Broken World | Novel | Angus

by Mary, Kate L.

  So suddenly Angus didn’t have time to react, Naya was ripped from his hand. The cry of pain she let out seemed to slash through him, and right away his mind went to the worst-case scenario. The creatures had decided to venture out during the storm.

  He pulled his knife and spun around, having to blink to see through the now pouring rain. Expecting to find nothing but a pool of blood where the girl had once stood, it took him a few seconds to process what he was seeing. Naya was on the ground, her face twisted in pain and her wet hair plastered to her face, and she was holding her ankle.

  She looked up, blinking away the water clinging to her eyelashes. “I twisted it.”

  She was okay.

  After the horrible memory from earlier, he hadn’t expected it. He’d thought he’d done it again. Thought he’d made a crucial mistake that someone else had to pay for. But he hadn’t, and she was okay.

  Angus replaced his knife as relief swept through him. Then he knelt and scooped the girl into his arms, standing again only a second later. “I saw somethin’ up ahead.”

  Naya clung to him when he started walking again, the rain pounding down on them with every step he took. Angus could barely see through it, and he couldn’t be positive he was even going in the right direction. He kept moving, though, knowing he couldn’t fail yet another person. Knowing he had to get her to safety.

  Lightning flashed, once again illuminating the area, and Angus could see it clearly this time. A cabin.

  He moved faster, his teeth gritted in determination as the rain pounded down on them. Wet branches slapped at his face, and unseen limbs tried to trip him up, but he didn’t slow, didn’t fall. Barely even noticed. He pushed through some branches, and suddenly it was in front of him, and then he was climbing the front steps of the porch, which were miraculously intact, finally making it out of the rain.

  Out of the rain.

  It seemed crazy, like he was imagining things, but he looked up to find a roof over their heads. Not only that, the cabin had a door, and the windows were boarded up. Secure.

  Was it possible someone lived here?

  He had to be ready. Just in case.

  He set Naya down, put his body between her and the door, and pulled his knife. “Stay back.”

  The girl said nothing, and he was too focused on his surroundings to look back at her. The cabin was the kind people used to rent in the mountains, rustic-looking and made of thick logs, and at first glance seemed to be in pretty good shape. Someone had obviously kept it up over the years—it was the only explanation—but when he looked it over, he saw nothing to indicate they were still around. If they were, hopefully they were feeling benevolent.

  Angus hesitated as he reached for the knob, trying to decide if he should knock or try to sneak in. He felt out of practice and unsure the way he had back at the beginning of the apocalypse. If he knocked, he’d warn whoever was inside—assuming someone was—of their presence, and there was a good chance the person would act first and ask questions later. But if he snuck in, he would be an intruder, meaning the person would be justified in whatever happened.

  But he might be able to take them by surprise. There had been many times throughout his lifetime when a sneak attack had made the difference between life and death, and facing the two options, as well as being backed in the corner, made him feel like he didn’t have much of a choice in the matter.

  His mind made up, Angus sucked in a deep breath, put his hand on the knob, and turned it.

  He half expected the door to be locked, but to his shock, it opened with no problem. Angus pushed on it, holding his breath, and the hinges let out a groan of protest. His knife was in his other hand, and he lifted it, ready in case someone—or something—came running. One of the creatures could be hiding inside, and even though they usually slept during the day, that didn’t mean they wouldn’t attack if surprised.

  When nothing moved, he pushed the door open a little more and peered inside. The living room was dark and empty, and beyond that, so was the little bit of kitchen that he could see. Even better, the place seemed to be unoccupied. It was tidy, but the air was stale when Angus inhaled, thick with dust and neglect as if the doors hadn’t been opened in some time.

  “I think it’s empty,” he said as he turned back to face Naya.

  The girl had all her weight on her good ankle, and she was hugging herself, shivering and dripping from the rain, and while she didn’t seem the least bit worried, she was looking at Angus expectantly. As if he was the only thing standing between her and death.

