Almost instantly, a howl rang through the air. It was close.
The crash was louder this time, like several windows had broken all at once, and the following footsteps told him more than one of the creatures was in the house. They ran, moving closer to the bathroom, and then a bang had shaken the door at their backs. Another followed, the thuds loud and violent, and then there had been another and another. Angus had braced his feet against the cabinet in front of him so he could push all his weight against the door, praying it would hold. Praying they hadn’t reached their end.
Over and over the things had thrown themselves against the door. They’d howled, scratched at the wood, and slammed into it. Fingers reached under the door, trying to get at them as the sweet stink of the hybrids filled the room, and even the doorknob had rattled like one of the creatures was trying to open it. On and on it went, never ceasing, the things never growing tired of trying to break the door down. Angus’s head had started to pound, and Vivian’s body shook, telling him she was crying. He’d felt like crying, too. He’d promised his brother he’d take care of his wife and daughters, and Angus had failed twice already. Now it looked like he would fail yet again.
His mother had been right all along. Angus was worthless.
Time seemed to stretch on and on in an endless loop, but then all at once, it stopped. The creatures had howled in unison before running off, their footsteps pounding through the house, and the sound of them crashing through the windows had been a relief after the hours of turmoil. Still, he and Vivian hadn’t moved. Hadn’t trusted that the things had left for good.
It was Vivian who’d finally broken the silence. “Are they gone?”
He’d swallowed, listened, straining his ears. There was nothing but silence. No creatures, no people. Nothing.
“I think so,” he’d said.
Vivian burst into tears.
She’d said something, but Angus hadn’t been able to understand her through the sobs, so he’d wrapped his arms around her and said, “We made it. We’re okay. We’re gonna be okay.”
“How?” she finally managed to get out. “How are we going to be okay, Angus?”
“’Cause we gotta be,” he’d replied.
She’d shaken her head and continued to cry, and he hadn’t let her go.
Less than ten minutes passed before Vivian was able to collect herself, and once she’d dried her tears, they climbed to their feet. Angus’s ass had been sore, his head throbbed, and his back had felt like it was covered in bruises, but he was alive, and that had been something. He’d opened the bathroom door hesitantly, putting himself between his sister-in-law and any possible danger that might still be lurking in the house, and peered out. Faint light streamed in through the front window, illuminating the disaster the creatures had left behind.
The house had been destroyed.
Angus opened the door the rest of the way and Vivian had gasped.
Pictures had fallen from walls and lay shattered on the floor, nearly every window was broken, as was the front door, and furniture had toppled over and lay on its side. The farther they went, the worse it got. It was like the creatures had been as intent on destroying the humans’ chance at safety as they were on infecting everyone they came into contact with. Even more horrifying was the fact that every other house on the street seemed to be in the same condition. The creatures had torn through the settlement, breaking into homes in search of their next victim, and the blood splattered across sidewalks and on porches said they’d found more than one. But how many? Was anyone else still alive?
Vivian grabbed his hand. “Are we all that’s left?”
“Only one way to find out,” he’d said.
He pulled his hand from her grasp and had headed outside, stepping through the now shattered front door. Glass crunched under his boots with every step, and he had to shield his eyes from the morning sun so he could get a look around, but it had taken only seconds to see that there was no movement anywhere. Not in the houses, and not down the street. The settlement had become a ghost town.
“Hello?” he’d called.
His voice bounced back, taunting him, but no one had replied.
Behind him, Vivian let out a gasp. “Oh, my God.”
He’d looked over his shoulder to find her hand over her mouth, her eyes wide and focused on something in the street. Angus followed her gaze, and when he caught sight of what she was looking at, he’d let out a string of profanity. It was Dragon.
The man had been the only other holdout from the original group they’d come to Senoia with, but he was gone now. Torn apart in the middle of the street, his neck a gaping wound that looked as if it had been slashed open by one of the creature’s claws, or maybe even its teeth. Dragon had tried to put up a fight, or maybe even tried to help someone else. Either way, he’d paid with his life. At least he hadn’t turned into one of those things. That was something. Especially since the lack of bodies told Angus most of their neighbors hadn’t fared so well.
