Lost World (25 page)

Jon puts his hand on my shoulder. “We stick to the road.” His voice is firmer than I’ve ever heard it.

Gretchen pushes out her lower lip, but she doesn’t complain. And she doesn’t say she’s going off on her own, which might make me give in. Not that she needs to know that. There’s just no way in hell I’d be able to go through the rest of my life thinking I sent this girl off by herself.

So we start walking.

We follow the tracks down the snow-covered road until they turn. The wind picks up, and the gray clouds overhead tell us more snow is on the way. The temperature drops until I can barely feel my nose and my toes ache from the cold. Every few seconds I have to sniff so snot doesn’t run down my face, but it doesn’t help. Eventually, I resort to wiping my nose on the sleeve of my jacket.

It’s probably close to noon by the time we see a house. An old farm house set far back from the road, with chipped paint and a sagging porch. I can just make out a barn that’s seen better days in the distance.

We stop in front of the driveway. It’s covered in a blanket of snow that is totally undisturbed, and even from here, the house looks empty.

“Good thing about the snow is that we’ll be able to see the footprints of any dead that came before us,” Jon says.

Gretchen nods and wipes her nose at the same time. Her cheeks are so pink from the cold that it looks painful. Like she’s on the verge of frostbite.

“We need to check it out,” I say. “See if there’s any food or warmer clothes.”

“A car, too. Although I don’t see one and there’s no garage, so I doubt we’ll get lucky on that end.”

“Can we j-just g-go?” Gretchen says.

“Yeah.” Jon takes off down the lane.

We head up the driveway, pushing our way through the snow.

After a few steps, I look over my shoulder at the trail we’ve left behind. “We aren’t going to be able to hide from anyone.”

“What do you mean?” Jon asks.

I motion to the driveway at our backs. “Our footprints. If we come across anyone dangerous, we aren’t going to be able to hide.”

“Shit.” Jon rubs his eyes with his free hand, the one not holding his gun. “You’re right.”

“We should have gone through the woods,” Gretchen grumbles.

I ignore her and keep walking. The closer we get to the house, the more clearly I can see it. There are curtains in the windows, which means someone did live here not too long ago. That’s a good sign. Hopefully, they left some food we can eat. I’m not sure we’re going to be able keep going without it. As it is, I’ve had more than a few moments of dizziness since we left Millersville this morning.

When we get to the house, Jon goes up the porch steps while Gretchen and I stay in the yard. He looks through the front window, then pounds on the door. I hold my breath and wait to see if someone—or something—will pop up. Nothing happens.

“Well,” Jon says. “I guess we try the door. If it’s locked, we’ll just break it down.”

Gretchen and I don’t argue. We passed the point where we worried about damaging someone’s private property weeks ago. It’s every man for himself now.

Jon turns the knob, but it doesn’t give. He exhales and takes a step back so he can get a good look at the house. He must decide there’s no other way in, because he backs up, then runs forward, ramming his shoulder against the door.

It doesn’t budge.

“Shit.” He rubs his arm and laughs. “Hollywood made that look a hell of a lot easier than it actually is.”

“Damn liars,” I say, a jolt of surprise coming over me when a smile forms on my lips.

Gretchen smiles and Jon shoots me a grin, then throws his head back and laughs. It’s so loud and sincere that it shakes his whole body. I’ve never heard him laugh before, and the sound causes warmth to spread through me.

“Okay,” Jon says when he’s finally done laughing. He takes a deep breath and eyes the door like he’s looking for weaknesses. “One more try.”

He backs up further, then rushes forward again. This time when his shoulder slams into the door, the sound of splintering wood echoes through the silence. The door pops open, and Jon stumbles inside. I’m right behind him, ready to take out anything that may come running in case Jon isn’t. The house remains silent, though.

Jon rubs his shoulder and grimaces. “Damn. That hurt like hell.”

“But it was sexy as hell.” I fan my face and smile.

He snorts. “Right.”

