Logan
Grumbling curses beneath my breath, I looked away from Willow. If the house hadn’t already implied wealth, the extensive walls of tools before me, most of them were unused and still in their packaging, would have clued me in. Back when the world had still made sense, I’d known the type—rich people who’d had to have at least one of everything, even if they never used it. I would have wagered good money that this particular house had been a vacation spot—a grand country home that had been a wealthy family’s means of escape from their busy city lives… or an escape from the end of the world.
After swapping some of my own tools for much-needed replacements, I moved on to the vehicle closest to me—a large black SUV with old bloody handprints smeared across its windows. Its tan interior was also liberally covered in blood, long ago dried and flaking off.
The second vehicle—another SUV, silver in color—still had its keys in the ignition. Pocketing them, I began searching through a handbag lying on the driver’s seat, most of its contents spilled onto the floor. Finding nothing of use, I reached across the dash and popped open the glove box finding a small silver pistol glinting atop a pile of aging papers.
“Jackpot,” I breathed.
With the collapse of society, guns and ammunition had been among the first wave of things to disappear. We’d had a few early on, but without bullets, they had very quickly become deadweight.
Examining the pistol, I found it fully loaded and the safety off, something I rectified before removing the clip and stuffing both pieces into my pockets. Making a mental note to check the house for more ammo, I continued searching the vehicle.
“Holy shit! Holyshitholyshitholyshit!”
Willow’s shouting had me bashing my head on the roof of the car in a race to exit it. Rushing around the front of the vehicle, pulling out my crowbar as I ran, I found her surrounded by open storage bins, their contents littering the floor around her.
“Logan, look!” she squealed. “Look at this!”
She was brandishing a box in each hand, shaking them excitedly. I couldn’t tell exactly what they were as I was momentarily distracted by her ridiculous getup—a large feather boa, with feathers in every color of the rainbow, and a pair of green googly eyed antennae. She continued to jump around, the googly eyes on top of her head bouncing in tandem with her breasts.
“There’s rice and pasta andfucking chocolate!”
Declaration delivered, Willow dropped to her knees, tearing open one box while the others tumbled away. At least a dozen individually wrapped cake rolls spilled onto her lap. Scooping up several packages, she tore one open with her teeth and ate the entire thing in three succinct bites, discarding the wrapper without care.
“Mmmahhaddd,” she moaned around a mouthful of chocolate and cream. “It’s horrible and staleand ah-mazing.”
Putting my crowbar away, I approached the mess Willow had made. Out of the half dozen containers she’d pulled from the shelves, two of them were full of food. Not all of it had survived, as was usually the case in regions that experienced a wide range of weather conditions. Oftentimes when canned food froze, the food inside expanded, causing the can to burst. Thankfully, among the rotten canned goods, there were plenty of bagged and boxed items that remained in visibly good condition. A little water, a little heat, and we’d have ourselves a goddamn feast.
“Hey, what are you guys yelling about—wait, is that chocolate?” Lucas raced through the garage, dropping down beside Willow. Tearing open a cake roll, he shoved the entire thing into his mouth.
“It’s disgusting,” he mumbled, bits of chocolate spraying from his lips. Grabbing another, he ate it twice as fast.
“Slow down,” I said, frowning at them. “You’re going to make yourselves sick.”
“Logan, shut up and eat something!” Willow tossed a cake roll at me; it hit me in the chest before falling to the floor.
“We need to secure the house first,” I ground out through gritted teeth. “Luke, did you finish searching upstairs?”
They both ignored me, content to continue stuffing their faces and making a mess of themselves. Content to continue teasing each other and laughing as if they didn’t have a care in the world. Watching them, every muscle in my body began to tense.They really didn’t have a care in the world—not when I was the one always taking care of everything. Lucas and Willow would have been dead years ago if it wasn’t for me, and yet here they were, acting like spoiled children—impulsive and obnoxious, forever forgetting that there was important shit to do, always oblivious to the infinite number of dangers lurking around every corner. Acting like it was just the two of them.
Acting like I wasn’t even here.
“Make sure you finish searching upstairs,” I growled, spinning away, the fallen cake roll exploding beneath my boot, forcing me to stop and scrape my heel against the floor. Growing angrier with each swipe, I stormed from the garage, my fists clenched.
Resuming my search of the first floor, I found myself growing angrier still. This farmhouse, as grand as it had seemed at first glance, was little more than a garbage heap, each room looking worse than the last. The collapsed roof had caused an infestation, not just of wildlife, but of mold. And once mold took root, it was only a matter of time before the entire house was compromised.
With only one room left to search, I opened the door, startled to find its contents dry and free of mold. It had once been an office, accommodating an ornate desk and an equally elaborate chair. A bay window stretched across one side of the room, framed by bookshelves filled with hardbound books and expensive-looking knickknacks. Everything was covered in dust.
Dropping my pack by the door, I opened one of the windows. Removing its screen, I stuck my head out into the sweltering heat, happy to find that the window was set low enough to the ground to be utilized as a second entrance or an emergency exit.
Next, I rearranged the furniture, moving the bulk toward the door to serve as a barricade come nightfall. Using the window curtains, I wiped down the dusty contents until I was satisfied with the state of the room. Climbing out the window, I surveyed the vast property, thick with trees and so overgrown we’d nearly missed it.
I had a vague idea of where we were. Having passed through little more than farmland and wooded areas, I figured we had to be approaching a town or possibly even a small city. Usually, we worked to avoid once populated places—places where Creepers tended to congregate—but our current food shortage was starting to concern me; we couldn’t live off roots forever. The bigger the town, the bigger the payout would be.
As I made my way through the waist-high lawn, bugs rising from the foliage in dense black clouds, I began noticing bits of broken fencing. Toeing through the vegetation for a closer look, something else snagged my attention. I dug deeper, ripping away fistfuls of greenery, exposing the mouthwatering prize beneath—vines covered in clusters of juicy-looking grapes. Plucking one, I broke it open, examining its innards, ensuring that it was in fact grapes I’d discovered and not a poisonous impostor.
Look at the seeds—if they’re round, they’re grapes, if they’re crescent-shaped, they’re Fox Grapes.
