Alone (23 page)

I keep my head down. “I know.” I can’t look at him. Can’t let him witness me falling to pieces.

Mac grabs my arm. “Look at me, man.” It takes more energy than it should to lift my head. Mac’s eyes narrow on my face, and he frowns. “We’ll be driving through some seriously dangerous shit. Zombies are the least of our concerns. Then we have to get them to let us into the city. They’ve got that place locked up tighter than Fort Knox!”

“I can’t sit back and do nothing. Mac…” Pleading with him makes me feel like a kid, but I have to go, and it would be easier to have him there to watch my back.

Mac’s face goes slack. “Okay. I get it.”

Chapter Twenty-Nine

Infection

I wake when the door opens and sit up so fast that water sloshes out of the tub. It’s warmed some, but not enough to keep the shivers away.

“Juliana.” My father’s voice is strained.

I look up to find him standing over me, holding a bucket. More ice. I should have known he wouldn’t come in just to check on me. He’s doing his duty. Keeping me alive until Roman gets back with the vaccine, same as he would for anyone else. That’s all.

Something about his expression causes a little voice whisper in my ear,
You’re wrong. Look at him.
My father’s expression is hollow, and he looks ten years older than he did yesterday. How could he have aged so much in just one day? It can’t be because of me. Can it?

“You left.” His words are like a knife. Sharp and swift, slicing me in two.

Despite the water I’m lying in, my mouth has gone dry and my lips have begun to crack. They ache when I open them. “I’m sorry…”

I want to tell him that I had to leave. That I love Roman and I would rather die than not be with him. But I can’t get any more words out.

He looks away. “Juliana, I—” He swallows. “I just wish you could follow the rules. If you could’ve done what you were told, things would be different.”

Maybe he’s right. Maybe I’m in the wrong. But it’s too late to change anything now. There’s nothing I can do to change the past.

I move, lowering myself back into the icy water, and my leg screams in protest. It feels like it has been dipped in acid. All I want is for someone to take away the pain.

My father dumps his bucket of ice into the tub, and within seconds, shivers have begun to work their way through my body. My teeth chatter as every hair on my body stands up. When I lift my hand, I find that the tips of my fingers are as wrinkled as prunes. How long can I stay like this? Teetering on the edge of hypothermia?

“Jules.”

I turn toward my father’s voice. I’d forgotten he was here. His face is pale. He looks sick.
Is he sick? Am I sick?

The thoughts in my head seem to have slowed down and become jumbled together. Is it from the cold, or the infection?

I close my eyes.

The sound of running water startles me and I want to open them, but I can’t. They are fused shut.

My body is weightless.

I am floating away.

Something warm touches my forehead, then each of my cheeks. It brings me back to earth, and I open my eyes to find my father’s face again.

I think I might be dying.

Heat moves over my cheeks, and it hits me. He’s wiping my face with a warm washcloth.

No. That can’t be. I have to be imagining it. He’s never done that before.

“I remember when you were little. You were maybe one or two, so young you couldn’t talk yet. You had a fever and your mom was away on a business trip, so it was just me. I was terrified. I didn’t know what to do, but she told me to just keep you comfortable. I sat up all night holding you, wiping your face with a damp washcloth.”

It sounds like my father talking, but the story doesn’t fit. He’s never been that gentle with me. At least not that I can remember.

But my brain is so fuzzy…

“I was so afraid that I would screw up things up that I chose to stay away,” he says, his voice shaking. “Now look what I did. I drove you away.”

I blink when his face shimmers. Tears? No. That can’t be right.

“Dad…” The voice that comes out of my body is rough and scratchy. Terrifying. “I’m so sorry.”

He starts to sob.

I must be dreaming.

I close my eyes. It’s too draining to keep them open, and this isn’t real.

I drift and float into the sky.

I search for Roman.

That’s all I want now.

“Roman…”

Chapter Thirty

On the Road

I can’t focus on anything but Jules as Mac and I speed down the highway. The temperature has taken a nosedive, and the air is so bitter it’s like a slap against my face. My nose is a cube of ice and my fingers have almost gone numb. If only I’d thought to bring gloves.

Thankfully the highway we’re on is regularly used for transporting goods between Atlanta and Coastal Manor. The cars that at one time clogged the road have been moved off to the side, making our way clear. The trip is still a risky one, though. For starters, Mac and I don’t have permission to travel. If we run into a government patrol, we could get arrested and hauled off to D.C. Then there are smugglers and bandits, people living off the grid. If they think we’re a promising raid, they won’t hesitate to attack.