  He hated the weight of responsibility that settled on his shoulders at that moment.

  “Let’s get you out of the cold,” he said.

  Naya started to limp his way, but she only made it two steps before he’d once again scooped her into his arms. He stepped in, kicked the door shut, and paused long enough to lock it. Now that it was closed, the house was too dark to make out more than the outline of the furniture, but he’d gotten a good enough look at the place to know where the couch was. He headed there first and deposited Naya on it, causing a puff of dust to rise up around them. She coughed, and his own nostrils tickled, but he managed to hold back the sneeze trying to break out.

  Now he needed to check the place over.

  “Stay here,” he said to the figure, just visible in the darkness, in front of him. “Stay alert and quiet.”

  “I will,” Naya whispered.

  The sound of her voice, so small and trusting, seemed to wrap around his neck, making it difficult to suck in a deep breath. Somehow, he managed to fill his lungs as he moved toward the staircase.

  It went down, not up, but standing at the top and peering into nothing but darkness, Angus hesitated. If he went down now, he would be going in blind, which was something you never wanted to do in this world. There had to be another way.

  Angus headed to the kitchen instead.

  His eyes had adjusted a little since first stepping inside, and he was able to make out more of the items around him. A useless refrigerator and stove, a dishwasher, a sink. Various items were lined up on the counter, but he couldn’t identify them through the shadowy darkness, so he ran his hands over them. When his fingers brushed the waxy surface of a candle, he almost let out a whoop of triumph. He hadn’t seen a candle in years.

  It took some digging through his wet backpack to find the flint, but once he had, the candle was lit in seconds. The flame flickered through the kitchen, only illuminating a small circle around him, but it was all he needed. Now he would safely be able to look the rest of the house over.

  This time when he reached the stairs, he didn’t hesitate before going down.

  They creaked under his feet but felt as sturdy as the ones leading up to the porch had. The downstairs was as neat as the upstairs, and just as quiet. He passed a bathroom that also contained a washer and dryer, and a bedroom with its door wide open. In the middle of the room, the king size bed was made and not a single item looked out of place. The rest of the downstairs was taken up by a pool table, small bar, and a few miscellaneous pieces of furniture. Including a futon.

  No people, no creatures, and no sign that anyone had been here for a while.

  Angus relaxed as he headed back upstairs.

  Outside, the wind was howling and the rain pounded against the roof, but so far there was no sign of leaks—which was a fucking miracle as far as he was concerned—and thanks to the wood nailed over both the inside and outside of every window, the place felt almost like a fortress. It also felt a hell of a lot more luxurious than anywhere he’d been in about three decades.

  Naya was still sitting on the couch when he turned to face her. “No one’s here?”

  “Nope.”

  He set the candle on the table next to her and threw himself into one of the chairs. Like the couch, it was covered in dust that made his nostrils twitch, but he wouldn’t have cared if it was infested with bedbugs. They had a roof over their heads and a bed—a real, fucking bed!—and
it seemed almost too good to be true.

  “Why?” Naya looked around. “I mean, look at this place. Someone must have been living here. It’s so nice. So taken care of.”

  “They ain’t been here in a while,” he said. “My guess? Their luck finally ran out.”

  Her shoulders sagged. “Yeah.”

  “Their loss is our gain,” he told her.

  She shifted and winced, reminding him that she’d gotten hurt.

  He sat forward, waving to her ankle. “How bad?”

  “I don’t know.”

  Angus moved the candle closer to the girl. “Take the boot off. Let’s see.”

  Naya obeyed, cringing at the movement. Once the boot had thumped to the floor, she pulled her pant leg up. Purple had already begun to spread from her ankle to her heel, and the swelling was significant enough that she wouldn’t be able to walk on it for a while without doing more damage. Which made him twice as thankful for the house.

  “You’re gonna hafta stay off it,” he said.

  “How long?”

