"Dad, you can't just leave the vehicle running. It's not like we can just stop at the gas station whenever we want," I grumble as I try to roll onto my hands and knees.
Dad and Brent each grab me under my armpits and help me to my feet. "Well, you certainly sound fine," Brent says, but he's still sniffling away his tears.
"That's because I am fine," I say and push away from them. I stagger a few steps but manage to regain my balance. "See? I can walk on my own two feet and everything." I close my eyes against a wave of dizziness. We have enough on our plates without worrying about another infection, another trip to a monster-infested hospital, hoping against all hope that we'll find another ampule of antibiotics by sheer luck. Because, seriously, there's no way we're that lucky. No, I'll just have to hope that some antibiotic ointment, clean bandages, and a Tylenol will fix me up. At least enough to get us to wherever we're going. Maybe we'll run into some other survivors along the way. Though, considering the wackos at the compound and Bob, our experience with survivors hasn't been exactly favorable.
Maybe we're better off on our own...
I allow Brent to help me a little while we pile into the RV. "I call first dibs on the bed!" I call, walking all the way to the back. I pull back the accordion partition and flop onto the mattress. The groan that comes from my throat is borderline indecent.
Brent sits down on the edge of the mattress beside me, a first-aid kit balanced on his lap. "It's a good thing you're injured, or I might be tempted to fight you for it." He's joking. Probably.
I sit up and watch as Brent unwraps the torn cloth from my arm. "It was a waste of a perfectly good shirt," I complain.
"Fine, next time you can bleed to death," he says, throwing the ruined cloth into the small metal sink behind him.
"A small price to pay for clean clothes." I wince as he pours rubbing alcohol over the wound. "Huh, it's not as bad as I thought it would be, judging by your reaction. Over-actor."
He frowns. "You're right, it's not nearly as bad as I thought. You certainly bled enough."
"It's only a flesh wound. I told you I was fine." I shrug, but Brent's frown stays firmly in place. He finishes bandaging up my arm and ties the gauze into a tidy knot.
The RV begins to rock and bounce as Dad pulls into the roadway. All of the windows back here are covered, so I have no clue which way we're heading, but I trust his plan enough to let him drive.
Brent stands to head toward the cabin, but when the RV gives a lurch, he staggers back, tripping over something. We both look down to see a shotgun stock peeking out from under the bed. We exchange a look, but there’s no point in discussing our bizarre turn in fortune. To say something would be to invite disaster.
Don’t jinx it. We both seem to agree, and as my eyes begin to droop with the rocking motion, Brent reaches down and pulls the gun free, cradling it gently. "Why don't you take the first nap," he says, coaxing me back onto the mattress. "I'll wake you up later." I'm already half-asleep as I hear him walk down the aisle back to the RV's cockpit, and drift further down to the sound of their murmured voice.
My dreams are filled with fangs, and claws, and bottomless pits of fiery pain.
27
Lori
“Dad?” His hands are tight on the steering wheel, his knuckles bone white around the edges of the gauze. “Are you okay?”
He’s paler than usual, and I can see a damp sweat across his neck. He won’t last much longer pushing himself like this. He still hasn’t recovered fully from his infection, and he’s been at it for hours. And even if he weren’t tired, that’s ignoring the fact that the sun is setting. Maybe we’ll get lucky… maybe those creatures, those things, are isolated in the city. Maybe now that we’ve left the buildings far behind, we’ll be okay. We’ll be safe.
I lean forward between the seats to get a better look at him. Regardless of his pallor, his eyes are clear and focused. Determined. He nods with a jerk of his chin. “There. Do you see that?”
I look out the windshield, and sure enough, amongst the scraggly trees and rolling hills of dust, I see a silhouette of a house against the deepening sky.
A small gasp escapes my lips. It could almost be mistaken for a sound of hope, but I refuse to open that door. I lock anything even close to resembling hope inside my mind-vault, and it has one of those giant swinging doors at least a foot thick. And I’ve conveniently forgotten the combination. That’s how much that gasp was NOT hope.
