Lost World (21 page)

“Now what?” I ask when we finally come to rest behind a small group of trees.

Jon rubs his eyes and shakes his head. “I don’t know.”

“They can’t be there, can they? Not with a horde that big.”

“If they are, they’re trapped.”

Trapped. I hate thinking our friends are stuffed into a building with no way to escape, but I also don’t think there’s much Jon and I can do about it. We’re only two people. We don’t stand a chance against a horde that big.

“Can we do anything?” I ask anyway.

Jon slumps against a tree trunk and stares at the ground. “I don’t know what to do, Hadley. You know going in there is going to be a huge risk, but we don’t have anywhere else to go.”

He’s right. It’s late afternoon, and we’ve reached the point where we need to start thinking about shelter. It’s too cold to sleep on the side of the road, even if it was safe. Which is isn’t.

“We can try to get into the first house. It looks like the zombies are the thickest in the center of town. Maybe if we hang out for a night, they will have thinned out by the morning. If we’re quiet, the dead may not even notice us.”

Jon nods, even though he looks like he thinks it’s a phenomenally bad idea. “I don’t see any other way. We’ll freeze if we stay out here overnight, and by the looks of those clouds, I wouldn’t be surprised if we get more snow.”

I turn my face toward the gray, puffy clouds floating above us. They look menacing, and if this were summer or fall or spring, I’d assume a big storm was rolling in. But it’s winter, and it’s way too cold for rain.

“Then let’s do it. No point in waiting.”

We stick to the woods, picking our way through the trees and bushes and fallen branches as quietly as possible. Within five minutes the trees have started to thin, and a few minutes later we catch sight of the first house. We’re at the back, and the yard is surrounded by a rusty, metal chain link fence. Climbing that thing isn’t going to be quiet.

Jon stops at the edge of the trees and crouches down, pulling me with him.

“Think we can make it in through the back?” I whisper.

Jon nods as he leans forward, looking around for any sign of the dead. “It’s clear back here. I don’t know why, but they seem to be sticking to the main road.”

“Well, that’s good news for us.”

“Yeah. You go first. Climb the fence as quietly as possible, and I’ll be right behind you.”

I nod and, without hesitating, scramble out of the woods toward the yard. The fence only goes up to the middle of my stomach, but I’m still going to need to climb it to get over. I tuck my gun in my belt when I reach the thing and grab the top. The toes of my boots barely fit in the holes, but I manage to get a good enough footing to pull myself up. The whole thing shakes, and my heart pounds when the links clatter against the metal poles. I don’t even pause to look around, though. I throw one leg over, then the other, and once I’m on top, I jump off the fence and into the yard.

The newly fallen snow puffs up around me as I stumble forward, nearly falling on my face, but I manage to keep myself upright by continuing forward. When I reach the back door, I take a quick look over my shoulder to make sure Jon is right behind me. He’s halfway over the fence, and still none of the dead are in sight. We might end up being okay.

I turn back to the house to find the door already open. Just a crack, but it’s enough to have me on edge. I duck to the side and pull my gun while I wait for Jon to catch up.

“What is it?” he asks when he runs up beside me.

I tilt my head toward the door, and he pulls his knife. Good idea. Guns will be too loud. A knife is what we need right now.

“Ready?” he whispers, waiting for me to switch weapons.

I nod, and when he pushes the door open, my whole body goes rigid. We wait a few seconds, listening for any noise. Something moves inside, but it’s impossible to tell what it is or what it’s doing or if it’s dangerous.

“Let’s go,” Jon whispers, “Nice and slow.”

“Got it.”

He eases inside, and I’m right on his heels. The air is stuffy and thick with dust but no scent of death, which is a good sign. Plus, the house feels so empty it reminds me of a cave. After only two steps, another sound cuts through the silence. Once again, it’s impossible to tell what it is, but for some reason it reminds me of pans clanging together.

We pass a small laundry room before stepping quietly into the kitchen, where we both freeze. Someone is crouched down in front of us, digging through the cabinets. They don’t turn, so whoever it is obviously didn’t hear us come in. They’re wearing a big Army-green parka with the hood up, making it impossible to figure out their size or age or even their sex. The unknown has me so tense I feel like my muscles are coated in a layer of glue.

Jon digs his teeth into his lip like he isn’t sure what to do. The person moves but doesn’t get up, and Jon steps in front of me. He puts his knife away, then pulls out his gun. When he aims it at the person I grab his arm, but he brushes me off. What the hell is he doing?

Jon clears his throat, and the person’s body goes stiff.

“I have a gun aimed at you,” he says, his voice low and hard. Reminding me of the man who captured me in Vegas not that long ago. “Don’t make any sudden movements. I don’t want to hurt you, but I will if I feel like you’re a threat. Stand up real slow, then turn around with your arms raised. Don’t reach for a weapon.”

The person doesn’t respond. Their hands go up as they stand, then slowly turn to face us.

It’s a girl. A teenager. She can’t be more than seventeen, and she’s small. Shorter than me and just as skinny. Her blue eyes look huge in her thin face, and her pale skin is covered in freckles. I can only see a few strands of hair sticking out from the hood of the parka, but it looks red. Carrot red.

“Please don’t hurt me,” she whispers, her bottom lip trembling slightly with the words.

Jon’s shoulders relax, and he lowers his gun. “I’m not going to hurt you.”

The girl doesn’t put her hands down, and her wide eyes go back and forth between Jon and me like she’s waiting for one of us to attack her.

“You’re okay,” I say, stepping around Jon with my hands up. Trying to calm her. “We had to take precautions, that’s all. You can put your hands down.”

