weren’t too young.
Kiaya and I exchanged a concerned look, but Devon seemed to be lost in thought as he led us out of the store.
“My sister died, too,” Hank told Randall.
It was the first real detail we’d gotten about the family he’d lost, and I waited to see if he’d say more, but he didn’t.
“From the virus?” Randall asked.
“Yeah. My parents, too.” Hank frowned, focusing on the ground. “Regina was a year older than me, and we didn’t really get along, but I didn’t want her to die.”
“Of course you didn’t,” Kiaya said in that same gentle tone.
For once, Hank didn’t look hopeful when he glanced up at her, just grateful.
We stepped outside, and Devon stopped, looking around with a frown. “Where’s your car?”
Randall shook his head violently. “I don’t drive. Bethie drives me to work or I walk when it’s nice. She doesn’t like for me to walk, though. Sometimes I get distracted.”
Devon’s eyebrows shot up. “You walked here?”
“I walk everywhere, and I can be real quiet if I walk like this.” Randall moved forward on his tiptoes, his hands lifted like a cartoon character sneaking into a room.
It actually would have been really adorable if the situation weren’t so scary.
“Well, you don’t have to walk back,” Kiaya said, smiling. “You can ride with us.”
Randall stopped walking and beamed down at her. “Really?”
“Of course,” I said.
“Thanks.” He threw his arms around me, smashing me in what could only be described as a bear hug.
He was a big guy, tall and soft, and if his grasp hadn’t been so firm, I probably would have fallen over. The slightly salty scent of body odor clung to him, as well as the stench of death that was probably going to be nearly impossible to avoid going forward, but otherwise the gesture was as sweet as he was. The only problem? He’d wrapped one of his arms around my waist, making contact with my still tender cut, and biting back my cry of pain was impossible.
I cried out, and Randall released me and scurried back, his eyes wide. If Devon didn’t rush to my side, I would have fallen over for sure.
“I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” Randall repeated as Devon said, “Are you okay?”
I swallowed and forced out a smile, trying to comfort the gentle man in front of me. “I’m okay. I just have a little cut on my back. You didn’t know.”
Randall said nothing, but his eyes got bigger.
Devon lowered his voice. “Are you really okay?”
I nodded a couple times, but the truth was, I didn’t know. I thought Randall might have pulled a few stitches free, which was going to suck big time.
“I want to look at it,” Devon said, already reaching for my shirt.
I shrugged him off. “It’s okay. You can check it out at the motel.”
He frowned but didn’t argue. Thankfully.
I turned to Randall, forcing out a bright smile despite my throbbing back. “You ready?”
He nodded, but it was hesitant.
Picking up the slack, Kiaya waved for him to follow as she headed for the car. “Come on.”
Less hesitant than before, Randall followed.
Hank stood looking wide-eyed and confused but followed as well. I held back, though, waiting until they were in front of me so I could reach behind me. The cut throbbed when I touched it, and just like I’d thought, the bandage was damp. I pulled my hand way to find my fingers covered in blood.
“Rowan,” Devon hissed when he saw it.
“Stop.” I gave him a stern look. “I’m okay, and that man didn’t mean to hurt me. We’ll deal with it when we get to the hotel. For now, I just need something to press against my back so I can try to stop the bleeding.”
Devon sighed but didn’t hesitate before pulling his shirt over his head.
There was nothing like a firm chest and sculpted abs to distract a girl from the pain.
I swallowed as I took the shirt, trying not to stare—and failing.
“Thanks.”
I pressed the shirt against my back but didn’t move.
He grabbed my free arm and pulled me toward the car. “You can stare at me later. After we get to the motel.”
I rolled my eyes.
Kiaya was squished between Hank and Randall, and with the two rotund men in the back, my Honda Civic looked suddenly tiny. A bigger car would have been nice right about now.
“What happened to your shirt?” Randall asked when Devon climbed in.
“A zombie ate it,” he grumbled.
I elbowed him and glared.
He didn’t react.
“Where is this hotel, Randall?” he asked as he started the car.
“That way.” Randall pointed to the left.
Devon sighed. “Tell me where to turn.”
15
We only made a couple wrong turns on the way to the motel, both of which Randall apologized profusely for.
“I usually walk,” he said for the fifteenth time. “I didn’t know. I’m sorry.”
“It’s okay, Randall,” Kiaya said, patting him on the arm. “Isn’t it, Devon?”
“Yeah,” he mumbled.