Dad throws on his blinker and turns down what’s left of a winding driveway. Seriously? Better obey the post-apocalyptic traffic laws? I guess old habits are hard to break.
I get tossed around with the RV’s jostling while I turn towards the back. I find my balance and teeter down the narrow hall. “Brent?” I thought he was napping, but his eyes are wide and alert when I pull back the folding partition. “Get ready to go. This might be tight for time. We’re racing against the sun, and she waits for no man.”
Quite honestly, I’m not sure what to expect. But it’s best to prepare for the worst, and in this case, the worst would be getting torn to shreds by those… Rippers… I’m really hating how fitting that name is right about now.
Brent is quickly shoving our few remaining belongings, a can of soup, a bottle of water, half-empty first-aid kit, into his backpack. He reaches for the pillow but hesitates when I scoff. He looks back over his shoulder at me. “By all means, princess,” I say sweetly, my arms crossed over my chest. “You may as well die in comfort.”
I feel a slight tug of guilt around my midsection as he lowers his gaze and pulls his arm back. I was being sarcastic, but at the same time, maybe I also had a point. Why not die in comfort? Maybe we should just kill ourselves right now so it will at least be quick. I run my finger over the bandage on my arm. It’s starting to itch. I really don’t want to die of some horrible infection.
“Uh… guys?” Dad calls from the front of the RV. I can feel we’re starting to slow down, the jostling turning into a slow rock. Brent and I make our way up to the front to look out the windshield.
My previous uncertainty flares into downright suspicion and doubt. We’ve pulled up in front of a house, but that’s a generous description. It’s more like the skeleton of a house, nothing left but the bare bones. “Well, Brent, go grab that pillow. Looks like we’re gonna need it.”
Brent gives me a jab of his elbow and it catches me on the arm. My wound blazes hot, a sharp pang driving up my arm and through my fingertips. My groan is hidden under the squeal of metal as Dad throws open the door and jumps down from the RV. He makes it only a few steps before we hear it: “Keep your hands where we can see ‘em.” Dad gives a jolt, stepping back behind the open door.
“No,” I pant, alarms blaring inside my head. Without even a glance at what to expect outside, I head straight for the side door. Brent grabs at my arm, trying to stop me, but there’s no way I’m just going to stand here. Not after almost losing Dad twice already. Not after losing Mom.
I stumble out the door, Brent right at my back. Hopping the small drop to the ground, a small puff of dust lifts at my impact, glowing a pale gold in the last light of the setting sun. We move forward with the barest amount of caution. I don’t know what I expected to see; a man certainly, from the voice we heard, but he had sounded like he was exercising caution. However, instead of a cautious man, I see a feral woman coming at me with a two-by-four.
“NO!” someone shouts.
I flinch, prepared for the blow. Oh man, this is gonna hurt like a bitch.
Just before she reaches me, though, a figure grabs the end of her weapon from behind and Dad tackles her to the ground. Brent and I watch, gaping at the flailing bundle of arms and legs.
“Let me go, James!” the woman shrieks.
“Look, Selena!” the man says back through bloodied teeth.
The woman’s eyes snap back to Brent and me, sweeping over us with an intense anger. But almost as quickly, she sags, giving up the fight.
Now that she
’s limp, Dad and the stranger untangle themselves from her, and help her to her feet.
The man, James, spits out a gob of bloody saliva and what looks like part of a tooth to the ground. The woman called Selena looks down at her feet, embarrassment and regret written all over her face. “Sorry, James. I didn’t know.” She looks back up at me with an unspoken apology, but quickly turns her gaze away. It makes me wonder what the hell she was expecting. Last time I checked, Brent and I could hardly be considered threatening. Not even when at our healthiest. I look down at myself, trying to see what Selena sees. I haven’t looked in a mirror lately, but if Brent’s deflated figure is anything to go by, then I’m sure I must look like a skeletal mouse wearing a circus tent. These hospital scrubs aren’t exactly form-fitting.
The group of stragglers lined up in front of us are an even more disappointing sight than we are. I’ve seen better-fed zombies. The expressions on their faces range from curiosity to suspicion, and even disappointment. Certainly not the warmest of welcomes. Their skin offers a sweaty roasted appearance in the gloom, like some kind of greasy overcooked mystery meat.
