A few buildings were visible in the distance, peeking between overgrown bushes and weeds and trees that swayed with the breeze. The air was stuffy and thick, wet from the summer humidity and the remnants of the storm, but it was early. Probably not much past seven o’clock in the morning. We had hours of walking ahead of us, which meant plenty of time for it to get hotter.
“We head that way,” I said, nodding upriver, which was the direction the boat had been moving before it sank. “We’ll cross to the other side once we reach the bridge, and maybe at some point come across more people.”
The last sentence was difficult to get out, but it needed to be said. For both of us. We had to acknowledge what happened—the ship had gone down, and we had no idea if we’d see any of our friends ever again. Kellan included.
I squeezed my eyes shut.
“Are you okay?” Ava asked when I stayed quiet.
“Yeah.” I blew out a long breath before taking a step, forcing my eyes to open and legs to move, one in front of the other. “I’ll be okay.”
Ava jogged to catch up but said nothing.
Zombies weren’t the only hazard when traveling the country on foot. People were a risk—Andrew was proof of that—but so were wild animals. With the near total destruction of the human race, population control had become a thing of the past. Even worse were the rumors about what most zoos had done with the animals when the virus hit. More than one story had circulated over the years, either by word of mouth or through the National Newspaper, about animals being released from captivity nine years ago when the outbreak got bad. Animals like lions and tigers and even primates like chimpanzees and gorillas—things that had never been indigenous to this country—had managed to thrive where humans had not. Or at least that was the rumor. I was hoping to never find out one way or the other if it was true. Especially not while traveling with a teenager and nothing but a knife to protect me.
The bridge ended up being farther away than I’d thought, and by the time the sun was high above us, beating down on us with an intensity that matched the water we’d barely escaped, it was still a good distance off. We hadn’t had anything to eat or a drop to drink since the night before, and the exertion from walking miles was taking its toll.
I stopped, panting as I wiped the sweat from my brow, my gaze moving to the sky. It was still thick with clouds—thank God. I’d barely gotten dry, but my parched mouth and throat had me wishing for more rain. Of course, without something to fill up, collecting more than a little rainwater would be impossible.
We needed supplies.
Tearing my gaze from the sky, I studied our surroundings. The outskirts of a city were across the river from us, but it would still be hours before we made it there. On this side, however, not much was visible over the trees. But we needed water—even more than we needed food—and a few supplies wouldn’t hurt either.
“We should head that way,” I said, nodding to the trees.
Ava had knotted her shirt so her midriff was showing, and the sliver of toned, brown skin gave off the impression of both youth and of vigor. She’d kept pace with me all this time, barely seeming winded even though I was much taller and could take longer strides, and hadn’t complained once. It made trying to decide what to do less of a burden for me, and I was thankful for that.
The teen’s deep, brown eyes studied the trees in the distance, doubt shimmering in them, but she didn’t even try to argue before nodding. Like me, she knew the reality of the situation we now found ourselves in. We had to keep our strength up, which meant finding food and water. If we got too worn out and ran into trouble—human or zombie—it could mean the end of us.
“How far do we go from the river before giving up?” she asked.
I exhaled and shook my head to let her know how uncertain I was. “I don’t want to go far, but I don’t know that we have much of a choice in the matter.”
She nodded once, a solemn expression on her face that aged her ten years. “Okay, then. Let’s go.”
Like before, we headed off in silence, cutting through what had probably at one time been a field. None of the old crops remained—they couldn’t grow without human aid—but it was the lack of larger brush that gave it away. There were no trees or even bushes mixed in with the acres of tall weeds and grass in front of us. Not until the tree line we were headed for. I hoped beyond that we would find the farmer’s house.
Ava and I had spoken very little since dragging ourselves from the river, and I was so thoroughly engulfed in the silence of this apocalyptic world that when she finally spoke, it made me jump.
“I always knew losing him was a possibility, but I don’t think I ever really thought it would happen. Brady seemed too tough to let this world destroy him the way other people had.”
“I’m sorry.” I pressed a hand against my pounding heart but said nothing about how she’d startled me. “I know how insignificant that is, trust me, but I really am.”
“So am I,” she said.
We walked a few more minutes in silence and had just reached the line of trees when Ava said, “He overcame a lot in his life. Even before he took on the responsibility of keeping me safe, I admired him for those things.”
“I can’t even imagine.”
“His grandma raised him, but she died when he was young, and after that he was in the foster system. He worked really hard to get a degree, though. Was even a college professor before the virus.”
“Wow,” I said, trying to imagine the small man in front of a group of students. It wasn’t hard, actually. Brady had a presence that demanded attention and defied his stature.
“He was married. Her name was Christine.” Ava pressed her lips together. “He didn’t talk about her a lot. I think losing her almost killed him.”
An ache spread through me as I thought about Kellan.
Please, God, let him be alive.
Ava seemed to notice my pain and gave me a sympathetic smile. “I’m sorry.”
“It’s okay.”
It wasn’t. Not by a long shot, but that wasn’t her fault.