I would have elbowed him again except Randall was paying attention, and I didn’t want him to see it. Devon was being a jerk. Again.
And I was just starting to warm to him. Okay, so warm wasn’t the right word, but still.
“That’s it!” Randall shouted from the back.
It felt like the words had punched me in the eardrums, and I had to jerk away.
Devon grumbled something under his breath I couldn’t hear, and I didn’t resist the urge to glare his way. Seriously? He was being impossible. I couldn’t wait until we were alone so I could lay into him.
He pulled into the parking lot of the Western Motel, and I leaned forward to get a better look. It was painted orange, making it look very authentically western
, and two stories. Like Randall had said, I could see items at the top and bottom of the two staircases, blocking them so it wasn’t easy to get up. It didn’t look very secure, though, so whoever was inside was fortunate there were no zombies nearby. We’d passed a few on the way here, but so far it looked as if most hadn’t figured out how to leave their homes. Thankfully. It would be nice to discover the few who’d had managed it back in Vega were in the minority. At least then we stood a fighting chance.
There were no people in sight either, which might have been the reason the few zombies wandering the town hadn’t made their way here. But it only took one look at the place to realize it was a short-term solution, which had me thinking about what we’d do after we finally got home. I lived in a decent size neighborhood, surrounded by two-story houses and fields. There were hundreds of people just in that little area and pretty much no way to secure my home and make it safer than it already was. What then? Where did we go from there?
I had no clue. Even worse, I didn’t even know if it mattered. My dad was probably gone, and Mom could be, too. I could get home to find her dead, to find her stumbling through the neighborhood. Probably wearing that stupid purple bathrobe she refused to get rid of, her feet bare since she said they got sweaty when she wore socks. Her long, brown hair would have been in a braid—she always braided it before she went to bed—but by now it would have come loose.
Would I even recognize her?
Did I want to?
“Hey,” Devon said, jolting me back to reality.
We’d parked, and the others had climbed out. Devon had, too, and he must have grabbed a new shirt from his bag in the trunk because he wasn’t shirtless anymore, and he was leaning through the open driver’s door, staring at me.
“You okay?”
The concern on his face was stark and heartwarming, and exactly what I needed at the moment.
I swallowed down my sorrow and nodded. “Yeah. Just thinking.”
His frown deepened, and sympathy flashed in his blue eyes, but he didn’t ask. “Let’s go inside.”
There was something about the statement that seemed open-ended, but I didn’t know what that meant.
I reached for my gun before climbing out, but Devon lifted his hand, showing me he had it. “I don’t want to take the M16, both because it could be intimidating, and because I don’t want to give our hand away. Just in case.”
In case we needed to use it to get ourselves out of a sticky situation.
“Smart,” I said. “It’s in the trunk?”
“It is,” Devon said.
“Okay.”
I climbed out and followed the others. Randall was in the lead, practically skipping as he approached the stairs. When we got closer, I saw a dresser had been dragged from one of the rooms and set in front of the steps. An okay barricade assuming none of the zombies were more coordinated than the others. Since I’d seen one open a door and knew better, I couldn’t help thinking it was half-assed. Done by someone who was too lazy to break a sweat by grabbing a couple more large items to pile on of top of it.
Devon seemed to think the same thing and stared at the dresser with a look of disdain.
“This way,” Randall said, climbing over the dresser and jogging up the stairs.
Hank followed, barely reacting, but Kiaya shook her head as she scrambled over.
When I started to follow her, Devon moved to my side. “Let me help.”
I was still pressing his shirt against my back with one hand, so I didn’t resist. Not that I was prepared when he scooped me into his arms. I was so caught off guard that my arm went around his neck on instinct. He set me on top of the dresser but didn’t release me, and I looked up to find his face inches from mine, his blue eyes intent as they studied me.
“What?” I asked.
“How old are you, Rowan?”
I shook my head. “What?”
“I know you were in college, but how old are you?”
“You’re asking me how old I am? Now?” I looked around. “Seriously?”
He smiled. “Just tell me and stop being difficult.”
“Twenty,” I said, unable to hold in my own laugh. “How old are you?”
“Twenty-eight.”
“I would have guessed younger,” I said.
He chuckled. “If I hadn’t seen you, I would have guessed you were fifty.”
I smacked him on the chest, and he let out a real laugh.
“Rowan?” Kiaya’s voice floated down to us. “Devon? Are you there?”
“Coming!” I called.
