The footsteps halted. “Thought I did,” Joe murmured, too close for comfort. He was standing directly on the other side of the wall, mere inches from me. All he would have to do was lean in through the broken storefront and look to his right.
“Probably just a critter. I’m guessin’ that’s what the Dead Head here was chasin’ after.”
“Yeah, maybe.” Though Joe sounded uncertain, his footsteps resumed, fading in the opposite direction. Sagging against the wall, I blew out a silent breath.
“Alright, you fools, that’s that—street’s clean! Let’s giddyap ‘fore Joshua locks us out for the night!”
“Oh, please, Davey-cakes.” Britta laughed. “He would never lock his missus out here—would he, Lei?”
“The rules are the rules.” Lei’s voice still held some of her previous command, but there were traces of humor now, too.
Peeking around the wall, I watched Britta mount her bike, revving her engine. She was the first to pull away, followed closely by Lei, with the Jeep bringing up the rear. Making a U-turn at the barricade, they sped off down the street.
Jumping up, I hurried to grab my things. I wouldn’t be spending the night here now, not with armed people patrolling the goddamn streets. First lesson learned at the end of the world was not to trust anyone… not even your own parents.
I ran back the way I’d come, this time keeping off the roads. That evening, I ended up setting up camp inside a semi-remote home just outside of town. It wasn’t optimal; camp consisted of a loosely barricaded garage, where I managed only a few broken hours of shut-eye in the back seat of a rusted-out Chevy Cavalier.
Come sunup, I resumed walking, still keeping off the roads, hoping to minimize leading anyone back with me. I stopped to eat only once, and cut my normal respite times in half, hoping to make it back before nightfall.
As the sun was setting on the third day of my journey, I finally breached the property line of the farmhouse. Circling around to the back of the home, I could see that the office window was open, and no one was manning it. Shaking my head, I announced my arrival with a quick two-finger whistle.
Unsurprisingly, no one answered.
Reaching for the windowsill, I hauled myself inside. As I’d suspected, neither Lucas nor Willow were here.
“Jesus Christ,” I gritted out. Camp was a disaster—bedrolls and clothing had been haphazardly tossed around. Packages of food lay strewn about, grapes were smashed on the floor, ants trailing over top of them. Worse, the door to the room had been left open.
Dropping my gear, I headed into the hall and whistled once more. Again, no one answered. Knowing that they had to be here somewhere, I began searching the house. Not even Lucas and Willow were so thoughtless as to venture out near nightfall unless absolutely necessary, and definitely not without their gear.
When I’d finished combing through the house, I stood in the foyer, the sinking sensation in my stomach doubling. I was seconds away from freaking out when I heard a loud thump. Relief flooding me, I darted down the hall and burst into the office, ready to tear into them for not listening to me.Again.
Willow shrieked when she saw me and staggered back a few steps. “L-Logan,” she whispered hoarsely.
I knew right away that something wasn’t right—Willow was uncommonly dirty and far more disheveled than was typical. She’d been crying too; tear tracks lined her face, streaks of wet through the grime on her cheeks and chin.
“Where’s Luke?” I asked slowly, noting that she was alone.
Willow opened her mouth and then seemed to freeze that way. She stared at me, her expression quickly crumbling. Bending forward, gripping her stomach as if it hurt her, she opened her mouth again, releasing a noise that sounded as if a sob were trying to claw its way out of her throat.
“Willow,” I growled, rushing to her. Gripping her arms, I noticed that one of them was bleeding, the skin around the scratch-like wounds on her shoulder was angry and swollen. Nausea rose in my stomach, burning a fast track up my chest and into my throat.
“Willow,” I rasped. “Were you bit?”
She raised her trembling chin, her shell-shocked gaze locking with mine. “I… lost him. Luke is—” She took a gasping breath, releasing it with a shudder that seemed to take all the energy from her. As her knees buckled, she whispered hoarsely, “He’s gone—Luke is gone.”