Vivian slumped to the porch, her hand on her heart and her gaze still focused on their dead friend. “What now?”
Angus let out a groan as he’d taken a seat next to her. “Don’t got a clue.”
She’d looked at him, her brown eyes shimmering. “Can we even stay here? I mean, the creatures know they left at least a couple survivors. Won’t they come back?”
At that point, he hadn’t known much about the things the CDC created using a combination of his blood and the virus, but he’d felt pretty certain they were programed to kill at all costs, which meant they would be back. It also meant he and Vivian couldn’t stay. If they did, they’d end up spending every night in the bathroom, which couldn’t last. He doubted the door would be able to withstand too many more nights like the one they’d just had.
“We gotta go,” he’d said.
“Where?”
Angus let out a long, tired breath, knowing they only had one option and hating it.
They’d left New Atlanta for a reason. The Church. The crazy new religion that had popped up shortly after the first vaccine was created. They treated Angus like he was some kind of god, which was ridiculous. He hadn’t been able to think of anyone in the world—before or after the virus—who’d been less worthy of being put on a pedestal. Too bad the religion had only grown in popularity with his return, which was only partly because everyone thought he’d come back from the dead. The other part had to do with the fact that he’d had the answer to the zombie problem—which was exactly what The Church had prophesied.
At least he’d thought he had the answer, anyway. Although now it seemed as if the CDC had fucked them over yet again.
“We gotta go to Atlanta,” he’d said, trying not to think about The Church. “It’s the only way. They got walls, and crazy cult or not, the place is secure.”
Vivian’s eyes had searched his, her regret and worry as clear as the morning sky. “We should have gone a long time ago. Before Axl died.” Even two years after his death, she’d practically choked on the words. “Or after, at least.”
“We did what we thought best. No matter what that crazy lady says, I ain’t God and I couldn’t see the future. None of us could. We had no way of knowin’ how bad things was gonna get.”
“I know.” Vivian’s shoulders had slumped. “I can’t believe we’re all that’s left. Everything we’ve been through, all the struggles. I really thought God was going to give us a break.”
Angus had puckered his lips and looked past her, focusing on the sunrise. “Can’t say I ever really believed in God, but it seems even more far-fetched now. Look at all this shit. If there was a God lookin’ down on us, I’d think He either had a sick sense of humor or was a sadistic prick.”
“Yeah,” she’d said, sighing.
Angus had pulled himself to his feet. “We gotta get our stuff together so we can leave. Don’t wanna be outside the walls after dark.”
Vivian, too, had stood. “Okay.”
That
was what they’d done. Packed and headed out on bikes that were rusted from age and had bald tires but had helped them travel the forty-one miles from Senoia to New Atlanta. They’d barely made it before sunset, but unsurprisingly, The Church had welcomed them with open arms—despite the insults Angus had thrown at the High Priestess the last time they were there. Like everything else in this world, though, the safety New Atlanta promised had been an illusion. Eventually, the creatures figured out how to get inside, and that had been the end of that. Sure, there had been other places, but like the ones before, they hadn’t lasted. Nothing ever did.
Angus closed his eyes, trying to push the memories away but finding it difficult. The creatures were still howling in the distance, and he was still clinging to the doorknob. The closet was cramped, and Naya was mere inches from him, but talking was impossible, making his newly resurfaced memories his only companion as the night wore on. All they seemed to bring was pain, though. Even when he focused on the good times, the happy things that had happened over the years. There were so many of them, but no matter what he chose to think about, the pain always seemed to seep through. It was like trying to patch a holey bucket with your hand. You could press and press, but no matter what you did, some of the water would slip through your fingertips and escape.
Desperate to chase the melancholy away, he focused on something more positive—the day Parv had first kissed him.