  The fact that she didn’t even try to argue spoke volumes about how much the injury hurt.

  Angus sighed, thinking. He didn’t have any medical training, but he’d had lots of bumps and bruises throughout his life. Still, he didn’t have a clue how long it took for a twisted ankle to heal. Two weeks? Longer?

  “Gonna hafta play it by ear,” he said. “All we can do.”

  Naya nodded and sat back, a look of defeat on her face.

  Water dripped from a few strands of her hair, falling on her chest and reminding Angus that the house and the girl’s ankle weren’t the only issues at hand. They were soaking wet, and it was chilly. They needed to get dry and warm if they could, and maybe, if they were lucky, they might even be able to start a fire. It seemed like a longshot, but still possible.

  He hauled himself to his feet. “I’m gonna take a look ’round.”

  A quick inspection of the fireplace told Angus it was wood-burning, which was a good sign, and a peek out the back door revealed another porch—roof also intact—as well as a pile of wood. He stepped out to inspect it, surprised that none of it was rotten. Whoever had lived here hadn’t been gone that long.

  The rain was coming down pretty hard, the wind whipping it around in the process, so the wood wasn’t totally dry, but in the absence of anything else, it would have to do. Angus dragged every single log inside one handful at a time, placing a few of the driest pieces in the fireplace while piling the rest next to it. He made sure to lock and bolt the door before moving on to his next project. Starting a fire.

  Hoping to find some kindling stashed away, Angus searched the living room while Naya watched him quietly from the couch. He hit the jackpot when he dug through a decorative basket sitting beside the fireplace. Whoever used to live here had thought ahead, and he found not only kindling and a pretty good stash of matches—something he hadn’t seen in years—but piles of cash as well.

  Angus extracted a tightly wrapped stack of fifty-dollar bills from the basket and fanned them out, grinning as the pieces of green paper flapped back into place.

  “What is it?” Naya asked, scooting to the edge of the cushion so she could grab a stack.

  “Money,” he said.

  He pulled a few bills free and lit them, laughing as the flame caught and they went up in smoke. He was still smiling and shaking his head when he threw the bills on the logs. When he was younger, he never would have believed the sight of burning money could make him laugh. Then again, there probably wasn’t much about this world that his younger self would have believed.

  He alternated feeding kindling and money into the fire, placing it strategically in hopes that the slightly damp logs would eventually catch, then sat back and watched. Waiting. The fire spread, the flames dancing over the money and catching on the kindling, and before long a couple of the logs were burning as well. It would smoke pretty good, but the chimney would help, and they’d be okay. Warmer, too.

  Once that was done, Angus dragged himself to his feet with a groan. Now he needed to inspect the bedrooms and closets. See if he could find something for them to wear. If that didn’t work, he’d take the blankets off the beds and they could wrap themselves in those until their clothes dried.

  Naya was still holding a stack of money when he turned, her fingers flipping the stiff paper over and over again. She had her foot propped up on the couch at her side, and in the short time it had taken Angus to start the fire, her ankle had grown more swollen.

  He paused before heading into the other room, and she looked up.

  “You good?” he asked. “You don’t need nothing?”

  “No.” Naya ran her thumb over the bills again, and the paper slapped together, reminding Angus of shuffling cards.

  “’Kay, then,” he said. “I’m gonna see if I can’t find us some clothes.”

  She gave him a grateful smile. “I’m sorry I can’t help.”

  “Don’t you worry ’bout that,” he said as he headed off. “You just sit tight and rest that ankle.”

  The girl didn’t respond.

  The bedroom on the main floor was small and contained no furniture other than the bed and a chest of drawers. There was a closet, too, but Angus opened the door to find the rack empty. There were a few blankets and sheets stacked on the shelf, though, which would do if he couldn’t find any clothes. He moved to the dresser and pulled the first drawer open, shifting through the items stuffed inside. There were shirts and sweaters, pants, socks, and even underwear, but all of it was men’s clothing, so he went downstairs, hoping to find something that would do for the girl. That bedroom had no closet at all, and the dresser’s contents weren’t much different than what he’d found upstairs—although these clothes were bigger. Had a father and son lived here? If so, what had happened to them?