There are also zombies to worry about. Then again, that’s just a normal part of life these days.

Above us the sky is dotted with dark clouds, and the air is thick with moisture. A storm would slow us down. Maybe even force us to stop. Mac isn’t used to riding in the rain, and I wouldn’t want to put his life at risk. Not even to save Jules.

Please, God, don’t let it rain
.

I’m jolted out of my thoughts when Mac slows in front of me. He pulls his bike off the road, and I follow just as he hops off, pointing further down the highway. In the distance something glitters, and a rumble greets us when both our engines have been cut off. Trucks.

“The woods,” I say, pushing my bike toward the thick line of trees bordering the road.

Mac is right with me, and at our backs, the roar of engines grows louder. They’re big. Probably a convoy from Atlanta, but possibly a patrol.

The second we’re within the safety of the trees, we hit the deck. I pull my knife and my gun out, one in each hand while my ears and nostrils take a survey of the surrounding area. At our backs the forest is silent other than the clink of the branches above us, but that doesn’t mean one of the dead isn’t lurking in here somewhere. I inhale slowly, taking my time, but all I’m greeted with is the earthy scent of dirt and dead leaves.

At my side, Mac tenses when the trucks come into view. It’s a patrol for sure. Metal bars have been welded over the windows for added protection, and on the roof a gunner sits, prepared for any trouble that might come their way. The back of the truck is open but nearly filled to the brim with men, women, and children. All of them chained to the side of the truck and ready for transport back to D.C.

“Bastards,” I hiss.

“Kids?” Mac shakes his head. “Why the hell are they arresting kids?”

“They’re off the grid. Doesn’t matter if they’re kids or not.” I want to spit. I knew the government was shady, but this is more than even I could imagine.

“Shit,” Mac mutters.

I just nod.

The truck barrels past our hiding place, but we stay where we are until it’s faded into the distance. By the time we’ve pushed our bikes back onto the road, it’s nothing but a memory.

“We’re going to have to stop for gas,” I say when I glance down at my fuel gauge. There has to be an unsanctioned town around here somewhere.

Mac hops on his bike. “Lead the way.”

I nod and rev my engine once before taking off.

Only about twenty miles later, a hand-painted sign comes into view and I pull over. We’re in luck. Less than a mile away is an unsanctioned town. It might be a very good thing if they let us trade for fuel, but it also might be a very dangerous thing. Walking into a town you aren’t familiar with can get you killed.

“What’s the plan?” Mac asks.

I run my hand through my hair. “We could spend hours searching for fuel on our own and never find it. We don’t have the time.”

“Shit.” Mac sighs even as he nods. “I don’t like it.”

“You can wait outside town.”

“I’m not letting you go in alone. Let’s get this done.”

The town is set up in a neighborhood. A wall made of bricks, metal desks, cars and other discarded items surrounded the place, held together by cement. The door that leads inside is so small not even a motorcycle can fit through, which means Mac and I are going to have to risk leaving our bikes outside. Not something I’m thrilled about, but we’re pretty much out of options.

The men guarding the fence raise their guns as we slow to a stop, and I lift my hands above my head the second I’m off my bike. My gun is stuck in the waistband of my pants, so I pull my shirt up to make it visible. I have to let them know I’m not here to make trouble, but that I am willing and able to defend myself.

“State your business,” a man calls

“Just need some fuel.”

“You’ll need to hand over any weapons if you come in.”

I glance over at Mac, and together we nod. We keep our hands up and wait for what feels like hours. My heart pounds harder with each passing second. When the doors creaks open Mac and I step inside, where five heavily armed men wait. One rushes forward and rips my gun out of my waistband before patting me down, removing the knife I have strapped to my leg. He does the same with Mac while the other four guys just stand there. Guns pointed at us as they wait. The mood is so tense that it makes the muscles in my body tighten.

The second we’re disarmed, though, the men relax and lower their guns.

A man whose head is sprinkled with white-gray hair steps forward, smiling. He holds his hand out like we’re long-awaited guests. “Jake Austen,” he says. “What can we do for you boys?”

Jake’s clothes are worn, but he’s clean and put together. Behind him, the street is clogged with people, but only a few are looking our way. They don’t seem too worried about our arrival.

I clear my throat and force out a smile, but it has to be too tense to seem very friendly. I probably look insane. “Need fuel. We’re headed to Atlanta.”

