She didn’t believe in guardian angels.
Then again, she didn’t used to believe in aliens, either.
Her speed flagged as her sore knees fatigued.Pedal, pedal. Don’t slow down.She boosted her energy by picturing the Progg. God, he was ugly. She shuddered. He’d looked robotic, his skin as silver andshiny as the chrome on a bumper. He’d been mostly bald, with only a strip of bristles running from crown to nape. Soulless eyes. A brutal face devoid of humanity.
Duh. He’s not human. He’s an inhuman killing machine.
He wasn’t the only one devoid of humanity. With a surge of loathing, she remembered the trio. Was she wrong to rejoice in Caleb’s and Sandy’s deaths? Zack, the traitorous scum, had had some genuine feelings for Sandy.I hope he suffers right up until the Progg zaps him.
She would rather die than join up with a Progg.
Fueled by anger, she pedaled faster into the night.
Chapter Eight
Big Creek, Missouri, USA
Three days later
With a groan, Chloe dismounted the bike and eyed the house under the dim light of dusk. The double-wide sat on cinder blocks, half hidden by overgrown field grass. The uninviting, dilapidated appearance spelled safety. Nobody in their right mind would hide here when there were so many nicer places. Theoretically.
This was the first house she’d come to on the country road. She was too exhausted to pedal anymore, and the bumpy gravel had just about jarred her dental fillings loose. A cruising bike was not built for rough surfaces. It could have blown a tire.
By her guesstimation, the town of Big Creek was several miles up the road. She had lucked out and found an actual Missouri road map at a rest stop welcome center. Thank god for the rare people whostill used paper maps because she doubted she would have been able to find Big Creek without it.
Locating her mom’s friend’s house would be a challenge. The address had been in her phone, which she no longer had, and now she couldn’t remember if the address was 1745 or 4517. The street name was Lost something. Lost Canyon? Lost Creek?
In the great cosmic scheme of things, finding the exact house didn’t matter. Going to Big Creek had been an arbitrary aim. Before the invasion, she had always worked toward a goal—graduating high school, getting her own apartment, getting a job, buying a used van and starting Waggin’ Wheels, saving money for veterinary school.
Post-apocalypse life had been reduced to breathing, getting food, and avoiding the aliens and colluders. The possibility she could spend her remaining years just existing was unbearably depressing. Too much responsibility crushed a person, but its absence rendered life meaningless.
In pedaling along the interstate, she’d spent too much time inside her own head. It was getting scary in there.
Scary out here, too. Better get inside.The woods rustled with nocturnal critters moving about, a positivesign, but still fraught with disturbing what-ifs. What if the noises weren’t from deer, racoons, and coyotes?
She wheeled the bike down the road to a game trail heading into the woods. Approaching the house from the rear would prevent her from trampling the tall grass and leaving a sign someone had entered.
After the close call, she couldn’t be too careful.
I hope there’s decent food inside.I’ve had enough peanuts, Pringles, and energy drinks.
She’d been eating from the limited selection at gas station convenience stores. Mice had ravaged everything packaged—beef sticks, granola and power bars, candy bars, chips. Nuts and processed potatoes came in cans.
A wooden deck extended off the house. There was a patio set and a propane grill!I can have hot food!In the morning.Tonight, she’dgrab a quick bite. After sleeping at a McDonald’s and atop a convenience store counter while mice scurried in the dark, she couldn’t wait to bunk down in a real bed.
Chloe propped the bike against the wall and tried the door. Locked.Figures.If the back had been secured, the front for sure would be, and she’d have to tromp across the grass and leave tracks.
I’m going to have to break a window.
Squinting in the darkness for a rock or a brick, she spied a pot filled with dead mums.What are the odds?She lifted the pot. A key! Bingo!
The door opened, and she rolled the bike into a hot, stuffy kitchen, locking the door behind her. She switched on a flashlight she’d picked up at a gas station convenience store. Light for sure would signal someone had entered, so she’d use it only long enough to catch her bearings.
The tiny, worn, aged kitchen was much cleaner than the gourmet kitchen in the trio’s house. She tried the faucet. Water! Given the remote location, the trailer probably drew water from a private well. Without electricity to run the pump, the only available water would come from the pressure tank and the hot water heater, maybe seventy gallons total.
I won’t be doing any laundry.Ha. Ha. She’d fled with the clothes on her back, managing to snag a spare T-shirt from a convenience store this morning.
Searching the kitchen, she unearthed cans of chunk chicken, asparagus, and pears. She set them on the counter to eat in a little bit.