When one of the guys in the row gives a huff, I know exactly what they were expecting when we pulled up. Answers. Safety. A way out. And now? They see us for what we truly are. Competition.
The silence draws out between us, and finally, slowly and cautiously, Dad takes a breath and steps out of line toward the strangers. He extends his open hand, a sign of trust. “The name’s David,” he says.
For a long moment I worry that no one will accept his handshake. They’ll simply turn their backs on us, and we’ll be forced to climb back into our vehicle and find somewhere else to hide for the night. Who knows what they’ve been through out here. I can’t really blame them for being hostile.
A man finally meets my dad halfway. He stares down at my dad’s hand with a look I can’t decipher, but he takes it up in a handshake regardless. The contrast between their hands is striking, one pale and unblemished, the other like leather, both too thin and weak. His voice is smoother than his grim expression. “I’m Seth. That’s James, Oscar, and Dean. And the slightly violent woman is Selena,” he says as he gestures around their group.
“Have I apologized yet?” Selena asks sheepishly, stepping forward to shake Dad’s hand.
“No harm done.” Dad keeps his words mild and unassuming, but he takes a step forward to block her view of Brent and me. As malnourished as this group appears, I have a feeling that she could take Dad out if she really had a mind to.
My whole body goes rigid before I even realize why. There’s something out there. The darkness has crept up on us while we’ve been standing around measuring dicks. Something skitters through the dirt and brushes at the edge of my vision. I whip my head around to look, but catch only the branches dipping from the movement of… something…
My gut clenches, and I resist the tremble of my bowels. Millions of years of instinct tell my body to drop all unnecessary weight so I can run faster, to deter predators by dropping a giant smelly deuce right here. I mean, who would want their dinner to smell like piss and shit, right? It worked for our ancestors, and we’ve lasted this long, so maybe there’s something to it.
Before I can give shitting my pants any serious thought, Dad breaks the silence. “I know we just met, and it’s presumptuous of me to even ask, but… any chance we can bunk with you guys tonight? We’ll move on first thing in the morning,” he adds on quickly. He pats down his pockets. “You can frisk us if you want. No weapons, I swear it.”
The strangers are obviously reluctant, panic warring with decency. A few of them are already edging back, and behind them I catch a glimpse of cellar doors swung wide, a dark hole in the ground.
I can tell the exact moment when the man named Seth comes to a decision, a brief dip in his shoulders as he gives in to his more humane side. “Fine, fine. Just get in. Quick.” Seth gives Dad a rough push towards the door, and Brent and I scuttle in close behind.
So close. So. Damn. Close. I’m just two steps away from being safe for the night when I hear a voice echoing through the night. “Wait! We’re coming! Wait!!” It gets louder as whoever it is gets closer. I look to our hosts, and they seem relieved rather than nervous so I figure I don’t need to stress about who could be jumping out of the dark at us. Not yet, anyway. I tuck my fight-or-flight adrenaline away for later use. I can feel it burning just under my skin, giving me a warm flush in the already-stifling evening air.
I tense briefly when I catch movement in the shadows, but it materializes into a man and woman rather than anything sinister. Their clothes are damp with sweat, and their skin is layered in grime. “Thank God you haven’t locked the door yet!” the man pants.
“Where the hell have you been?” James hisses at them. “We watched for you all day!”
“We wandered out too far and had to hole up for the day,” the woman says. “The tiniest little patch of shade under some old clunker on the highway. The tires were flat, so I spent the whole day with the axle digging into my back.” She gives a weak chuckle, but she’s shivering with nerves and exhaustion, and is already making her way towards the cellar.
“We can talk about it later. Let’s just get inside,” the man says, but he freezes when he turns our way. “Who the hell are they?” he barks. His eyes are sliding from us to the cellar, and back over the rest of their group. It makes me nervous the way his eyes are roaming up and down our bodies, like he’s measuring us for a coffin. I glance back towards the cellar behind me, nothing more than a pit descending into the earth. I’m not so sure I want to be trapped in there with this shifty guy all night. He gives me the creeps.
