A World Alone (Dead World Series Book 1) (2 page)

CHAPTER
THREE

Stella

Miracles.

I don't believe in them. You get lucky or you don't, that's the way it
works. Miracles are just lump sums of unfiltered luck that people
inappropriately labeled. To receive such extraordinary luck and then attribute
its cause to some divine grace just never sat right with me.

It wasn't a miracle that I passed that algebra test without studying, I just
got lucky with the multiple choice. Same way someone is lucky to win the
lottery. It all comes down to plain, dumb luck.

No miracles involved.

At least that's what I thought until now, when a bright yellow jeep just
saved my life.

I didn't believe in miracles before but I sure as hell am questioning that
philosophy now. Standing on the side of the road I watch the jeep drive away as
the infected, crippled beyond repair, lets out a groan. I stare after the
yellow car for a second longer, part of me hoping that he will stop, the other
part just grateful for what he’s done. Glancing down at the infected's mangled
body, I suppress any sound of disgust as my eyes graze over the protruding
bones, sticking out as if desperate to escape the rotting flesh encasing it.  

Its anguished moans will attract others soon unless I stop it now. But in
its state of contortion, I'm not entirely sure where its head is, or how it's
still alive. Either way, I'm better off running than searching the mound of
flesh for its source of noise. 

Tucking the switchblade into my back pocket, I turn from the road and run.
Already exhausted, it takes only a few minutes before my breathing becomes ragged
again, each breath jolted from the bag that bounces on my back, smacking into
my shoulder blades with every step.

I hate this suburb. The houses are scrunched together and the streets are
wide with little coverage. It would be too easy for an infected to spot me,
even if I ducked down a little bit. As I round the corner of one house and come
out onto a short street, I spot a small oasis of green up ahead. A park with
trees and shrubbery. It isn't the greatest place to hide, but it's probably the
best cover I'll find in a while.

The street looks clear, but there could always be one lurking in the doorway
of a house. The last thing I want is to run into another one. I can handle one
of them, but it's safer to avoid them altogether. If the option to run is a
viable one, I'll always choose to run. I think anyone would choose to run;
there's no sense in fighting one of them up close with the risk of getting
bitten.

Slowing to a quick walk I bend, crouching as close to the ground as I can
get while glancing around the street. The sun glares down on me as I scurry
towards the park, its brilliant beams forcing sweat to soak my shirt and jeans.

My feet instantly feel lighter as I set foot on the overgrown grass, like
stepping on a cloud after riding a thunder storm. I waste no time in diving
into the shrubbery, crawling through the wild leaves and prickling thorns until
I come upon a tree trunk, moderately surrounded and concealed, like a mini
forest. I turn back and readjust some of the branches and bushes I moved before
sitting down and resting my back against the trunk of the tree.

Strands of grass latch themselves onto me as I quietly breathe, their long
bodies swaying in the soft breeze. Even from this distance I can hear the
infected that had been chasing me. Its screams piercing the air like a beacon,
signaling every other infected in the surrounding area. It'll be a while before
the coast is clear for me to move. After all the infected congregate around
their fallen counterpart, they'll be on the hunt, which means I'll have to be
quick if I want to get out of this town alive.

But for now I'm stuck here. I hold myself still against the tree, listening
for any rustles of movement or signs that something might have seen me. I stay
like this well after the sun has set, only moving once the cold of night has
begun to numb my limbs.

Shrugging my bag off I pull it onto my lap and delve inside. I ruffle
through its meager contents until I find what I'm looking for. Pulling them
out, I frown at the two plastic water bottles. Messy handwriting is scribbled
across each bottle in permanent marker, distinguishing the clean supply from
the dirty. The water in the dirty bottle is murky with mud from the depleting
stream I collected it from; but at least the bottle is half full. The other
bottle is empty. Just to make sure, I unscrew its cap and tip it over my
tongue, hoping that maybe a few stray drops will fall. It's bone dry.

I could have sworn I had more.

Pulling a small pot and box of matches out of my bag I gather up a few
sticks from the ground and flatten out a bed of grass. I should be able to make
a small fire without attracting any attention. As long as I can keep it under
control I'm sure I'll be able to boil the water and stamp out the flames before
the smoke is visible. It's a risk I'm willing to take. I should have done it
while the sun was still up, but the underbrush looks thick enough to hide the
fire and the canopy above is so dense that its leaves, I’m hoping, will act
like a net and stifle the smoke for long enough. I pour the water into the pot
and hope for the best.

