CHAPTER 10
Again, I totally underestimated how long it would take to go from Madison to Manhattan.
I’ve been there before. Every Christmas, we’d take a train ride into the city to see the Radio City Hall Christmas Spectacular and gawk at the tree put up in Rockefeller Center. If you got on the express, you could be there in forty minutes.
By the time the sun starts setting, Maverick and I have only made it about four miles out of the Grave.
To be fair, we probably walked at least three times as many, but between backtracking and going out of the way to avoid holes in the road and decimated neighborhoods, we haven’t really put that much distance behind us when Maverick announces that we’ll be camping out on a grassy knoll along the edge of an old hiking trail.
Our plan is to sleep out in the open. With Denise’s hoodie, Rory’s jacket, and the sleeping bag, I’ll be fine, though I’d be even more comfortable if he’d let me break into one of the empty houses so I could crash in one of their beds where the lurkers might not find me. Nope. He says it’s because the risk of any of the houses being lurker nests is too high in an empty neighborhood and, well, he isn’t wrong, is he?
It’s a good thing that Eddie brought the sleeping bag over before I left. It never occurred to me that I’d need it—especially since I thought my camping days were behind me—and it’s not like my new companion is about to offer to share his bedroll. In fact, apart from reminding me to watch where I step and telling me to hurry up whenever I duck out of sight to pee, he doesn’t say much at all. He’s a quiet guy, and since I don’t have shit to say myself, that works for me.
Chase was so worried that Maverick might take advantage of me. If that’s the case—if the stranger decided to let me come for the journey just because it’s been too long since he’s gotten laid—he misses a huge opportunity by laying out his bedroll as far away from me as he can get. He’s a good fifteen feet from where I tossed my pack down on the ground, marking my spot.
He reaches into his own pack, pulling out a half sleeve of saltine crackers. “Hungry?”
I shake my head. About an hour ago, I ate two of the expired granola bars I stowed in the bottom of my pack. When I asked how he eats while traveling between settlements, he explained that he does scavenge in neighborhoods as long as they stink of fire and not lurkers. There are also abandoned grocery stores, like the one in the Grave, as well as convenience stores. There’s food to be found if you’re not picky, and water, too.
The last thing I grabbed from the Finches’ condo was a steel tumbler that fit in the side pouch of my backpack. I filled it with water from the tap, and after I nursed it during the first couple of hours, Maverick waited until we reached our first lurker-free street before going inside to fill up my tumbler and his battered water bottle.
It was at that moment that I decided he at least knew a little bit of surviving on the Outside. The taps still run in the empty houses, even if the water comes out brown at first. It’s better than drinking from the few stray brooks we step across whentaking shortcuts through the trees, and I know that—if I can hold out until we need a refill—I can always use a toilet during our infrequent pitstops.
We hit two houses before he picked out the clearing where we’ve stopped for the night. The saltines were in the pantry of the second one. Maverick grabbed them, plus a box of beef jerky; non-perishables that work well for a journey in case the next house he scavenges is empty. I found two foil-wrapped packs of breakfast pastries that I took for myself.
I did notice that there wasn’t any electricity on that particular street, and I wondered if that’s why it’s abandoned since the lurkers hadn’t moved into that neighborhood yet. Not like it matters. We scrounged through the cabinets, got our water, then left before we ran across any other rogues.
Because that’s what we are. According to Maverick, survivors who bounce from settlement to settlement are known as rogues; the same thing we called them in the Grave. They can be even more dangerous than lurkers, and while the ravenous creatures aren’t a threat until night falls, desperate outcasts can be a problem at any time.
Maverick doesn’t seem interested in his female companion. That doesn’t mean that no one we run into will feel the same way.
So, yeah… when he says it’ll be too risky to continue traveling tonight, I listen, rolling out my own sleeping bag as he munches on a stale cracker.
Once he’s done, he washes it down with a swig of water from his bottle, then gets to work on building a fire. It’s small at first, a spark and a flame that initially builds a fire the size of a baseball, but he feeds it with tinder and dry grass until it’s a roaring campfire that reaches the top of his boots.
I watch him with undisguised interest. When he finishes and, brushing the slivers of dead grass from his hands, turns his back on me, I can’t keep my mouth shut anymore.
“What’s that for?” I ask. “I thought we didn’t want to draw any attention to where we’re bunking down for the night.”
Despite how tired I am after a day of walking, I know it’s not as simple as the both of us lying down and knocking out. Because of the dual threats—roguesandlurkers—that come with the darkness, we need to sleep in shifts. To prove myself I offered to take the first one. Though he hesitated, he agreed, and I can only imagine how long it’s been since he’s had a good couple of solid hours down considering he’s been traveling alone for a while now.
If he didn’t? I’m still prepared. I plan on using my pack as a pillow so that no one can get their grimy hands on it—or the precious antidote stored inside of one of the small pouches. In the pocket of Rory’s leather jacket, I also have a four-inch pocket knife that I snagged this morning before I grabbed the steel tumbler.
I’m notthatnaive. I know that going off on an adventure with a man fifteen years my senior who talks of flaming lurkers is a big risk, but it’s one I’m willing to take. And if Chase’s fears are founded and Maverick turns out to be a liar or a perv—or both—I’m ready to use that blade.
A knife can’t hurt a lurker. Only fire can. But a man… if Maverick gives me any reason to suspect him, I’ll make him hurt.
I’ll make him bleed.
My blonde hair and big green eyes and smaller build might make me look like an innocent little girl in over her head.
Tell that to all the lurkers I’ve killed.
While I watch the flames, transfixed by them, Maverick looks at me like I left my brain back at the Grave. “Is that what you think I’m doing? Sending a signal to another rogue traveler?”
Honestly, I don’t knowwhathe’s doing. It’s September, but even as the sun sets, it’s not so chilly we need a fire to keep warm. When it comes to lurkers, they burn, but you need the element of surprise—or a molotov cocktail—to light ‘em up. The flames will keep them away, and as I have that thought, I figure out that’s the purpose behind Maverick’s fire.
Hey. I’m tired. This is the most activity I’ve had since the accident, and I feel like I’m wading through fog with how cloudy my brain is. In the Grave, we don’t use fire to keep the lurkers away. We use it to eliminate them. Especially now that we have tragic proof that fire can’t be controlled, we use it as a last resort.
