Total pages in book: 71
Estimated words: 67694 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 338(@200wpm)___ 271(@250wpm)___ 226(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 67694 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 338(@200wpm)___ 271(@250wpm)___ 226(@300wpm)
“You’re not going to shoot me.”
“Not right now. Maybe later. I haven’t decided yet, and you’re not going to rush me.” I shake my head. “Not dealing so well with the whole master criminal side of things, are you?”
“Guess not.”
“I told you the guilt would get heavy. But did you listen? No.”
He grunts and takes the gun from my hand and puts it back in the holster. Then he fetches a bottle of water from one of his saddlebags. “Here.”
“Thank God!” calls a strange voice. It’s a man’s voice. “Please. I need a doctor.”
And the gun is back in Dean’s hand in an instant.
“Oh, no,” I say, my stomach sinking as I back away from the oncoming unwanted visitor.
Because the man is obviously sick. His nose is red and running. Bare feet shuffle weakly through the grass. He’s dressed in a pair of striped pajama pants and a white tee. Guess he came from one of the nearby houses.
“If you can just help me get to the hospital.”
“Stay back!” shouts Dean.
“Please help me. I’ve got no one.”
“Don’t come any closer.”
“There’s no one left,” says the stranger.
“Don’t make me do it, man.”
But he doesn’t stop. Instead, this hopeful, pleading smile appears on his feverish, sweaty face, and he says, “It’s okay. Please. If you could just—”
Red blossoms in the middle of his white tee and he stumbles back a step. He stares down at his chest in confusion. Then his knees buckle, and he falls to the ground.
All of the birds fall silent at the shocking sound. The man doesn’t move again. He just lies in the green grass, eyes staring unseeing at the midday sun.
“You killed him. Holy shit.” Bile burns the back of my throat. “Okay. You had to. You had no choice. He would have infected us, wouldn’t he?”
He holsters the gun and says nothing for a moment. “We need to move. Put on your helmet and get back on the bike.”
CHAPTER FIVE
MONDAY
The next stop is a camping store in one of those shopping centers where all of the businesses face outside. And we aren’t the first nonpaying customers. Someone drove a sedan through one of the storefront windows for easy access. Dean checks that they’re gone while I wait with the motorcycle. He even gave me a gun to hold—just in case.
My growling stomach demands the snacks in my bag. We haven’t had lunch, and it’s midafternoon. I don’t know how I can be hungry after seeing hundreds of dead bodies and someone get shot. I don’t know if I am disassociating or compartmentalizing or what. Just doing my best not to think of the sick man and the sound of the gun and the bright red blood on his white shirt.
Today has been a horrible adventure. But I keep my attention on the mostly empty parking lot and the road beyond. No one else is sneaking up on us today. I refuse to spend four nights in a cage, just to get taken out by some random wandering plague victim. Not on my first day out in the world. Which sounds incredibly callous and messed up, even inside my own head. I have at least that level of self-awareness. But it’s still a valid concern.
I am not sure I could actually shoot someone. Looking vaguely menacing, however, I can do.
Dark clouds are gathering on the horizon. No idea what the plan is for our temporary accommodation tonight. However, sleeping under the stars is out of the question. The thought of going from house to house, searching for an abode unoccupied by the dead, does not appeal. Death has a smell that seeps into your pores and isn’t soon forgotten. Guess we’re going to have to get used to it. For a while at least.
The silence is deafening. I noticed it as soon as Dean stopped the motorcycle engine. Birds and insects are still doing their thing, but the human-made noises are gone. Chatter, engines, electronics, and all of the other background sounds we contributed have disappeared. This whole new world seems so empty. Signs of life are few and far between. The raiders we ran from and the infected man in the park are the only people we’ve seen since starting our travels. It’s like we’re the only people left alive in this corner of the country.
Now, Dean is back at the smashed window, waving me forward.
“What are we getting?” I ask, always eager for some shopping.
“Decent boots for you. Come on. Watch where you step—you don’t want to slip. There’re no doctors left to pick glass out of your ass. Only me.”
“Yeah. Let’s maybe avoid that situation.”
He escorts me to the relevant aisle with a hand to my lower back. I don’t hate it for some reason. It would seem any uninfected human contact in the apocalypse can be a comfort. And the man has had a hard day, what with having to shoot a complete stranger and all. This doesn’t mean I like him or anything. I am, however, able to think rationally about the incredibly messed-up situation. Or at least I hope I am.