If only I had marshmallows this would be just like camping. Although I've
only ever been camping once and it wasn't a very pleasant experience. It was
just after my mother had left. We were trudging through a forest for hours,
searching for the perfect place to set up camp. Neither my brother nor I cared
for camping, but our father had insisted. I still can't imagine why. The entire
trip had put him in a sour mood. He tripped over almost every branch and stone.
At the time I thought he was just clumsy, now I think he might have been
drunk. 

"For God's sake, Nathan would you stop pulling your sisters hair!"
His loud voice was plagued with irritation as he stumbled over the trunk of a
fallen tree. 

"Stella started it!" Nathan whined as he gave my hair another tug.

"Did not!" I cried, my small hands moving to shove him away.

"Did too!"

"Would you both just stop fighting! We're here." My brother let go
of my hair and we both looked out at the small area of flat ground our father had
managed to find within the woods. Nathan and I shared a look before observing
the area once more, sure that we must have missed something.

"This is it?" Nathan asked skeptically, dropping his backpack on
the ground and looking to our father for confirmation.

"Of course this is it!" Dad snapped, quickly plastering a fake
smile across his lips as he looked down at the both of us with what we easily recognized
as forced enthusiasm. "This is the perfect place to go camping. Come on,
first thing we'll do is start a fire. Nathan you go get us some sticks, Stella,
you see if you can find us some moss or dry bark."

It wasn't long before the three of us were sitting on the forest floor, our
father cursing under his breath as he struck two rocks together. The warmth of
the sun had receded behind the trees a while ago and the cold air of night was
beginning to settle upon us. Nathan and I shared a miserable look as our father
persisted in lighting the fire. Each failure emitting a new curse word we had
yet to learn.

"Dad?" Nathan asked, staring at the small make-shift fire-pit in
front of us.

"What is it?" Dad huffed, striking the rocks together with more
intensity.

"Why isn't Mom camping with us?"

The question silenced all sound in the forest. The birds stopped their caws,
the wind stopped its howl and even the branches of trees stopped their creaking
groans. The rocks in our father's hands came to a halt as he stared at the
unlit fire-pit, his lips pressed into a thin line.

"Because your mother has a new family now."

The rest of the camping trip was just as miserable. Even more so now that we
had realized our mother abandoned us with no intentions of ever coming back. On
the second day, when the atmosphere hadn't lifted any, our father gave up and
took us home. Camping has never really appealed to me since then. Lying here
however, with a crackling fire to warm my frozen fingers and thick greenery
shielding me from the world outside, I'm beginning to understand its appeal as
a form of escape. Seeing the cloudless sky through the branches you can almost
forget what the world has become. I think I would be able to forget, or at
least pretend for a while, if it weren't for the dying howl of that infected.

The water's been boiling long enough that it should be clean by now. Moving
the pot away from the fire I put out the flames and wait for the water to cool.
Once it has, I begin tipping it into the clean water bottle, grimacing as a few
drops spill over the edge. It's still a little murky, and I wonder if maybe I
didn't boil it for long enough. But I've already put out the fire and I'm not
willing to risk lighting another one. One sip of the water is all I allow myself
before I begin stuffing everything back in my bag. I zip it up, glancing
through the bushes in case the sound has attracted any attention. Only when I'm
certain that the street around me is still do I turn the bag into a make-shift
pillow. Propping it up against the trunk of the tree, I lay my head down on it
and stretch out in the grass. 

My muscles manage to loosen some as the hands of the meadow embrace me,
massaging the knots from my joints. With the grounds soft hold imitating the
warmth of a bed, I feel almost safe as I stare up at the swaying branches and
dancing leaves.

It feels almost like this small park is a bubble, protecting me from the
world around it. Everything seems so serene, like a small taste of paradise. For
the first time in what seems like an eternity, I’m comfortable enough to let my
guard down.

I've just begun closing my eyes when a woman screams and the bubble of the
park bursts.

CHAPTER
FOUR

Stella

I'm running before she screams a second time.

The camouflage of the trees is abandoned, the bubble of the park shattered
as I sling my bag over my shoulder and sprint out onto the street. Her cries
pierce the night, like lightning, the silence that ensues imitating the
overbearing force of thunder.

I pause in the middle of the street, flustered. My cheeks are hot as I
struggle to breathe quietly.

She shrieks again.

I start running in the direction of the noise, like a wolf hunting the moon.

I'm an idiot.

A suicidal idiot.

Every step brings another reproach.

Another scream, closer this time, much closer. I slow to a halt before
moving any further, rethinking my abrupt decision.