Dad slides in front of me, yet again using himself as a human shield against these strangers. Brent tries to stand tall next to Dad, effectively blocking my view of anything of importance. I may not have seen much of this new stranger, but enough to know that he isn’t nearly as scrawny as the rest of this crew. He’s broader, and even after his mad dash here, his eyes still have a glint to them, like he’s ready for a fight. I know that Dad and Brent don’t stand a chance. Am I supposed to appreciate the sacrifice they’re willing to make? I’m not buying into this macho bullshit, and I try to step up beside them.
Dad grabs my hand and pulls me with him, still keeping himself between me and the main threat. “It’s all right. We don’t want any trouble. We’ll just go.” A wave of dizziness pushes at me, and my world tilts. I stumble and grab hold of Dad’s arm, but he doesn’t seem to notice as he guides us back towards the RV.
When a twig snaps from somewhere in the night, it’s like someone lit a fuse to a caseload of dynamite. Everyone scatters, running for cover. Dad and Brent drag me towards the RV, while over my shoulder I can see the others disappearing into the cellar.
And in the middle of it all is a man. James. He’s just standing there, a look of grief flitting across his face. This is a man who has lost too much. Our eyes meet, and he clenches his fists, plants his feet against the hard-packed earth. His lips form a word, but I can’t hear his voice over the kicking and skittering of dirt.
Dad is pulling the door to the RV open, Brent shoving me from behind. They’re determined to keep me safe, no matter the cost. But I see something in James, standing his ground with nothing left to lose. His grief echoes my own, and as it calls to me, I dig my heels in. Hell no, I won’t go.
Brent’s feet scrabble in the loose dirt as he tries to get traction. “Get in the damn van, Lori!”
Dad adds his muscle to the effort, but I plant my hands on either side of the doorframe. “Lori,” he hisses at me, “we need to go. What the hell is wrong with you?!” I can feel their combined weight pressing against me, but it’s nothing compared to the adrenaline flowing through my veins. It burns through me.
“STOP!” a voice calls out. I stumble back as Brent and Dad let up. Complete silence falls over the scene; the strangers have stopped their frantic scramble into their pit, my family standing in disbel
ief and maybe hope (dare we hope?). No crickets chirp, no bats flit through the night sky. The very air I breathe stills in my lungs.
And then there’s James.
“What’s up, Jimbo? You gotta get in the hole.” Seth, the group’s apparent leader, is tugging on his arm, but James isn’t budging.
“We have room,” he says, and I find myself nodding even as Seth is shaking his head. If I’m being honest, I barely register the negative gesture, his body language is one I recognize. He looks like my father when I was 6 and I asked for a puppy. It’s Brent when I ask if I can eat the last bite of his food. Me, trying to tell Trey no.
He’s on the verge of saying yes.
“No, just listen,” James continues. “I know we can’t fit them all in... but we can take the kids.” Wait, what? No deal. “They’re not that big! They can take Sarah’s place.” The strangers all seem to flinch, and Seth won’t meet his eyes. Honestly, I don’t care who Sarah is at this point.
Now, can we get back to the part where they can definitely fit us all into their haven? None of this just-the-kids bullshit.
From the corner of my eye, I see my dad’s head beginning to nod.
No! No head nodding! Why are you nodding your head?
But even before I can plead my case, explain why I think we should stick together (1. family first, 2. we’ve made it this far! 3. I don’t think I can go on without you...), I can see three steps ahead to how it will all play out. The strangers are all looking back and forth, edging towards their cellar. Seth has slipped on his resigned face. His decision has already been made. “Alright. Quick.”
And just like that, everything becomes a blur.
Seth dashes forward in two lumbering steps and grabs Brent by the arm. My dad practically lifts me off the ground as he ushers me after them. The adrenaline that just moments ago was throbbing through my body has now abandoned me. My muscles feel weak; I’m powerless. Helpless.
“NO! Daddy, you can’t do this! I won’t leave you out here!” I claw at his arms, but he doesn’t even feel it.
Prey (The Shade Chronicles Book 1) Page 25
