Glass crunched.
I froze and dropped the pickle jar. It smashed, and bits of glass, pickled vegetables and juice flew everywhere. The sour smell clogged my nose. Pickle juice seeped into my sneakers through a small hole in the sole.
Crunch.
Someone was coming into the store. I scanned my surroundings, my pulse racing, the thud-thud of my heart banging in my ears. Dad clasped my arm hard and pulled me behind his back. My foot slipped on a pickle. Dad’s fingers dug into my skin, keeping me upright. We listened. I went for the pistol, but my hand shook so much I was worried I’d drop it.
Crunch.
I stared at Dad, my eyes wide. Had they heard us? He put his index finger to his lips. I gave a tiny nod. My breathing felt so loud – could they hear it?
Something rustled in the neighbouring aisle. I backed up, away from the noise. Dad pointed his gun at the shelves that separated our aisle from the other. Maybe it was just a stray dog. Or a wild boar.
More rustling. This time in both neighbouring aisles.
Maybe a group of wild boars.
Or maybe something far worse.
I pressed myself closer to Dad. A low grumble came from the aisle to our left. I bit down on my lower lip to keep myself from making a noise.
A creak. I lifted my head and saw the huge shelf above us tipping over. Someone…or something…was pushing it – and it would crush us.
Dad’s grip tightened and he dragged me after him. We ran down the aisle, stumbling over cans. Our steps echoed through the store, drowning out any other noises. Sweat drenched my body. At the end of the aisle, Dad let go of me. I glanced at him in confusion. He shot in the direction where the grumble had come from. Once. Twice.
A roar rang out in the store, feral and angry. It sounded big. Dangerous. Terrifying.
“Run, Sherry!” he shouted as he shot again. “Run!”
So I ran. And as I did, I registered movement from the corner of my eye.
I ran faster, back towards the broken entrance of the store. Glass crunched under my sneakers and a sharp pain shot through my right foot. I ignored it and kept running.
Three years of cycling to produce energy had made me fit, but panic corded up my body and my throat felt strangled. The sun blinded me as I rounded the building and crossed the parking lot.
Our car came into view, finally.
I glanced over my shoulder, expecting to see Dad behind me, but he wasn’t there. There was no one. Nothing.
I was alone. My steps slowed. I gasped for breath, my eyes searching the parking lot for a sign of Dad. Or something else.
Nothing.
I blinked at the building, my eyes wide. “Dad?”
Gunshots rang out in the silence.
“Dad!” I screamed. Blood hammered through my veins. Before I knew what I was doing, I had run back to the entrance. My arms were outstretched, pistol aimed at the inside of the building. It was silent again.
My breathing was harsh and tears prickled my eyes. I took a hesitant step forward. “Dad?” I called in a shaky voice.
No answer.
After the sun, it seemed even darker inside than I remembered. My eyes had difficulty making out much. The back of the vast store lay in shadows.
I took another step forward and another, until I stood in the front area of the store. Dad was somewhere in here – he had to be. And he needed my help.
I took a deep breath, then I walked further into the store. My gun hand was still shaking. If Dad hadn’t stopped our attackers with his shotgun, how could I possibly do it?
Calm down. Breathe.
I headed for the aisle with the canned food, my steps slow and measured.
I glanced over my shoulder. Had something just moved? I turned and pointed the pistol in that direction.
A rack of cotton nightgowns spun very slowly. There was no wind in the store, so why was it turning?
I wiped sweat from my forehead. Get a grip, Sherry.
I took another breath and moved towards the aisle where Dad and I had heard the noises. The shelf hadn’t toppled over, it still stood in place.
I slipped on something. My right leg gave way and I landed with a heavy thud on my backside. Pain shot up my back. I’d dropped the pistol. It lay next to my left foot. I scrambled to my knees and reached for it.
Then I froze.
The gun lay in a little puddle of blood. With shaky fingers, I grabbed it. The blood was still warm.
Oh God.
