She pauses, shifting the weight of her pack. “Yeah?”
“Avoidance first.”
The trees thin and the first glimpses of water flash between trunks. Pine Lake stretches out before us, the surface gleaming in the late afternoon sun. It took us almost two hours, but now we’re here.
It’s as I remember: tall log fence surrounds the perimeter, cabins nestled among pine trees, the main lodge overlooking the water.
And it’s empty.
No sign of the others. Three unfamiliar cars sit in the parking area—not the vehicles our group had.
“Stay behind.” I catch her by the arm. “Take out your knife.”
She unclips the hunting knife from her belt, gripping it the way I showed her earlier. Her knuckles whiten around the handle, but her hand doesn’t shake.
We approach the main gate cautiously. The padlock hangs open, chain loosely threaded through the metal loops.
“Someone’s been here recently.” I remove it, open the gate, and secure it behind us, wrapping the chain tightly.
“The others?” Hope colors her voice.
“Maybe.” I don’t mention it could just as easily be strangers.
Hostile ones.
We move toward the nearest cabin, footsteps silent on the pine needle-covered ground. I signal Dakota to stay behind me as I approach the door, testing the handle. Unlocked. I open it slowly, blade raised.
Empty. Undisturbed.
The second cabin tells a different story. The door hangs crooked on its hinges. I gesture for Dakota to wait, but she steps up beside me, knife gripped white-knuckled but determined.
“Together,” she whispers.
My fist curls at my sides, but I nod once. “If I say run, you run. No arguments.”
She nods.
Inside, the stench of rotting meat and something fouler hits immediately. A small scratching sound comes from the back room. I move forward, each step placed carefully on the creaking floorboards.
Scratching.
My hand flies up. Dakota’s footsteps stop.
The sound’s wrong. Too rhythmic. Too deliberate. Like fingers drumming on a table, except the table is rotting wood and the fingers might be bone.
I signal Dakota back with two fingers. She doesn’t move. Signals are the next thing I’m going to teach her.
Something rounds the corner, jerking and twitching.
A rat. Huge fucking thing, half its body seized up and spasming. Foam at its mouth. Eyes milky.
The virus got to the animals, too.
Dakota’s knife rattles in her grip. I catch her wrist before she can lunge.
“Don’t,” I mouth.
The rat convulses twice more, then goes still.