Devon finally released me, and I scooted forward. My heart was pounding from the encounter, and my head spinning. Devon had flirted with me since the first moment we saw one another, but this was different. He’d been different. More open, more sincere. More real. It was unsettling, but nice, too.
Kiaya and Hank were waiting at the top of the stairs where yet another dresser blocked the way, but Randall had already moved on. I could see him near the end of the catwalk, standing at an open door and talking animatedly. Whoever he was speaking to didn’t step outside, though, and I wasn’t sure if that was good or bad.
“What’s going on?” Kiaya asked, looking between us. “What took you so long?”
“I was just checking Rowan’s cut,” Devon said.
Before I could even look back at him, he’d scooped me up again, this time depositing me on top of the dresser and releasing me immediately. I was still sitting there when he climbed up, and the way Kiaya was looking between us told me she wasn’t buying it.
Not that I could tell her what was going on, because I had no idea.
Devon scooted off and automatically reached back to help me even though he didn’t look my way. It was so strange.
I allowed him, still pressing his shirt against my back. Once we were all up, we headed to where Randall stood talking to someone.
“This is them!” he said, waving toward us.
“I can’t believe you brought other people here,” a man with a slight Texas twang grumbled.
A second later, a man stepped out, his eyes already narrowed like he expected to find a group of bandits preparing to steal all his supplies and burn the place over his head. He was in his sixties and round in the middle, although not anyone I would describe as overweight. His long, gray-white hair was pulled back and fastened into a ponytail at the base of his neck, and his beard was scraggly, although not long. He looked like someone’s grandpa, really. Unassuming. Unthreatening at first glance. But the expression in his eyes said he wasn’t happy to have new people here, which put me on alert.
“Hi!” Kiaya called, smiling wider than I’d ever seen.
It was a good call, the man immediately relaxed. Why wouldn’t he? I had never met anyone more disarming than Kiaya.
Except maybe Kyle. Poor guy.
Slightly less wary, the man took a moment to look us over.
“Sorry for the less than cordial reception,” he said, his gaze pausing briefly on Devon, but obviously deciding he wasn’t a threat, because he moved on. “The past week has been…difficult.”
His gray eyes clouded over, and he glanced around, but he wasn’t focused on the ground, so I got the impression it wasn’t zombies he was on the lookout for.
Beside him, Randall beamed but said nothing.
“Sorry for intruding,” Devon began. “We’re just passing through and needed a place to stay for the night. As well as some antibiotics if you can spare them.”
He waved to Hank, who looked doe-eyed enough to possibly come across as less threatening than Kiaya, and definitely sympathetic. Nothing like he had in the car when he was drooling over Kiaya. This kid must have been able to play his teachers like a fiddle.
The man studied Hank for a moment, pulling at his beard as he did. “Randall said you were hurt?”
“That’s right.” The kid held his arm out so the bite was on full display.
“Whoa, now.” The man took a step back just lik
e Randall had in the grocery store and put his hands up as if to ward Hank off. “I think you should keep your distance.”
“It happened a couple days ago,” Kiaya explained, “and he’s been fine. Only it’s getting infected, which is why we were looking for antibiotics.”
The man eyed Kiaya like he was trying to decide how trustworthy she was, then shifted his gaze to Hank again. “Tell me what happened.”
The teen sighed but started talking, once again relaying what had happened in Amarillo. His family dying, hanging out with his friend, discovering the bodies had come back, and finally being attacked.
“I thought it was the end for sure, but nothing happened other than this.” He waved to the swollen bite. “I should have thought to get antibiotics right away, but I was too focused on the fact that I was about to turn into a zombie.” His lips turned down into a frown.
The man nodded slowly. “That’s an interesting story, and it sure gives us something to think about.”
“You don’t believe him?” I asked.
“He’s the only one who was there, right?” The man’s gray eyes studied us as we nodded. “Then you can understand why I’m hesitant to accept it as fact.”
“Of course,” Devon said, taking charge once again. “It only makes sense to be hesitant, and you have my word that we’ll keep a close eye on him. If something needs to be done, it will be taken care of before anyone else is hurt.”
The man relaxed a miniscule amount. “I appreciate that.”
Before anyone could say anything else, a door burst open, and a little girl, probably no more than six, rushed out. “Randall!”
She threw herself against Randall, hugging his leg since the top of her head barely reached his hip. Like him, she had dark skin and large, brown eyes, and a round face that resembled his a great deal.
“You left,” she said, the words muffled with her face pressed against his leg. “You left.”
Far Series (Book 1): Far From Home Page 20
