The Other Life (17 page)

“What was that about? Why did you follow them? They could have killed you.”

Joshua’s voice was soft and quiet. “I knew one of them. I’ve seen the taller Weeper before.”

I wanted to reach for him, but something stopped me. The empty freeway lay ahead of us, the grass peeking through the cracks.

“During one of your hunts?”

“No. When my sister died.”

“The Weeper killed her?” Images of hungry brown eyes flashed in my mind.

Joshua didn’t reply, but tears glistened in his eyes. He wiped them away and stared out of the windshield. I covered the hand resting on his leg with mine. Would he ever tell me what
happened to his family?

We kept our hands entwined and I slumped against the seat. Joshua glanced into the rear-view mirror. For the third time. Had he seen anything? His hands wound around the steering wheel and his
posture tensed.

I shifted closer to him, sneaking a look at the back seat to make sure Dad and the woman weren’t listening. No need to worry them unnecessarily.

“What’s wrong?”

He gave me a fleeting glance before he checked the mirrors once more. “I think some of them are following us.”

I looked out of the back window. An empty street and a clouded sky. Nothing else.

“Are you sure?” I kept my voice down.

Dad’s eyes stayed closed and his mouth was slack. He was asleep or unconscious, but he was breathing. The woman beside him had her face buried in her knees. At least she’d stopped
whimpering. They weren’t paying attention to what was going on.

Joshua gave a nod, his fingers drumming on the steering wheel. “They keep their distance because they don’t want to alert us. But I’ve seen three of them. It’s difficult
for them to keep up with the pace of the Lincoln, though.”

Three of them?

My stomach clenched. I sunk my fingernails into the worn-out leather of the passenger seat. Why couldn’t those monsters leave us alone? What had we done to them?

Everything, I guess.

I reached for the pistol in the footwell where I’d dropped it, trying to force the thoughts out of my head. The cold metal felt too heavy in my palm. Joshua reached behind his seat for his
backpack. Steering the car with one hand, he seized the shotgun.

It was strange how guns and shooting had become such a crucial part of my life. I had always despised violence, and still did, but now it seemed impossible to go without it for even a day.

During my time in the shelter, I’d longed for adventures. 1,141 days of boredom and routine. But after three days of fighting, hurting, bleeding, I wanted them back.

Joshua let his window down. Cool wind and raindrops blew into the car.

“Won’t they follow our trail with the windows open?” I asked.

“They’re already following us, so it’s too late to cover our tracks. And your dad and that woman look like they could really use some fresh air or they’ll pass
out.”

The pistol lay heavily in my right hand. I lowered the window on my side and leaned my head out. Wind and rain lashed against my face, blinding me for a moment. I squinted.

“Be careful,” Joshua warned.

Something flashed between two bushes. Weeper.

“Take the shotgun,” Joshua said.

The woman on the back seat began screaming – had she ever stopped? – and Dad let out a low moan.

“What?” I blurted. My head whirled around. Joshua held the shotgun out to me in a steady grip. Why were my hands always trembling when his were as steady as a rock?

I glanced down at the gun and hesitated. I’d never used a shotgun. Could I handle it?

“Take it.” Joshua thrust it at me. I took it with trembling hands and a queasy feeling in the pit of my stomach. “We can’t let them find Safe-haven. They’d attack
and we’d lose our home.”

I put the smaller gun on my lap and leaned back out of the window with the shotgun. Then I started shooting.

I shot every time a Weeper came into sight, but they were fast and clever. Wind moved the bushes and trees. The movements confused me.

In just minutes, I was almost out of bullets. If I didn’t hit my targets soon, we’d be in big trouble.

A Weeper dashed out of the bushes at the roadside behind us and onto the freeway. I gasped, my finger twitching on the trigger. It was running on all fours, yet it still looked human. Strips of
skin waved in the wind like crêpe paper. I took aim. Before I could pull the trigger, it disappeared into the brushwood. I shot at the bush until my bullets were gone. I fumbled blindly for
the pistol on my lap and prepared myself to shoot again if something moved.

You’ve become quite the assassin, haven’t you?

My grip on the pistol loosened and my breath stuck in my throat. I closed my eyes, trying to pull myself together.

Not by choice. If I could choose, I’d never kill a creature.

Why couldn’t they leave us alone? Why did they have to force me to kill them? Part of me resented them for leaving me no choice, the other part felt crushed by guilt.

I hastily pushed those thoughts aside, and scanned the area. Where had the Weeper gone?

Everything looked peaceful.

“I can’t see them.” I strained my eyes. The wind had changed direction and now kept tousling my hair, obstructing my view. I pushed the strands away, but they flew back into my
face.

“I don’t see them either.” Joshua sounded collected. “Close the window. They might have given up. They can’t keep up with the speed of a car for long.”

It began raining heavily once more. The first fat raindrops lashed against my face. I moved my head into the car and closed the window, but kept my eyes on the roadside. If anything moved in the
bushes, I’d shoot it, even through the window. I glanced over my shoulder at the back seat, my eyes sweeping Dad’s body.

Beads of sweat glistened on his forehead, his lips were parted and his breath came in shallow gasps. I touched his knee gently. He jerked and his eyes fluttered open with a look of fright. But
they shut instantly. He looked so weak, so small. I wanted to hold him and make everything better, but there was nothing I could do. I felt so helpless. We needed to get him to Karen. She’d
know what to do.

