Far from Safe
Far Series Book Two
Kate L. Mary
Contents
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Acknowledgments
Also by Kate L. Mary
About the Author
1
I stared out the window, unmoving. Mesmerized.
Traumatized?
Maybe. It was difficult to tell what I was feeling. So much had happened so fast, and yet at the same time, it felt as if years had passed. Mostly because of what I’d lost. Everything, really. My entire life had been washed away in a matter of days. I’d gone from hiding in my dorm room in Phoenix where I’d felt almost untouched by the pandemic, to being here and having nothing. My future was gone, and probably every one of my friends, and I had no clue what had happened to my dad. He’d been working in the emergency room at a hospital not too far from here, but we hadn’t heard from him in a week, and odds were good that he was dead—along with eighty-five percent of the population. I doubted I’d ever know for certain, but I also wasn’t sure which was worse. Not knowing or…
I searched the bodies on the street, spotting her after only a second, and my gut clenched painfully.
Maybe not knowing was better, because I couldn’t imagine anything more devasting than seeing my mother like this.
The sky grew brighter by the second, but the neighborhood was still dark. It wasn’t empty, though. That would have been too much to ask for. We’d arrived at my house the day before yesterday to find my once picturesque neighborhood overrun with the dead. They’d come out of the woodwork at the sound of our cars, and now the street outside my house looked like some kind of twisted block party or a meeting of the undead.
And my mom was one of them.
I’d been standing at my window for what felt like hours now, watching the sea of bodies as they stumbled around. It had been dark at first, but the bright moon had helped illuminate the rotting faces on the street. Every now and then, I’d spotted her. Dad’s red Harvard Medical School sweatshirt had made it easy to pick her out of the crowd. The thing was filthy now and ripped, as were her jeans, and she was barefoot. That was something I hadn’t noticed the first time I saw her, and something I couldn’t stop staring at. Every time I looked at them, I had the strange urge to smile, which resulted in a choked sob bubbling up in my throat. I couldn’t help it, because it was just like my mom to be one of the only zombies on the street not wearing shoes or socks—some of them were even wearing slippers. But she was barefoot.
I covered my mouth when a laugh tried to burst out of me. It was quickly followed by a wail that felt like it was on the verge of ripping its way out of my throat.
I had to get out of here before I went crazy.
It wasn’t quite morning, but I’d heard movement a few times and knew some of the others were up, and suddenly the idea of being with someone else—even these people who were still practically strangers—sounded as comforting as slipping into a freshly made bed, the sheets still hot from the dryer. Despite my desperation to be around other living people, I still had to force myself to turn away from the window.
I’d just opened my bedroom door when a creak sounded in the otherwise silent house, and I froze. The hall was dark, but a shadow moved through the blackness just outside the office door, and a second later, Kiaya came into view.
“You’re up,” she said, her voice soft and as gentle as she was.
“I’ve been up for a while. I just needed some time to think.”
Her dark, wavy hair was down and wild around her thin face, and it bobbed when she nodded. “I understand.”
I looked past her to the room she’d just vacated. The door was cracked about an inch, but Zara was nowhere in sight.
“Is your sister still asleep?”
Again, Kiaya nodded.
“How’s she doing?”
“Okay, I think.” She let out a long sigh that was thick with exhaustion. “At least I hope so. She’s always been the sensitive one, and we haven’t seen one another in a while. Too long. It’s hard to get a read on her.”
The words hung in the air between us, and I thought about what she’d told me just before we’d left her sister’s house. Their father had never been in the picture, and their mother started using drugs when they were very young. Kiaya had done her best to look out for her sister, but a lot of times they’d gone without. Without their mother, without food. When Kiaya was ten and Zara was seven, the authorities finally stepped in, and the girls were put into foster care. Kiaya blamed herself, both because she was the oldest and because she was the reason the authorities had come.
It explained a lot, but I still knew so little about her, and even though I hesitated to ask, afraid she would clam up again, I felt like if she was ever going to open up to me, now was the time. There was safety in the darkness. You didn’t have to look someone in the eye while you talked. You could pretend you were alone.
“You were put into different foster homes right away?”
“Not right away.” The words were slow and hesitant, but I got the impression she wanted to tell me. “We were both with one family for six months or so, but then we were sent home. Our mom got her act together, and the courts believed she deserved a second chance. Or something like that.” Through the darkness, I saw her shoulders lift in a half-shrug. “I don’t get the reasons behind everything they do. Plus, I was only ten.”
“How long were you back with your mom?”
Kiaya shifted, making it seem like she wasn’t sure she wanted to talk about it.
“You don’t have to tell me,” I said quickly.
I wanted to get to know her better, but I didn’t want to push her.
“No. It’s okay,” she whispered then let out a long breath. “Less than a year. When they took us the second time, they couldn’t find a home that would take us both. Zara went to the Wilsons’ and stayed there, but I bounced around for a while. I was fifteen when I was placed with my last foster family, and I stayed there until I graduated.”