Gretchen doesn’t say a word. She walks by us and heads into the kitchen, and my stomach growls. Reminding me why we stopped. Food.

But we need to make sure it’s safe first.

“We need to check all the rooms, Gretchen!” I call after her. “Just to make sure there aren’t any bodies lurking in the shadows.”

“You check. I’ll look for food.”

I sigh, and Jon rolls his eyes. “Teenagers.”

“Makes me feel sorry for my parents,” I say.

Jon and I work together to move the couch in front of the damaged door, and once it’s done, I suck in a deep breath. Every hair on my body stands on end when the faint scent of death tickles my nostrils.

Jon and I pull out our guns at the exact same moment.

“Smell that?” he whispers.

I nod and glance toward the kitchen, trying to decide if we head back toward the bedrooms or check on Gretchen. She’s silent, but the sound of cabinets opening and closing lets me know she’s okay. Whatever we’re smelling, it must be in one of the bedrooms.

“Let’s head to the back of the house,” I say, nodding toward the hall to our right.

Jon nods, and together we move silently through the house. Other than the few sounds coming from the kitchen, the place is eerily silent, but the further back we walk the stronger the smell gets. My stomach twists, and I force myself to breathe through my mouth, hoping to ease the rumbling inside me.

We pause in the hall and look back and forth between the closed doors. There are three of them. I’m guessing two are bedrooms and the third is a bathroom. Still there’s no sound, but the tension in me doesn’t ease. If anything, my body gets more rigid as the seconds pass. It reminds me of watching a horror movie, when you know the axe murderer is going to jump out soon and you’re trying to brace yourself for the scare, but it isn’t working. That’s how life feels all the time now.

“This way,” Jon says, moving to the right.

I follow him without a word, holding my breath when he stops outside the first closed door. He turns the knob so slowly that it doesn’t make a sound, but when he eases the door open, the hinges creak. Sweat breaks out on my forehead and I lift my gun higher, my finger poised over the trigger. Jon nods, then shoves the door open, raising his own gun. But nothing moves, and even when we step inside, we find the room empty.

Jon lowers his gun and glances around like he’s expecting a zombie to materialize out of thin air. “Nothing.”

“Must be one of the other rooms.”

“It’s too quiet,” he says. “Maybe it’s just a dead body.”

“Maybe,” I say, shrugging.

We turn and head back the way we came, repeating the process at the next door, this time finding a bathroom. Again, the room is empty and dark.

That only leaves one room.

Jon stops outside the last door and takes a deep breath. Before he can open it, I press my ear against the wood. There’s a small scraping sound, but no moaning or growling or thumping. Nothing major.

“Something is in there,” I whisper.

Jon nods, and I step back as he turns the knob. I hold my breath, and he inhales sharply. My gun is up and ready when he shoves the door open, my heart beating a million beats a minute and only pounding faster when the scent of death smacks me in the face. My eyes sweep over the small space, but I don’t see a thing. Jon moves into the room, his gun still raised, and I follow. Still, nothing moves.

“Nothing,” Jon says.

I nod and I’m just about to lower my gun when a soft moan breaks through the silence. The hair on my arms stands up, and Jon rushes forward. I’m right behind him, charging across the room and rounding the end of the bed.

Laying on the floor is the corpse of a woman so rotten it makes my stomach turn. Her skin is thin and torn, and black ooze flows from every visible orifice, as well as a few tears in her gray flesh. She’s laying a puddle of the black stuff.

Her head is resting on the floor and for a second she doesn’t move, but then her eyes flick our way and she opens her mouth. A soft moan comes out and her fingers claw at the floor. She acts like she doesn’t have the energy to move, and she looks so pathetic that for the first time since I came face to face with a zombie, I actually feel sorry for the creature.

I lower my gun and shake my head. “What’s wrong with her?”

Jon’s own gun is down, and he nods to the woman as he shoves it in his waistband. “Look at her legs.”