The man’s smile disappears. “Seems like a pretty foolish endeavor. They don’t let strangers in the city. You should know that.”

“Don’t have a choice. I need the vaccine.”

The man tenses, and his eyes narrow until they are nothing but slits. Behind him, the men lift their guns, but Jake puts his hand up to stop them. He puckers his lips as his eyes go over me, then Mac.

“You don’t look hurt.”

“We’re not,” Mac says in a shaky voice.

“It’s my girlfriend. We live in a sanctioned settlement just outside Hilton Head. She got bit but our government rations were hijacked—along with the vaccine. We just need to make it to Atlanta.”

“We got fuel, but I still think you’re wasting your time.” Jake shakes his head like he thinks we’re nuts. “You got something to trade?”

I focus on the men standing behind Jake as I slowly reach for my pack. The men tense as I slip it off my shoulder and pull the zipper down, but relax when I pull out two packs of cigarettes.

Jake’s eyes light up. “Real cigarettes? Seems like a strange thing for a fellow from a sanctioned settlement to have.”

“I do a lot of trading in the local town.”

He nods as he rubs his chin. “I know a guy who’ll be interested in ‘em. You got anything else? Them cigarettes will only get you a couple gallons at the most.”

I hold my bag out to him. It’s stuffed full of prepackaged meals, batteries that I’d saved for myself, cigarette lighters, and even a few boxes of matches. Some of my most precious finds. I’ll trade it all if it will save Jules.

Jake peeks inside before letting out a low whistle. “Come on. We’ll get you hooked up,” he says as he turns and heads off.

We follow him through town, and I’m more than aware that each step we take is a second that’s being stolen from Jules’s chance at survival. Jake leads us into an old bakery that now has beds pushed up against the walls. In the back, we find a man and woman who are hunkered over a table that’s littered with little white pills. What they are, I don’t know. Nor do I care. I just want to get this over with and get moving.

“We got a trade for you,” Jake says, tossing the cigarettes on the table. I stand behind him with Mac, both of us shuffling our feet while Jake digs through the bag. He pulls out the matches and the batteries before handing my pack back to me. “Need gas.”

The man at the table watches as Jake puts the other items down next to the cigarettes, never once looking my way. The woman, though, stares right at me. Her big, blue eyes so wide and clear that it’s obvious she isn’t the one taking those pills.

“Cigarettes.” The man stands, pushing the chair away from the table before heading farther into the old bakery.

Mac lifts an eyebrow and glances my way, but I just shrug. Hopefully, he’s going to get us gas, because we don’t have time to play charades.

“It’s fine,” Jake says, not looking back at us.

Is he even talking to Mac and me?

The woman’s blue eyes are still on me when the man comes back out, a gas can in his sweaty hand. “Gas.”

Jake takes it from the man with a slight nod. “Pleasure doing business with you, Victor.”

That’s all it takes.

Then we’re back on the street and headed toward the door, and my heart is pounding as I go back to counting the seconds that get lost on the wind. Jake doesn’t give me the gas can, but I don’t care. Nothing about the situation raises a red flag.

When we reach the gate, the three of us step out with a fourth man behind us. I stand back while Jake pours gas in the tank.

“You got any idea how you’re gonna get into the city?” He doesn’t look up.

I shake my head. I just want him to shut the hell up. Hearing how impossible this is going to be is not what I need right now. I have enough to worry about.

“You want my advice?” I don’t say anything, and he finally looks up. “Well, I’m gonna give it to you anyways. Don’t go to the front gate. They won’t let you in and you run the risk of gettin’ yourself shot or hauled off to D.C. I hear there’s a weak spot on the other side of the city. Wait ‘til after dark and try to get in by yourself.”

“Where?” Mac asks.

He must take this guy more seriously than I do.

Jake screws the cap on my gas tank before moving on to the other. “Look for a big warehouse. Brown, metal walls. Rusted. Used to be some kind of metalwork place. I hear there’s still a faded sign. Climb the wall there.”

He finishes gassing up the bike, and Mac hurries over to secure the cap. The fourth man who came out with us hands over our weapons, and I give them both a curt nod. I should be grateful for his advice, but I can’t be anything but scared out of my mind right now.

Mac and I hop on, and I clutch the handlebars tight as I rev the engine.

“Feel free to stop for gas on the way back if you need it,” Jake yells over the roar. “And good luck.”

I only nod once before taking off.