Now though, the thought of spending the winter without Logan was almost as unfathomable as having to spend it in the wild.
One more day, I decided, picking up my pace. One more day of searching and then I would turn around.
Already feeling the bitter sting of defeat, my thoughts slipped into gloomy silence. Shoulders slumped, feet shuffling, I nearly missed the sign on the side of the road.
Stumbling to a stop, I blinked up at the haphazardly hanging piece of metal, partially covered in overgrowth, and read it aloud. “Road not in use.”
“Look, Willa-Pedia.” Laughing, Lucas nudged my side, pointing at the sign. “This road isn’t in use.”
It was the end of the world; we hadn’t seen another person in well over a year. I couldn’t even remember the last time we’d slept in an actual bed or used a working bathroom—there was no such thing as a grocery store or a restaurant, and sometimes we went weeks with little more than roots to eat.
Road not in use? Please, the whole goddamn world wasn’t in use.
Laughing, I spread my arms wide, turning in a circle as we walked. “I mean, it’s pretty busy out here—what’s everyone gonna do now?”
“Turn around and head home, duh.” Lucas cupped his hands around his mouth. “Okay, everyone—you’re gonna need to back it up! This road is not in use! Did you hear me—this road is not in use!”
“Not even a little bit in use?” I asked, between chuckles. “Not even a teeny, tiny bit?”
“Nope. Not even on your tiptoes.”
“Not even if I hop?” I asked, hopping from foot to foot.
“Nope, sorry, not even then.”
“What if I—”
“Stop fucking around, you two—you’re falling behind!” Logan, who was at least a dozen yards ahead now, stopped to glare at us.
Exchanging looks, Lucas and I resumed walking, though we continued on, whispering and nudging one another, and stifling our laughter behind our hands.
I cleared my throat. “Umm, Logan?” I asked.
He didn’t turn around. “What?”
“This road… it’s, um… it’s not in use.”
As Lucas and I erupted into laughter, Logan swung around, his eyes narrowed, his mouth tightly pinched. His glare was always the most prominent in the declining daylight—the summer glow highlighting the deep crevices of his frown.
“Are you fucking kidding me right now, Willow?”
“Yes, Logan,” I sneered. “I am fucking kidding you right now—that’s the point.”
As we continued staring at one another, me refusing to back down, Logan’s angry gaze turned downright homicidal.
“It’s my fault,” Lucas said quickly, jumping between us. “We were just messing around.”
Running his hands over his hair, Logan’s glare veered off in the distance. “We need to set up camp, get a fire going, boil water, and—I don’t know about you—but I’m fucking starving, so excuse me if I don’t give a shit about some stupid sign—” Logan abruptly cut off, his gaze narrowing. Together, Lucas and I turned to find the peak of a rooftop just barely visible over the treetops.
“There’s a house over there,” Logan said. “Get your weapons ready.”
I spun around, spying the top of the farmhouse poking above the tree line, and broke into a run, barreling through dense thickets, my pack hammering against my back as I shot into the surrounding forest, not slowing until I’d breached the property line.
Up the gravel driveway, thick with weeds, and over a disintegrating walkway, more mud than stone, the house was still and silent, looking every bit as imposing and as overbearing as I remembered it, even in its neglected, run-down state—the crumbling brickwork, the missing windows and thick cobwebs that clung to their gaping remnants.
Pushing through the partially open door, both lock and knob now missing, I crept quietly down the hall. Fingertips tracing the pattern of the torn wallpaper, I listened to the hazy echo of Lucas and I laughing, until I found myself stopped outside the office door, my hand hovering just over the knob.
Everything had changed here.