For the first time, I look at the lower half of her body and realize the problem. The woman is missing her left leg. I scan the area and my gaze lands on the prosthetic sitting next to the bed. She must have had it off when she died.

Jon kneels in front of her, and his eyebrows furrow. “She’s been lying here since she turned. You think she’s weak because she hasn’t been able to feed?”

Something like hope sparks inside me. “Maybe. Maybe they’ll all die off once they don’t have a food source anymore.”

Jon nods but doesn’t reply. He pulls out his knife and I exhale when he slams the blade into the woman’s skull, releasing more of the black goo and filling the room with the sickening odor of zombie blood. The woman’s body goes slack and Jon slides the blade free, wiping it on the bed before replacing it in his sheath.

He stands and holds his hand out to me. “Come on, let’s get you some food.”

I hate how normal killing these things has become.

We head back into the living room, and for the first time, I’m able to get a good look at the place. It’s sparsely furnished but neat, and all the furniture has an antique look to it. Like it’s been passed down from generation to generation. It makes the emptiness of the house even more depressing than usual. No one will ever again pass this furniture on to the next generation.

Jon and I walk into the kitchen to find Gretchen sitting in the middle of the floor with an open jar of Jif. Eating it with a spoon. The salty scent of peanut butter hits me, and my knees go weak while my stomach tries to jump out of my body so it can get to the food.

“The cabinets are full,” Gretchen says through a mouth full of Jif.

My stomach growls so loud her eyebrows shoot up.

“Sit down,” Jon tells me. “I’ll get you something to eat.”

I sink to the floor next to Gretchen even though there’s a dining room table, and Jon digs through the cabinets. He hands me a can of tuna, then a box of crackers. The can is the kind that has a tab to open it, which makes it a hell of a lot faster than searching the kitchen drawers for a can opener.

I rip the top off, then dig out a few chunks of tuna and pop them into my mouth. The noise I let out sounds like it could come straight out of a porno. “Oh my God. I’ve never tasted anything so amazing, and I hate tuna.”

Gretchen giggles and rips into a bag of pretzels. “I feel like it’s Thanksgiving.”

Jon sits down next to me and drops an armload of food on the floor between us. My stomach growls again, and I tip the can up so I can dump it into my mouth.

“Careful,” he says, “You don’t want to choke.”

“At least I’ll die happy,” I say through a mouthful of tuna.

We eat in silence. Well, not silence exactly. There’s a lot of paper and plastic crinkling, and yummy noises, and even a few burps. We share a huge bottle of apple juice, drinking straight from the jug. Gretchen hit the nail on the head, this is exactly like Thanksgiving.

When I’m finally full, I realize my butt has fallen asleep. I pull myself up and stretch until my back pops. “What do we do now?”

“I can’t walk anymore,” Gretchen says, throwing herself back like she’s on the verge of death. Her voice has taken on a whiny tone I find irritating, but I can’t exactly argue with her. My legs are like jelly.

“She’s right. We need a car.”

Jon pulls himself up and stretches. He acts as sore as I feel. “I’ll check out back, but don’t get your hopes up.”

He heads out, and I plop down in one of the dining room chairs.

Gretchen looks up at me from her position on the floor. “So you two are together?”

I nod even though until this moment I hadn’t really thought about Jon and I being anything. “We’ve been through a lot since we met.”

“You’re lucky to have someone. Being alone sucks.”

“You don’t have to be alone anymore. You’re with us.”

She nods slowly but looks uncertain. “Being by myself sucked, but I’ve kind of been avoiding people. I’ve run into some groups that were nice, but to be honest, the thought of joining them was scary. I just don’t see how we’ll be able to make it through this okay, and I don’t know if I want to get my hopes up. Does that sound bad?”

“No. I think we’ve all had thoughts like that. It’s hard to stay positive when you know every moment could be your last. But you must have some hope or you wouldn’t be heading toward Hope.” I laugh. “God, that sounds ridiculous.”