We clomped through the forest in silence after that, stepping over long dead logs while leaves crunched under our feet. The thick canopy of trees hanging overhead helped block out the heat a little—it was too humid for it to do much—but I appreciated whatever break we could get. Especially now that my throat had begun to feel like sandpaper, and because my lips didn’t seem to soften no matter how many times I licked them.
I needed water, and soon.
After close to twenty minutes of hiking through the woods, the trees began to thin out and what looked like a building came into view. I couldn’t tell what it was—the foliage was still too thick for that—but I walked faster in anticipation. Ava did as well, so that by the time we burst from the forest we were practically jogging.
I skittered to a stop, panting from exertion and confused by what I was seeing.
It was…a nursery.
An old greenhouse sat right in front of us, the remaining windows dusty from neglect, but most of them either cracked or gone completely. There were a few others behind it, different than the one closest to us. Plastic had once been stretched over wooden frames but had been long ago torn to shreds by weather. Here and there, pieces still clung to the wood, flapping in the breeze like the wings of a bird. Empty flowerpots were everywhere, in rows and rows that sat ready and waiting for customers that would never come. Many were empty, the soil saturated from the recent rain, but others held dead plants, while even more held weeds that had flourished in the absence of humans to thwart their growth.
Beyond the greenhouses, trees stood in neat rows. They’d probably been small nine years ago when the virus hit, but they were tall now. Line after line of them stretched out in the distance, their long branches entwined as if holding hands, their leaves reaching for the sky.
I was speechless and overwhelmed by the things in front of me that had thrived, as well as those that had died from neglect, b
ut also from the realization that a greenhouse probably wouldn’t hold much in the way of supplies. At least not the things I’d been hoping to find.
“Maybe if we search the greenhouse?” Ava said, nodding to the nearest one. “There could be something edible there.”
She had a point, but I wasn’t sure if I’d know an edible plant from an inedible one.
“What are the odds that they have a bunch of fruit trees in there?” I asked as I started walking.
“Pretty good, I think,” Ava said, walking faster. “Didn’t they have tomatoes and strawberries in places like this?”
“Yeah, maybe,” I said, moving faster despite my doubt.
The door to the greenhouse was shut, which was lucky. If there was food inside, any number of animals could have made their way in to chomp on the crops. If the door was shut, maybe that meant the pests had been kept out. There was only one way to know for sure.
The door creaked when I pulled it open, but I didn’t head in right away. The place was so overgrown I didn’t know if I would be able to fit, with trees poking through missing pieces of glass in the ceiling and sides, and limbs tangled together like they were one plant instead of dozens. There was so much greenery in front of me that it was almost impossible to distinguish one from another.
Ava didn’t hesitate, moving into the greenhouse without a word or even a look back. I reached for her like I would be able to stop her, but she was engulfed by branches within seconds, disappearing from sight. I doubted there was much in there that would cause her trouble, but my heart still jumped to my throat.
“Ava?” I called out, louder than I normally would have.
“Just a—” She grunted like she was struggling with something and I imagined decaying hands reaching through the trees to grab her.
“Ava?” I called again, slightly more panicked this time.
“Just a sec,” she replied and grunted again.
The trees in front of me rustled, and I moved my hand to my knife, waiting. After a few seconds, Ava reappeared, a smile on her face and her arms full.
She held a ripe, red tomato toward me. “What did I tell you?”
The sky grew darker and the clouds thicker as I ate fresh tomatoes, not stopping until my stomach felt ready to burst. Ava was at my side, as content with her fresh food as I was. We chomped on them while we went from building to building, searching for anything that might be useful, and got lucky when we found a couple old water bottles in an office. They were the metal kind that could be refilled, and finding a bottle of soap in the bathroom was our second lucky break. I knew what kind of bacteria could grow in something that had been closed up for years, and while I wished we could boil the bottles instead of just washing them, I knew it wasn’t going to be an option. We needed to keep moving, to get across the bridge to the city and find other survivors.
Hopefully find Kellan.
I was still inside scrubbing the bottles when drops of rain began to fall, pinging against the roof above me. Ava stood just inside the door, licking the tomato juice from her fingers while she kept watch. She looked my way and grinned, and I was able to return the gesture without hesitation. I’d never been as thankful for the rain as I was at that moment.
We set the clean bottles out to collect rainwater as we scavenged the greenhouse, picking the remaining tomatoes. There were strawberries too, in the far back corner, but bugs seemed to prefer the tart fruit, and very few were salvageable. It didn’t stop us from taking the handful that were, though.
With the food loaded into a basket we’d found lying on the ground and our bottles full, Ava and I headed off. We sipped the water as we trekked through the forest, which was somewhere between tepid and hot, but oddly refreshing. Once we’d made it back to the field, I unscrewed the cap and held it out as I walked, allowing the still falling rain to find a home in the metal container. This time, I didn’t bother replacing the lid, but instead alternated between drinking and holding it out to fill, so that by the time we’d made it back to the river’s edge my mouth no longer felt like all the moisture had been sucked from it.