She lowers her arms to her sides but doesn’t move. Like she’s afraid we’ll change our minds and shoot her if she starts walking.

“What’s your name?” Jon asks, sticking his gun in the waistband of his pants.

“Gretchen.”

“I’m Jon and this is Hadley.”

The girl’s eyes move over Jon, then go to me. They narrow on my face. “You’re Hadley Lucas.”

My entire body jerks back. Being recognized after everything that’s happened feels weird and wrong and so out of place I can’t even wrap my brain around it. Most of the time I don’t even feel like I’m that person anymore.

“I am,” I say after a pause so long it makes Gretchen shuffle her feet.

“What are you doing here?” she asks.

“Surviving. Same as you.”

She shakes her head, and her body slumps against the counter. The parka looks like it was made for a full-grown man, not this waif in front of me. It swallows her, somehow making her seem smaller and younger than she is. Like she’s playing dress up in her dad’s clothes.

“Somehow, I thought people like you would have been spared from all this,” she says, staring at the ground. “I don’t know why, really. It doesn’t make much sense, but it’s how I’ve pictured things. That somewhere there was a group of rich people who managed to buy their way out of this disaster.”

I wonder if she has any idea how much that statement gives away about her.

“Where are you from, Gretchen?” Jon asks.

She shrugs, still staring at the floor. “Around. I never really had a home.”

“So you were in foster care?” I ask, trying to size her up. It’s obvious she had it rough even before all this. That she resented wealthy people or someone very close to her did. She was taught people with money had everything handed to them. That they didn’t have any real problems.

Gretchen shakes her head and finally pulls the hood down so we can get a good look at her. Now that it’s away from her face, I can see exactly how pretty she is. There’s a freshness about her you can’t fake. Especially these days.

“My family moved around a lot. We lived down south in Alabama, then moved to Wyoming for a while. My dad had a tough time keeping work, and every time things went bad he wanted to pack up and move. He always blamed his problems on the people he worked for. Couldn’t take responsibility for anything.” She shrugs like she wants us to know she thinks it’s nonsense. “Doesn’t matter now. Mom and Dad are gone, so are all those people he blamed for his problems.”

“I’m sorry,” I say before I can stop myself. It’s a hard habit to break, telling someone you’re sorry for the things they’ve lost. But it seems idiotic in this new reality. If we did that, we’d spend most of our time apologizing to each other. We’ve all lost.

Gretchen shrugs again, then pushes her hair out of her face. She crosses her arms and looks us over like she’s waiting to see what’s going to happen next. I don’t even know what we’re going to do, so I don’t know what to tell her.

“So you’re alone?” Jon asks.

“Yup. Have been since Mom and Dad died. We’d just moved to Colorado and I didn’t know anyone.”

My stomach rumbles, and I’m reminded I haven’t eaten in a couple days. I look around the kitchen at the open cabinets and at Gretchen leaning up against them. “Were you here looking for food?”

“Yeah. It’s been a while or I wouldn’t have stopped, not with how overrun this town is.”

“Did you find anything?” I ask hopefully.

Gretchen shakes her head.

Of course.

We stand quietly in the middle of the bare kitchen. There isn’t much to say. We’re all hungry and cold and the house is surrounded by zombies and we don’t have the faintest idea where to go.

“Where are you guys headed?” Gretchen asks, but I’m too exhausted to look up at her.

Jon puts his arm around me like he can sense I’ve reached the end of my energy level. “Why don’t we head out into the living room? We can at least sit down.”

I nod, and Gretchen must think it’s a decent idea, because she starts walking. Jon follows her, leading me to the living room with his hand on my lower back. Even through all these layers of clothes I can feel his body heat, and for the first time since all this shit began, something stirs in me. Not desire or lust or anything even remotely sexual—I’m too bone tired for that—but something I can’t even remember the name of. I lower myself onto the couch, and Jon sits next to me. So close our legs touch. It helps keep me warm.

“We’re looking for our friends,” he says after Gretchen has taken a seat across from us. “We got separated and have been trying to catch up with them. The camp we had set up got overrun and they left a message saying they were coming here.”

I lean forward. “Have you seen anyone?” I don’t know how long she’s been here, but it’s always possible she’s seen something that might help us.

Gretchen shakes her head, but her face scrunches up. “I heard gunshots. That’s what led me to the town. I was traveling through the woods, staying off the roads, and I followed the sound of gunfire. There was a lot of it.”

“When?” I ask as dread and excitement war against each other inside me.

“Earlier today. At least a few hours ago.”

Jon’s leaning forward now too, and he seems to be having the same problem I am. Neither one of us wants to get our hopes up. Gunshots are good. It means they at least put up a fight. But it doesn’t mean they got away.

“You didn’t see anything?” he asks.

“I snuck into town and tried to get close, but there were too many zombies. All I saw was a big truck driving away. It ran over a bunch of zombies, and they chased after it long enough for me to start searching houses for food.”

I exhale and sink back into the couch. They made it. At least some of them, anyway. It’s a relief, even though it means Jon and I are screwed. We don’t have a clue where to look for them.

“Now what?” I whisper.

Jon sits back, and I lay my head on his shoulder. “We’ll figure it out. We just have to think like Axl. Figure out where they’d go.”

If only it were that easy.

“Where were you headed?” I ask Gretchen.

She shrugs, but with that parka on I can hardly see it. “Nowhere. Just walking. Trying to find someone or something or somewhere that isn’t like hell on earth.”

We lapse back into silence. After a few minutes, I close my eyes. The exhaustion of the past couple days hits me hard and I feel myself drifting off. Whatever decision we make will have to wait…