I couldn’t imagine not caring about what happened to a child who had lived with you for three years, but that was what Kiaya had told me.
I doubt my foster parents have thought about me since the day I left.
“The last time Zara and I saw each other was right before I left for college, so it’s been about two years.” She looked back toward the room where her sister was sleeping. “I stopped at her house to say goodbye, and I think she was happy to see me, but she’s always been… guarded. I guess that’s the right word for it. Like she’s afraid to get her hopes up.”
The sisters had that in common.
“Well, you’re together now,” I said.
“Yeah,” Kiaya replied, her voice low.
We hadn’t known one another long, and at first, I’d been sure I didn’t even like her. Her constant silence had annoyed me, mainly because I was a talker. But as the world began to change and things grew more serious, I’d learned to appreciate it. Now, I couldn’t imagine being with someone who felt the need to fill every moment with chatter. It wouldn’t have felt right. Plus, I admired Kiaya’s goodness and strength. She had a resiliency I hoped to be able to learn. She was a survivor, which was something I was striving to be as well.
Tentatively, hoping the darkness would bridge the gap between
comfort and awkwardness, I reached out and took her hand, giving it a squeeze. “We’re all together.”
“Yeah,” she said again, this time the word sounding a lot more confident.
I gave her hand another pump before releasing it. “We should go downstairs and see what’s going on. I’ve heard footsteps, so I know someone is up.”
“Good idea,” she said.
We headed for the stairs, passing the cracked guestroom door. In the dim light—courtesy of the flashlight we’d left on—I caught a glimpse of Randall sprawled out on the bed, Lexi curled up with him and Mike at his other side. Hank was on the floor in a sleeping bag, but I couldn’t see him. Thinking about the kids reminded me of the talk Devon and I had that first night home, reminding me why I needed to be strong.
“Lexi and Mike have lost their mom, and they’re just kids. Hank, too. They need you to be strong, Rowan. We all do…”
I barely remembered arriving at my house or the following day. I’d been too focused on the crushing grief of seeing my mom as a zombie. Still, I knew Devon had carried me inside while the others rushed to shut the garage and barricade the doors and windows. For a while, the dead had beat on them, but eventually they’d been distracted by some other sound and most had wandered off. Not far—they were still on our street—but at least they seemed to have forgotten about us. For the time being, anyway. It couldn’t last, though, and we knew it. We’d taken yesterday to rest and catch our breath, but eventually we would have to leave the house, which would alert them to our presence all over again.
When we arrived here, I’d felt like I was in a dream, barely able to comprehend what was happening. Vaguely, I remembered showing everyone around the house before crashing, and the others hadn’t been far behind. Randall, the kids, and Hank had found their way to the guestroom, Kiaya and Zara to the office where we had a pull-out couch. We had a finished basement, and Miller and Buck had crashed on the couches down there, and Lisa on the one in the living room, but I wasn’t sure about Devon. He’d been by my bed when I woke the first night, just sitting in the darkness like he’d been waiting for me to wake up. He’d comforted me, given me a pep talk, and helped me believe I could find a way to make it in this crazy, messed up world. Now, it was time to put that belief into action.
The flicker of candlelight was visible as Kiaya and I made our way down the stairs, and I paused once we reached the bottom. The living room was to the left, and the dining room to the right. Buck, the sixtyish man we’d met in Shamrock, was sitting at the table, an empty glass and a nearly full bottle in front of him. Scotch. My dad hadn’t been much of a drinker, but he’d enjoyed the occasional glass of whiskey or scotch, as well as a cigar when my mom wasn’t looking. It was awfully early for a drink, though.
Buck was staring into the glass, but he lifted his gaze when I took a step into the dining room. At some point while I was sleeping, he’d removed his ponytail, and his white-gray hair now hung free. It was wispy and fine, with fraying ends that told me he hadn’t gotten a trim in a long time, and it aged him ten years. Or maybe that was just the expression in his gray eyes.
“Morning,” I said.
He gave me a strained and somewhat guilty-looking smile as he nodded to the glass. “Takes the edge off.”
“My dad said the same thing,” I lied.
I didn’t know why, but I got the feeling it was what he needed to hear at this moment.
Buck leaned forward and grasped the bottle, turning it so the label was facing him. “It’s good stuff. Better than I could ever afford.” He lifted his gaze to meet mine. “He had good taste.”
My throat tightened at his use of past tense. “I wouldn’t know. I’ve never tried it.”
It was all I could think to say.
Buck gave me a sad smile that was barely visible through his scraggly beard. “Maybe later we can have a drink together. In honor of your father.”
“Yeah,” I whispered.
Tears had filled my eyes, but I blinked them back. It was so like me to cry. Happy, sad, angry, or embarrassed, it didn’t matter, every emotion resulted in tears. It was something that had always bothered me, but never as much as at this moment, because it made me feel weak.