I took a deep breath. With a little retch, I wiped the bloody pistol on my jeans.
A rustling caught my attention, and I tensed. I couldn’t tell where it had come from. Slowly, I straightened up. Something rushed past the end of the aisle. I released the safety catch, my breath coming in little gasps.
“Dad?” My voice quivered.
Clicking, not unlike the sound of Grandma’s knitting needles, came from nearby. Clicking – like claws on tiles.
“Dad!” I cried desperately.
The clicking came closer and I stumbled backwards. Something appeared at the end of the aisle. In the dim light, I could just make out a silhouette. It looked like a human, but was hunched over and partly covered with grey hair.
Our eyes met. There was a flicker of yellow there, like a spark of madness. Or raw hunger. I took a step back. A big mistake.
The creature hurled itself towards me.
Never run from a predator, or you turn into their prey. I remembered Grandpa’s words a second too late.
I shot twice. The creature roared, and goosebumps flashed across my skin.
Click-click-click-click…
Claws scratching the floor, spit flying, the beast closed in on me. Muscles rippled under its patchy fur.
I whirled around. I tried to shoot while I ran, but my bullets hit only shelves.
It was still behind me.
Something bumped against my calves and made me stumble. I fell forward and cushioned the fall with my hands. Pain shot through my arms.
This time I didn’t let go of the gun. I shot at the moving shadow and was pushed backwards. The back of my head hit something with a sickening thud. My vision went black for a moment.
I shot blindly until there weren’t any bullets left. My gun hand dropped down into my lap. A growling to my right made me shrink back, and I raised the pistol to hit the creature over the head.
Shots in close proximity startled me and my eyes opened wide. My vision was returning slowly. Something warm was trickling down my neck and soaking my shirt. Blood. Maybe I was bleeding to death.
Through the haze, I watched the creature drop to the ground. I scrambled backwards, not wanting to be anywhere near this thing, no matter if it was dead or alive. Bullet wounds littered its hairy body, oozing blood. A milky liquid flowed from its eyes – it looked like it was crying.
Something touched my arm and a scream ripped from my throat.
Stupid locker. Stuck again. I yanked. Nothing.
I yanked harder. It swung open fast and I stumbled back.
Stupid thing.
I pushed my bag into it.
“You dropped something.”
Alex.
I turned so fast, my neck cracked. My skin flushed with heat. He was much closer than I’d expected.
“Did you hear what I said?”
“Huh?” More heat flooded my cheeks.
“You dropped something.” Alex pointed at the ground. A sheet of paper lay on the linoleum, just centimetres from my feet.
I bent down and my head collided with his.
“Ouch.”
God, I was such an idiot.
“I’m sorry.”
I ripped the piece of paper from his hand. With a mumbled thanks, I dashed away.
I sat up but the movement made the dizziness worse. My vision was still blurry. A person stood in front of me – for a fleeting moment, I thought it might be Dad, but he was too young and his hair wasn’t red. I struggled when he tried to lift me.
&
nbsp; “Stop it, or I’ll leave you here. More of them will be here soon,” he hissed.
He picked me up and straightened with a small groan. Then he carried me through the store and out of the building to a car.
“My dad…” I tried to get the words out.
“Can you stand?”
I nodded numbly and clung to his T-shirt when he set me down on my feet. He wrapped his arm around my waist to keep me steady and I leaned my head against his chest.
I almost fell into the passenger seat when he opened the door for me. The purr of the engine brought me back to my senses.
“My father’s still in the store,” I said groggily.
He shook his head as he steered the car across the parking lot. The speed threw me against the door and I was too weak to keep myself upright.
“No. Nobody’s in there. Except for two dead Weepers.”
“But my father—” I began, but he interrupted me.
“Believe me, he isn’t in there.”
I took a shaky breath. The heat was getting to me. My head was aching where I’d hit it, and I felt woozy. “It’s stuffy. Can we open the windows?”