They’d been sitting in the back yard, smoking. Back then, she’d been mostly silent with the others, but not with him. With him, she’d talked. Told him about her life, about her thoughts and feelings, about what she hoped for the future. It was how they’d spent their time. Smoking. Talking. Being together.
That day had been different, though.
Parv had been quiet, contemplative, and even though Angus hadn’t been able to tell what she was thinking, he hadn’t missed the stolen glances she’d shot his way, or the expression on her face. She’d looked slightly unsure. Confused, even. But oddly hopeful, too.
He’d come to love the time they spent together, had gotten to the point where he looked for her every time he left the house, but he hadn’t thought about her romantically. Not really. He’d found himself checking her out on occasion, though, something that had taken him by surprise at first. The man he’d been before the virus never would have given a brown-skinned woman a second glance, and even though by that point he’d barely been able to remember what it had felt like to be that person, he hadn’t expected the attraction. And he definitely hadn’t expected Parv to feel anything for an old asshole like him. That day, though, as the silence stretched on, he’d begun to wonder. It had been the thoughtful way she kept looking at him. As well as the ache in his chest whenever she did.
“What’s on your mind, Rambo?” he’d finally asked, both out of curiosity and because the constant glances were giving him all kinds of ideas. None of which felt realistic.
She’d looked his way again, paused, then without saying a thing, had leaned over and pressed her lips to his.
Her hand had gone to the back of his neck, and the kiss had been deep from the very beginning—so deep he’d felt it in every inch of his body—but he’d been too shocked to react and definitely too surprised to kiss her back. But Parv hadn’t looked the least bit bothered by his nonreaction when she’d pulled away.
“What was that?” he’d asked.
“I kissed you.”
“No shit. Why?”
She’d smiled then, and the way it had lit up her eyes did something to him he couldn’t explain. Something he’d never felt before.
Then she’d slapped him on the arm and said, “Wake the hell up. You know what that was about.”
He’d rubbed his arm, still slightly confused. “Can’t say I do.”
Parv’s smile had widened. “Don’t play dumb, Angus. It doesn’t suit a know-it-all like you.”
That had made him throw his head back and laugh, but it was cut short when she grabbed his arm and pulled him toward her, kissing him again.
That time, he couldn’t have held back if he’d wanted to. Which he hadn’t. Because it had been the best moment of his life up to that point.
Chapter Eight
Angus woke with his head resting on the door. He was still in a sitting position, his legs scrunched up to his chest due to the small space they were crammed in, and every inch of his body protesting the awkward posture. The closet was dark, but the light streaming in from beneath the door told him they’d made it through the night.
“You awake?” he asked, his voice rough with sleep.
“Yes,” came the soft reply.
Angus grunted when he shifted, wincing from the spasm that shot down his back, and turned the knob. The door flew open, and he practically fell on his face, somehow managing to catch himself at the last minute. The hall was empty, and the debris littering the floor was lit up from the early morning sun, and he had to squint against the bright rays spilling in. Even so, he spotted the footprints right away. They were scattered and fresh, cutting into the dirt covering the floor, and a very real reminder of just how close they’d come to dying the night before.
They’d gotten lucky.
A groan broke out of him when he crawled from the closet and pulled himself up. His body cracked more than the old wood beneath his feet, and every inch of him throbbed, his muscles protesting the movement. Angus suddenly felt a million times older than he really was, and much too exhausted for this world. An old man like him deserved some rest. Just one day of sleep, of lying around instead of walking miles and miles with no real destination.
He turned at the scrape of Naya crawling from the closet, and it only took one look at her face for him to remember why he couldn’t stop. Why he had to keep going. She was just a kid, and she still had her whole life in front of her. She deserved to find somewhere safe—assuming it existed.