It's always a risk dealing with other survivors. Especially so soon after
they've died. And from the sounds of those screams, she's either dead or very
close to it. I still have some food and water, but she might have more. She
might even have the keys to a working car! The last three corpses I've come
across barely had anything useful on them. But they had been dead for a while.
This woman has probably dropped all her belongings right where she died.

Ripe for the picking.

All I have to do is get to her corpse and maybe wait awhile for the infected
to finish up with her. Or maybe if I'm lucky, she had a bag that she dropped in
her panic to survive. That way I can scoop it up without having to wait or deal
with any unwanted attention.

She screams again.

The sound forces me to move out of habit and I find myself taking three
steps before I manage to restrain myself.

I need to wait for her to die.

I glance around the street, my heart burrowing deeper into my chest at every
shadow that waves. The bright moonlight casts a ghastly glow along the road,
deepening the darkest shadows surrounding it. The night doesn't agree with me.
It wants me to hide in its embrace, along with the monsters it veils.

The woman wails again, longer this time. I need to get to her soon before
every infected in this town does.

She must be at the end of the road.

A small distance away that is cordoned off by the dark of night. I move off
the road and into the tall bushes by its side. They rustle as I move against
them, a sound incomprehensible against the tormented calls of the dying siren.

My steps crunch amidst discarded leaves as I slowly make my way up the
street, the woman's screams growing closer with every step. As I approach, the
darkness recedes, allowing me to see her grave site.

A gas station on the corner of an intersection.

Not the most glamorous of places to die and definitely not where I would
have wanted to drop – but you get what you're given I suppose. I step around a
tree and behind a bush, pushing aside a few of its leaves so as to get a better
view. My fingers curl at what I see.

Shit,
I think as my nails dig into my palms.

Sitting outside the gas station is a bright yellow jeep. The same bright
yellow jeep that saved my life not even a few hours ago. Its brightly painted
exterior emulates the surface of the sun and wards off all the darkness
surrounding it, acting as a beacon in the night. Standing beside the jeep is a
man. I squint my eyes to try and get a better look at him, but his features
remain indistinguishable in the night. Shadows trace every curve of his face
and hide his identity.

But I don't need to know what he looks like when I already know who he is.

He's a wanna-be-hero. Hard to find in this day and age. Most of them have
already died out due to their heroic (or idiotic) acts of sacrifice. Only the
clever ones still remain. And he must be a clever one. Heroic enough to risk
damaging his car to save me, but smart enough not to stop and risk giving me a
lift.

He's probably doing the exact same thing that I'm doing; waiting for the
woman to die so that we can salvage her corpse. Any other survivor and I'd probably
have to fight them off or make a deal with them. But a hero, well, if I play my
cards right he just might be nice enough to let me have all the loot to myself.

Pushing aside the small prickly branches I step out from the bushes and back
onto the open road. His back is towards me as I approach him with small steps,
his height increasing with the closing distance between us. Large muscles seem
to tense beneath his clothes as my foot scrapes against the skin of the road.
He turns his large body towards me in a quick swing, a gun coming along with him
and resting at a level with my chest.

I stop mid-step, my hands slowly rising above my head.

"Hey there, big-boy," I smile, the words coming out in croaks. I
can't even remember the last time I spoke, even uttered a curse. Noise is
deadly.

He doesn't lower the gun, instead he takes a step forward as the woman
inside screeches again.

"Grace you can quit yellin' now, we got another one!" he calls out
with a voice as gruff as mine.

Slowly, my smile fades as he begins walking towards me, his gun now raised
towards my head. As he steps around me, telling me not to move, a skinny woman
steps out from the gas station, looking me up and down as if evaluating her
prize. When he takes the switchblade from my back-pocket and throws it into the
night, the situation dawns on me.

I've been played.

The man grabs one of my arms and roughly twists it behind my back, pulling
my bag off as he does so. I let out a small whimper and allow my arms to shake
a little. He shoves me forward towards the woman and the gas station.

I begin to cry, the fresh tears brimming in my eyes before they spill. They
roll down my cheeks in long streaks and hang at the bottom of my chin.

"P-please just l-let me go!" I whimper, twisting my body around to
face the man so that he can see my tears. He pushes me ahead with the barrel of
his pistol.

"Quit the dramatics, princess, we all know you're fakin’ it," he
grunts, unzipping my bag and rustling through its contents. I frown, not
expecting a meat-head like him to see through my act. I suppose it was too much
to hope that he would be sympathetic to a crying girl anyway.

Scowling at him, I turn back around and stand up a little straighter.

It’s clear that I need a new plan.