He shook his head. “No. You’re bleeding all over the place. They’re like sharks. The smell of blood attracts them. They’d follow us and I won’t risk that.”
I frowned at him. “How do you know that they aren’t following us already?”
“I just know it,” he replied and returned his gaze to the windshield.
The car was going at a maddening speed. Every bump in the concrete catapulted me off the passenger seat, bringing my head dangerously close to the ceiling. The car was definitely travelling at its limits, and there wasn’t any traffic to slow us down.
“This was the car in the parking lot? The Lincoln. Why was your car in the parking lot?” I slurred like a drunk.
“I was hunting. I heard gunshots,” he replied casually.
Hunting? Maybe he’d been after the wild boars.
I breathed deeply, but it didn’t help to clear my mind. “Where are you taking me?” I asked, my eyes half-closed.
“Somewhere safe. Maybe you should close your eyes for a little while. You look like shit.”
I stared at the windshield and listened to the noise of the engine. My hands were coated with blood, still sticky. Dad’s blood. My throat tightened. I closed my eyes. Images of him being ripped apart, torn into tiny pieces, flashed into my mind.
Dad.
I’d abandoned him, failed him. My fault. All my fault. I swallowed hard, trying to stop myself from crying.
After a while, when I felt steadier, I tilted my head to the side to look at the profile of the boy beside me. He had high cheekbones and tanned skin. “My name is Sherry.”
He glanced at me. “Joshua,” he said with a fleeting smile, before handing me an old towel. “To stop the bleeding.” He turned back to the road and I pressed the towel against my head.
“What happened to my father?” I asked, though I wasn’t sure if I wanted to know.
“I don’t know. But since I didn’t see a body, I guess they took him with them.”
“Took him with them? Where?”
“I’m not entirely sure. There are a few places where the Weepers live.”
“Weepers?”
“That’s what everyone calls the infected.”
I stared at him.
“They look like they’re crying. When you’re face-to-face with them, you’ll know what I mean.”
An image of the dead mutant – Weeper – flashed into my mind.
“But why would they take my father with them?”
He shrugged. “They stockpile.”
“Stockpile?”
“Like squirrels.”
I clamped a palm over my mouth to stifle a sob. Do. Not. Cry. I swallowed and dropped my hand. “You mean, they eat humans?”
He nodded, his eyes focused on the street. A shotgun was resting across his lap. “Yes – easy prey. Humans have forgotten how to survive in a battle of the fittest. Our instincts are dormant, and the Weepers prefer easy prey.” He pulled off the freeway and onto a smaller street.
“But weren’t they like us once?” I croaked.
He pulled his gaze from the windshield and smiled sadly. “But they don’t know that. The virus has turned them into predators without a conscience. They’ve lost their memories of who they were.”
I couldn’t stop myself from imagining that creature chewing on Dad. Horror exploded within me.
“We have to save him!” I shouted.
He glanced at me, studying my expression before he shook his head. Desperate, I reached out and tried to grab the steering wheel, but he knocked my hand away. “Have you lost your mind?”
“What if he’s still alive? I can’t let…that…happen to him!” Waves of terror for Dad washed over me. And what about Mom? How could I explain it to her? She’d never forgive me. I began to hyperventilate as a new fear struck me. Mom! “My family – I have to get back to them! They’re still in our house, in a bunker. I need to warn them about the Weepers!”
Joshua didn’t slow the car. “We can’t go back now. Even if we could save your dad – and I’m not promising anything – it’ll be getting dark soon, and the night is the time for predators. Believe me, you don’t want to be on the street when they’re on the prowl – they’ll sniff out your blood before you even see them, and then you won’t be able to save yourself, let alone your dad. As for your family, as long as they stay in the bunker, they should be fine.”
I shivered. “But my father told them to find other people if we haven’t returned by tomorrow.”
Joshua’s brows dipped in a frown. “Look, we need to spend the night outside the city. But we can search for your father and go back for your family tomorrow after sunrise.”