She scrambled to her feet with ease, her young body not the least bit fazed by the tight space they’d spent the night in, and stretched, her dark eyes sweeping over their surroundings. Angus watched her in silence. Watched as she undid her now messy braid, ran her fingers through the dark locks to untangle them, then began to redo it. She never looked his way, and she didn’t even seem to notice he was there, and she never stopped scanning their surroundings. He found himself mesmerized by her actions. By the deft way her fingers moved, manipulating the tangled strands of black hair until they formed an even braid that hung down her back. Awestruck by how focused and sure she was.
Once Naya released her hair, she turned to look at him, her eyebrows lifting when their eyes met.
He cleared his throat and looked down. “Sorry.”
“You stare at me a lot.”
Heat moved up his neck to his cheeks, but not because he was embarrassed. He suddenly realized that his preoccupation with her could be interpreted as something less than innocent, and the thought left a sick feeling in his stomach.
“It ain’t like that,” he said quickly, forcing his gaze back to hers so she could see the sincerity in his eyes.
Naya tilted her head, her lips pulling down in the corners. “I didn’t think it was. It just makes me wonder what you’re thinking.”
He relaxed, let out a sigh, and shook his head as if to clear it. It didn’t help.
“Somethin’ ’bout havin’ you here is makin’ me remember things. Like I said, it’s been a long time since I was with anybody else. I was startin’ to feel…” He hesitated, but only for a second before deciding to tell her the truth. “Not human.”
Understanding flashed in the girl’s dark eyes. “And seeing me braid my hair reminded you of something? Of someone?”
This time, his sigh was long and drawn out, and painful. Just like his insides, which suddenly felt like they were being crushed.
“My daughter,” he said. “Glitter.”
When Naya lifted her brows this time, there was shock and confusion in her eyes. “Your daughter’s name was Glitter?”
He snorted out a laugh, jerking his head to indicate she should follow when he started moving. “It’s a long story.”
Naya hurried after him, easily hopping over the debris that had tripped them up the night before on their rush to reach safety. In the darkness, they hadn’t been able to see the items littering the floor, and the trek down the hall and through the old living room was a hell of a lot easier now that the sun was up.
Angus moved around an old wooden chair lying on its side, the legs missing and one of the arms broken off, climbed over a crumbling doorframe, and stepped right in the center of an already cracked plasma television that was covered in dirt. Moss and ivy and weeds grew between the now useless items that used to make up this house, and water dripped from the corner of what was left of the roof, the drops pinging against something metal when they landed.
“What was your daughter like?” Naya asked when they’d made it outside.
There had been a time when Angus would have bitten the head off anyone who’d dared ask him a personal question. Back then, he’d been a closed book. A man who didn’t share, didn’t want anyone sharing with him. Now, though, his hesitation had to do not with just the pain the memories brought, but also the fact that the past was so fuzzy. Less than it had been before Naya arrived, though, since something about being with her had broken the lock that used to keep his memories prisoner. Now they were all flooding out, running for freedom in a wave that was overwhelming and soul-crushing. It took his breath away how fast the memories were returning, how vivid some had become, and he was scrambling to make sense of them despite the pain.
“She was strong,” he finally said.
They were walking slowly, moving down the cracked street and stepping over craters and weeds, winding their way past trees and bushes as they traveled side by side. In the distance, the sky was dark and clogged with clouds, and the air cooler than it had been the day before. A storm was brewing, which meant they probably wouldn’t make much progress today, either. Not that he minded. He wanted to make sure Naya got somewhere safe, but he wasn’t in a hurry for this time to end. Why, he couldn’t say for certain. Perhaps he was enjoying the quiet companionship, conversation, and return of his memories, or maybe there was something deep inside him that knew whatever lay at the end of this road would be the end of him. That his long, lonely existence would soon be coming to a close. He’d yearned for it so many times, wished to join his friends in whatever afterlife they’d found themselves in, but a part of him was still scared. Terrified he hadn’t done enough to redeem himself. That he would stand before God only to be told the asshole he’d once been had won out.
Broken World | Novel | Angus Page 13