I shifted my attention to the whimpering woman beside him. Her body shook and her face was buried in her knees. The sounds coming from deep in her throat made goosebumps break out on my skin. My
heart went out to her. That was what this new world turned people into. Her skinny legs peeked out of her shorts, scratched and bloody.

I touched the arm that was wound around her legs. “Hey,” I said gently, worried about scaring her. “You’re safe now. Nothing will hurt you.”

Her whimpering quietened and she raised her face a little to look at me with terrified eyes. They were rimmed red from crying and her pupils were dilated. I forced a smile, patting her arm.
“I’m Sherry. My family and a few other survivors are waiting for us at a place called Safe-haven.” My words seemed to calm her and her body relaxed. A fine sheen of perspiration
covered her skin. Both my father and her seemed to have a fever. Were they infected? Fear shot through me, but I kept my expression neutral. No need to worry them.

“What’s your name?” I got out, through the lump in my throat.

She blinked at me and licked her chapped lips. “Rachel.” Her voice was raspy from screaming or lack of use. Her lips turned up uncertainly, as if she’d forgotten how to smile.
No surprise in this new world. There weren’t many things left to smile about. Her skin was very tanned and her eyes reminded me of dark chocolate.

1,143 days since the last Hershey bar had melted on my tongue – special dark with almonds. We hadn’t bothered taking candy into the bunker.

“We’ll arrive in Safe-haven soon,” I assured her, though I’d lost track of where we were.

I glanced at Joshua, who must have felt my eyes on him. “I made a detour to get rid of possible pursuers, but we should arrive in a few minutes,” he said.

I leaned back against the seat. “Are you sure that the Weepers aren’t following us?”

“Yes, I’d never return to Safe-haven if I thought we were still being followed.”

I let out a sigh and rubbed my face. “My father doesn’t look well,” I said as quietly as I could manage.

“No, he doesn’t.”

I wrung my hands in my lap. “Do you…” I gulped. “Do you think he’s infected with the rabies?”

Joshua looked hesitant. “I can’t say. The sweating could be an indicator. But it could also be caused by an infection.”

“But what if he’s infected with the rabies?”

“Don’t worry yourself unnecessarily. Karen will check him and then we’ll know more.”

But not worrying was easier said than done.

Mr. Flores droned on and on about the Boston Tea Party. His voice a purr, like the sound of the air con. I ignored him.

I shifted on my seat until I had a good view of the table two rows behind me. Alex was scribbling. His auburn hair fell over his face, hiding chocolate brown eyes.

If he’d just move a tiny bit, then I’d see him better.

I stuck the end of my pen in my mouth and started chewing.

Alex’s head shot up. Our eyes met. I jerked the pen from my mouth. Attempted a smile.

He noticed me. For the first time in…ever.

Someone started snickering. The class stared at me.

Turning to the window, I checked my reflection.

Oh God.

I’d put the wrong end of the pen in my mouth and my smile was black and terrifying.

The door of the house was thrown open before the Lincoln had even come to a halt. Mom and Bobby burst out, followed by Karen and Geoffrey. Larry limped a few steps behind, his
glasses resting on top of his head. I leaped out of the car, stumbling in my excitement. Mom’s eyes were wide and anxious.

“You’re back! Oh thank God, you’re back! Did you find him?” Her voice quivered as she hurried towards me.

She was dressed in ill-fitting clothes. Probably Karen’s. They were still better than her own, with their holes and stains. The T-shirt was too wide and hung off her narrow shoulders. The
grey trousers were held up by a black leather belt. She looked like the walking dead. Sunken cheeks, wan skin, hollow eyes.

“Yes,” I said.

She threw her arms around me and clung on, as if she hadn’t seen me in months.

“I thought I’d lost you, too. I felt so guilty for allowing you to search for him. But you came back. You saved him.” She trailed off with a small sob, her tears soaking my
hair. After a moment, she pulled back and glanced at the car. Bobby had opened the door and was trying to talk to Dad. But Dad was unconscious.

“Dad?” he asked for the fifth time, before turning to face me with wide eyes. “What happened? What’s wrong with him?”

I didn’t know how to answer. Not without remembering things I wanted to forget. Mom rushed to his side and tried to get some reaction out of Dad.

“Let me see him,” Karen said. Mom and Bobby stepped back to let her pass. She bent over Dad and pressed two fingers against his throat, checking his pulse. Her brows knitted
together.

My heart plummeted. Please, let him be alright. He can’t die. Not now. Not after we’d found him.

“Joshua, Geoffrey, help me carry him into the cottage. I need to take care of his leg,” Karen ordered.

“I can help, too,” Bobby said eagerly. His eyes were glassy and red. He must have been crying.

Karen nodded, waving him closer.

Bobby’s clothes were as ill-fitting as Mom’s, but then he hadn’t worn clothes that fitted him since his last growth spurt. His own trousers had barely reached his calves and
had been too tight. These looked like they belonged to a grown man. Tyler, probably. The shirt was black with a silver dagger on the chest, and the jeans were too long, with several fringed holes
along the legs. They’d been rolled up, so he wouldn’t step on the hems.

I tried to ignore the ache of my muscles and the pain in my feet. Flames seemed to lick at my soles. The stitches must have burst open.

Karen and Bobby grabbed Dad’s legs, Geoffrey took his shoulders and head, and Joshua supported his waist. Dad hung limply in their grasp, his mouth slack. He didn’t look well. Not at
all. His hair and clothes were soaked with sweat, his skin sickly pale.