I had no choice. “Okay,” I managed to croak out.
The moment the word left my mouth, guilt pulled at my throat. Joshua touched my shoulder briefly. “There’s nothing more we can do tonight. And your family will be fine. The bunker has kept you safe until now, hasn’t it?”
I nodded. “We’ve spent the last 1,141 days there.” Surely it would keep them safe another night. Some of the pressure lifted from my chest, allowing me to take a deep breath.
“You counted the days?” He smiled.
“There wasn’t much else to do.” I stared at my lap, where my jeans were smeared with blood. Dad’s blood. I ran my fingertips over the rough material.
“1,141 days is a long time.”
I glanced at him. He was staring at the road as he spoke.
“I spent 515 days in a bunker.”
I raised my eyebrows. “You counted the days too?”
One corner of his mouth pulled up in a lopsided grin. “Yeah.”
“Why did you leave your bunker? Did the military make contact?”
His mouth set in a thin line. “The military never showed up – they just broadcast their useless warning.” His eyes flickered towards me. “It was a public bunker. Things escalated pretty fast.”
He turned his face away and stared out of the windshield.
“My father and I left the bunker because we’d run out of food…” I began, but guilt and grief gripped me at the thought of Dad, and I slipped into silence, tension crackling like static in the air.
Joshua’s jaw tightened. I stared out of the side window and watched the landscape as it passed us by. Broken-down cars littered the streets, rusty and covered in dirt. Fallen debris lay everywhere. Was Dad out there somewhere, waiting for me to help him?
We slowed down and turned onto a narrow dirt track. We were driving away from the coast and into the surrounding hills. I still hadn’t seen any other human being except Joshua. He stayed silent during the rest of the drive. I didn’t know what to say to him. It had been so long since I’d dealt with other people. Maybe I was out of practice.
I sat up when we neared a huge villa with smaller cottages surrounding the main build
ing. It must have been a winery; the surrounding slopes were overgrown with vines heavy with grapes. The sweet smell of rotten fruit carried into the car, sweeter than anything I’d smelled in a while. We drove through a set of iron gates. A stone wall, overgrown with ivy, surrounded the buildings, reminding me of pictures of France or Tuscany.
We pulled up in front of the main house. The ochre paint was peeling off and a few of the clay shingles were missing. The white of the window shutters had faded to a dull grey, and two of them swayed precariously in the wind.
Joshua got out of the car without a word and slammed the door shut. I glanced at the small clock on the dashboard. The journey had taken us a little over an hour. No traffic, no stop lights, no speed limits. Just us and the Lincoln flying over dead freeways. Los Angeles had turned into a still life.
I got out of the car, but had to grab the door to steady myself. Joshua took my arm. “Don’t fall. Your head’s only just stopped bleeding. Come on.”
He led me towards the main building. Every time my right foot touched the ground it burned with agony, and the pebbles covering the courtyard dug into my soles, sending jolts of pain through my feet and up my neck.
“Where are we?”
The sun hung lower in the sky now, so it didn’t dazzle me when I looked up at him. He was almost a head taller than me. His skin tone reminded me of the honey Grandma used to make. The buzzing of bees and the taste of homemade honey had once belonged to my summer, like sunshine and ice cream. Not any more.
1,148 days since Grandma had given up her beehive. It had felt like more than a goodbye to her bees.
He shrugged. “People here call it Safe-haven. A few other survivors live in the winery with me.”
The wooden door of the main building was dark, maybe oak, and it was cross-braced with iron, which gave it a medieval touch. Joshua opened it with an old-fashioned silver key that he’d taken from his jeans pocket. Loss of blood and lack of food were taking their toll on me. All I wanted to do was to lie down, close my eyes and sleep.
It was slightly cooler in the house than outside, but the heat was still bothering me. The hall was dimly lit and a wooden staircase led up to the first floor. A flowery carpet covered the ground and a silver chandelier hung from the ceiling. The owner must have been rich.
The Other Life Page 4