  Angus looked around like the room would be able to give him some clues as to who these people had been and where they’d gone, but there was nothing. Whoever used to live here had left no personal objects behind. No pictures or other treasured keepsakes. Had they taken those things with them, knowing there was a chance they one day wouldn’t make it back?

  Angus pictured a father and son, trapped together in a decrepit building as the creatures surrounded them, clinging to each other as much as they clung to the items they held so dear. A wedding ring for the man, maybe, or a glove that was the only thing left of the woman he’d once loved. The son would have had a ratty stuffed bear or rabbit, something his mother had given him when he was young that he refused to get rid of even though he was much too old for the toy. The make-believe scenario weighed on Angus, making it difficult to breathe, so he pushed it away and went back to searching the dresser.

  He dug through the items until he found something that would work for him, then dragged himself back upstairs to the other bedroom to get something for Naya. The clothes would be big on her, but at least they’d be better than what she was currently wearing. Dry and clean with no holes, which was about all a person could ask for these days.

  “Found us some clothes,” he said when he was once again in the living room.

  Naya tossed the stack of cash on the table and turned, a smile stretched across her face. “Really?”

  Angus handed her the clothes, and her smile widened. She unfolded them, taking extra care like she was afraid she would ruin them, and paused to inspect each one. There was a pair of men’s boxers—size small, so they could work—socks, some pants that would stay up with the help of her belt, a t-shirt, and a thick, wool sweater.

  She was beaming when she looked up at him. “I haven’t had a change of clothes in months.”

  “Been longer than that for me,” he said.

  Her smiled changed, turning almost mischievous. Teasing. “I figured. The smell, remember?”

  His chuckle vibrated through his body. “I’d say I’m sorry, but I ain’t. It’s been a spell since washin’ my clothes mattered.”

  “I k
now,” she said, sounding slightly apologetic.

  Her hands were on the pile of clothes, her eyes on him, but it took a few seconds for Angus to realize she was waiting for him to step out of the room.

  He cleared his throat and ran his hand over his head. “I’ll change in the other room.”

  “Thank you,” she said.

  He nodded in response.

  Once in the bedroom with the door shut, he stripped his old clothes off and tossed them into the corner. He’d burn them tomorrow after they’d had time to dry. Putting on a fresh pair of underwear had never felt so amazing, and even though the pants were baggy in the seat, they felt just as good. The shirt was soft against his chest when he pulled it on over his head, telling him just how grungy the old one had been, but the quilted flannel jacket he put on last was best of all. Warm and familiar and soft, the fabric reminded him of home.

  He ran his hand over the red and blue sleeve, the material tickling his fingertips, and swallowed. Axl had owned a similar one. He’d had it on when they first started their trip across the country, leaving Tennessee and poverty behind as they tried to beat the virus to the coast. It had been the James brothers against the world back then, and Angus had felt certain that was how it would always be. How foolish and naïve he’d been.

  He and Axl had fled in a stolen car using stolen gas, holding up a few convenience stores along the way to help finance the journey. The plan had been to get to a farm somewhere in California where they could build a life, but Vivian had changed all that. Angus had spotted her first, in a diner on Route 66. He and Axl had been eating, and she’d stopped for coffee, and he hadn’t been able to take his eyes off her—she’d been that kind of woman. The kind to turn heads. When they’d come upon her only a few hours later, her car broken down on the side of the road, he’d thought it was his lucky day. She’d never glanced at him twice other than to give him a nasty look, though. She’d only ever had eyes for Axl.

  Angus sighed as he grabbed a couple blankets from the closet, cradling them against his chest when he moved for the door. Too many memories. Too much pain.