Buck stared at the bottle in his hand for a few seconds longer before pulling the cork free. The pop was loud in the otherwise quiet house, as was the trickle of liquid as he refilled his glass, but I’d already turned away and didn’t see how much he poured.
Kiaya was behind me, still standing at the bottom of the stairs, and like me, her attention was on Buck. When her gaze met mine, I could see my own concern reflected in her brown eyes. Buck was a nice man, but we didn’t really know him, and this was something I hadn’t anticipated.
We stayed where we were for a few seconds longer, neither of us talking, before I shook my head and continued to the living room. A handful of candles had been set up. On the fireplace mantel and the end tables, as well as across the kitchen counter, and like the dining room, light flickered off the walls and created long shadows that made the hair on the back of my neck stand on end.
Everything was so familiar, and yet entirely different at the same time. It was quieter and dark, and the house felt hollow and empty even though more people were in it now than had been throughout most of my life. It was like I’d stepped into a science fiction story and found myself in some kind of alternate reality where everything I knew was a distorted reflection of what it should have been. Like Coraline, the creepy stop-motion movie that had come out a few years ago. In it, a little girl had discovered a door to a world that was a twisted version of her own, where her parents had buttons for eyes and sewed the lips of the blabber-mouth neighbor shut.
If only I could find a way out like she eventually had.
Devon was in the kitchen, but no one else seemed to be around as I headed his way. The soft thud of Kiaya’s footsteps said she was behind me, but I didn’t look back. I was too focused on Devon, who was frowning at the handful of jars and cans lined up on the counter in front of him and seemingly oblivious to the fact that Kiaya and I had come into the room. Soup, tomatoes, and vegetables—although I had no clue where those had come from since I couldn’t remember my mom ever serving anything but fresh veggies—were among the few items. It wasn’t a lot.
“What’s going on?” I asked, keeping my voice low, both so I didn’t startle him, and because in this world it seemed wrong to speak at a normal volume. Even if we were inside.
Devon looked up, his blue eyes focused on me, and something about the flickering light made me remember how he’d looked when we first met.
Kiaya and I had been traveling with a fellow student, Kyle, but he’d gotten sick, and we’d been forced to stop at a motel in Vega, Texas. I’d been on the verge of losing my composure when we arrived, but somehow had managed to hold it together until I was out of the car. I’d broken down the second I stepped out, though, and Devon had been the only person around to witness it. He was looking at me exactly how he had that day. His sharp, blue eyes sweeping over my face as if trying to absorb every thought and feeling going through me, and just like then, my scalp prickled under the scrutiny.
His square jaw tightened like he was biting back something that wanted to break free, and his Adam’s apple bobbed twice before he finally said, “I don’t know if staying here is safe or realistic.”
The same thought had been nagging at the back of my mind. The house was too out in the open, impossible to fortify, and surrounded by other homes that probably held even more zombies just waiting to escape. It wasn’t safe, and logically, I knew it. But knowing it and hearing Devon say the words out loud were two different things.
My back stiffened, and my fingers curled until my nails were digging into my palms. “This is my home.”
“Rowan.” Kiaya’s soft voice cut through the silence, and a second later her hand was on my arm, gentle and soothing.
She didn’t have to say anything else.
I exhaled,
blowing out my frustration, and my shoulders slumped. “I’m sorry.”
Devon nodded, unmoved by my outburst. He didn’t look the least bit surprised by it, and his focus had already returned to the food lined up on the counter.
“This is pretty much all that’s left in the pantry other than some cereal and crackers.” His gaze flicked up to mine. “It looks like your mom hadn’t left the house in a while.”
Everything in me tightened, but this time, it wasn’t from anger. It was pain. Raw and nearly paralyzing. Like nothing I’d ever felt before.
“I told her to stay home,” I managed to get out.
I’d had a good reason to ask that of her. I’d wanted her to stay safe, wanted to make sure she wasn’t exposed to anything. I’d wanted her to be here when I arrived. It hadn’t worked, but even worse, it meant there was no food in the house, which put us at risk.
“We still have some things in the cars, right?” Kiaya asked. “From what we scavenged in Vega and at Zara’s house?”
Before leaving the first motel, we’d raided the cars in the parking lot, looking for supplies, and had taken any food we’d come across. It hadn’t been a lot, but at the time, it hadn’t concerned me. We were heading home, and I’d been certain that once we arrived, everything would be okay. Mom would take over just like she always had. She would know what to do, and I would be able to relax, would be able to let someone else take on the burden of making the tough decisions.
Only she wasn’t here, and she would never be again, and nothing in my life would ever be the same.
Just thinking about it made me want to curl into a ball.
“There’s a little,” Devon said, his gaze leveled on me like he could read my mind and knew I was on the verge of crumbling. “But not much. There’s really only enough food for a day. Two at the most.”
Far Series | Book 2 | Far From Safe Page 1