“Thank God we found something,” Ava said.
“Yeah.” I nodded to the distant bridge, drops of water pinging against the metal as the rain once again filled my bottle. “Maybe we can find some supplies when we get to the city.”
“Shelter, if nothing else,” Ava said, looking up at the dark sky. “I’d like to find someplace at least a little dry to spend the night.”
“No kidding,” I replied, trying not to sound as bitter as I felt.
It was silly, really, being irritated by the thick fabric of my pants clinging to my legs as I walked, or the constant drops of water falling into my eyes, especially after everything that had happened. Or maybe it was a coping mechanism, me choosing to focus on the mundane instead of the thing that was actually responsible for the heaviness in my gut. Maybe it was the only way I could get through this without going insane.
15
The rain had stopped completely by the time we reached the bridge, and the sun, which was just visible through the thick, gray clouds clogging the sky, had moved lower and was well on its way toward the distant horizon. We still had a few hours of light left, which we would need not only so we could find shelter once we crossed, but food and other supplies as well.
When I stopped to study the bridge stretching out in front of us, it already felt like night was moving in. It was a combination of my tired body and the clouds, as well as the gloom of the abandoned city looming in front of us. It felt desolate, forsaken, and was utterly silent. There were no sounds other than nature—the river below and the rustle of trees behind us—not even the occasional caw of a bird or howl from a distant pack of wild dogs, and the silence unnerved me. I couldn’t help wondering what was keeping the animals at bay. Humans, or the dead. On top of that, I had no idea which one I was rooting for.
Ava stood at my side, her body as tense as mine as we scanned the bridge. Old, rusted-out cars dotted the roadway but didn’t block it. I didn’t know exactly how I could tell, but it was obvious they’d been pushed aside to make the road passable. Most had their doors and trunks hanging open, and many were missing tires. All of them had been overtaken by nature, covered in vines that had snaked across the bridge over the years, winding their way over the cars and railings, and nearly swallowed up by tall weeds. It was a common sight, but one I could never get used to.
“Looks clear,” I said, not taking my eyes off the bridge for even a second.
“Too clear,” Ava replied, her tone doubtful.
Finally, I tore my gaze from the bridge and turned to face the girl. “You think someone laid a trap?”
“I don’t know.” She shook her head, her dark ponytail, now nearly dry, swishing across her back. “I can’t say why, exactly, but I have a bad feeling about this.”
“So do I,” I replied and let out a deep exhale. “But it isn’t like we have much of a choice.”
My gaze moved upriver. In the distance, miles and miles away, the remains of another bridge were visible. On our side, it stopped less than halfway across the river where it had crumbled, the road now tilted down at a forty-five degree angle that ended in the rushing water of the Arkansas River. On the other side, even less of the bridge remained.
“We can stay on this side, but who knows how long it will be before we find another bridge.” I turned back to Ava, whose worried brown eyes met mine. “Staying on this side means we’re less likely to run into other survivors.”
“I know.” The concern in her eyes didn’t fade. “I just wish we had a few more weapons.”
So did I.
I surveyed the bridge again but still saw nothing. No movement and no sign that anything—human or otherwise—had been here any time recently. The rain had left the dirt and leaves covering the roadway damp, meaning if anything had come this way recently, they should have left footprints. But there were none, and the vines curled across the bridge looked just
as undisturbed.
“I think we’re just psyching ourselves out,” I said, but I wasn’t totally convinced. “Because things haven’t exactly gone our way today.”
Ava exhaled, stretching it out like she was trying to expel her nerves as well as the air in her lungs. “Yeah.” She sucked in a deep breath and straightened her shoulders. “You’re right. There isn’t a sign of life around here.”
“Or death,” I added.
She let out a half-laugh, half-snort. “Yeah. Or death.”
“So, we cross?” I asked.
I wanted to, wanted to get to the other side because I knew Kellan would do the same if he’d ended up on this side of the river, but I wouldn’t make the decision on my own. If things went south, I wanted it to be because we’d made the choice together, not because I’d pushed her.
“We cross,” Ava said with a nod.
We moved in silence, walking side by side with our knives drawn and our ears trained for any sound that might indicate movement. Ava was young, but it was obvious by how alert she was that she’d been taught how to handle herself, and I was grateful to have a companion who knew how to survive in this world.
The only time I took my eyes off the other end of the bridge was when we passed the open door or trunk of a car. I peered inside each one, scanning the interior for anything that might be helpful. Like I’d thought, they seemed to have all been picked clean years ago. Literally. Some were even missing seats.
We made it halfway across before we heard or saw anything, and then two things happened nearly at the same time. Something scuffed against the ground at our backs, and just as I was spinning around to see what it was, a figure darted across the bridge in front of us before ducking behind a car.
“There,” Ava said, nodding in that direction as she raised her knife.
We’d stopped walking, and I had already turned so I could scan the direction we’d just come from when I replied, “I saw it.”
The Oklahoma Wastelands Series Box Set | Books 1-3 Page 71
