A World Alone (Dead World Series Book 1)

by R. K. Weir

  "Fair enough, what's yours?" she asks, rubbing her forehead and wincing at the pressure.

  I stop at the door, my hand resting on its handle, a heavy sigh leaving my lips.

  "Look kid, thanks for the help and all, but I'm gonna take off now, and I suggest you do the same." I don't dare to look at her as I open the door and step outside, walking towards my jeep. I need to get away from her.

  "Well hey, wait a second!" she calls, hitching her bag over her shoulder and running out after me. "Maybe we could team up? I mean we make a pretty good team, right? And you did save me earlier when you ran down that infected."

  I grit my teeth, still refusing to look at her. "Get out of here kid."

  "But we could—"

  "I said get out of here!" I shout, finally turning to look at her. Those green eyes catch me, surprised and hurt they pull me in and break me down. They ignite the emptiness inside me and imitate everything that I've lost. I can't bring myself to look at her any longer.

  So I turn away and get into my car. Starting the ignition, I waste no time in pulling out of the gas station. As I drive down the road I glance at her in the rear-view mirror, staring after me, but I keep driving. Because I can't bring myself to do anything else.

  Only when I see a bar on the side of the road do I stop. Parking the car I get out and head straight inside, not even bothering to check if the area is safe or not. I don't care right now; I don't care about anything. I grab the first thing on the shelf that my hand reaches. Sparing the label a glance, I pull up a stool and take a swig, grimacing at the burning taste.

  The liquid ignites like fire in my parched throat. I ignore the pain as I take another gulp, just like I try to ignore all the other pain. But I can't ignore it, any of it. Every time I shut my eyes I see the green of hers looking back and I'm reminded of the last time I saw them. When I thought things were as bad as they could get and every night I found myself in a bar much like this one.

  I hadn't seen her in an eternity and I decided one night after drowning my sorrows that I wanted to visit her. It was a cold night but even still I had the common sense not to drive. So I stumbled down the streets, warmed by the alcohol until my old home came into view. I don't remember knocking on the door, but it must have been late because I remember the sour expression on my ex-wife's face before she even realized it was me.

  "Jesus Christ, Logan, you reek of booze!" Jessica hissed as she stood in the doorway, her arm outstretched from one side to the other, barring my entrance.

  "Jessica just let me in," I slurred, swaying gently from one side to another. Her thin lips pulled into a frown deeper than the pool in the backyard I had never finished digging up.

  "I don't think that's a good idea, Logan. I don't want our daughter seeing you like this," she scowled, her eyes hard yet somber as they traveled my ragged appearance from head-to-toe. "For God's sake think about what this will do to her! She's been through enough!" she cried. A moment of silence passed between us.

  "Please don't hurt her like this, Logan,"

  "I would never hurt her!" I raised my voice, stepping forward I reached out and placed a hand against the frame of the door for support.

  "Not intentionally," her frown morphed into one that was sadder than it was angry. "But the first thing you did when you found out was go straight to the bar," she paused, "and she's going to think that that's her fault."

  I shook my head, not allowing myself to listen.

  "I think it would be best if you didn't see her for a while."

  "What?" I hissed, refusing to believe what she had said. She stared at me solemnly, her eyes hard as they lost all trace of melancholy. "No!"

  "No!" I shouted again, "Jessica you can't do that, she's my daughter!" I slammed the palm of my hand down against the frame of the door, stepping back as she flinched away.

  "I think it's time you left n—"

  "Daddy?" The small voice silenced the battlefield and ended the chaos. She appeared by her mother's side for only a moment, before she moved past her and ran towards me.

  I dropped to my knees and circled her into my arms as she ran into them. Burying my face in her bronze curls I ignored the treacherous tears as they fell.

  "I don't want you to go, Daddy," she mumbled into my shoulder, burrowing her small face into the crook of my neck. The muscles of my throat tightened as they strained to remain quiet, despite the sob building in my chest.

  I pulled her away, aware of Jessica's glare, and knew that I had no choice but to let her go.

  "I love you, princess."

  Her tender emerald eyes shone like glass as they brimmed with tears. She turned away before they had a chance to fall, and disappeared inside.

  My head is resting against the wet wood of the bar now. I must have spilled one of my drinks. But I don't care. It makes me feel like I'm in the water, my body riding in unity with the waves. My eyes are closed as I let the gentle tide of intoxication sweep me away into oblivion. Her eyes have even gone away, blurred by the alcohol and unable to torment me any longer. Everything feels so perfect and warm.

  Until something pulls on my arm and I remember where I am, and my head lifts to find the brilliant emeralds staring back.

  "We have to go, now."

  CHAPTER SIX

  Stella

  He left me. . .

  Just like that.

  And I was being so damn nice too.

  I mean, I practically saved his life back there! The least he could have done in return was give me a lift.

  But I watch the back of his yellow jeep drive off down the road and turn left at the end of the street, and it becomes apparently obvious that he isn't going to change his mind and come back for me. Which sucks.

  And I had a good feeling about him too.

  Maybe he wasn't a hero like I thought he was. Or maybe he was smarter than I gave him credit for. Smart enough not to let strangers into his car anyway.

  My shoulders sag as I stare down the road. I could follow him. If I started running now I might even be able to see which direction he's heading. He has to stop eventually, and if I catch up to him I might be able to pick the keys off him.

  A car would get me a long way. A very long way. It would cut days off my travel time, probably even a week.

  Should I follow him?

  I’m contemplating the answer out in the open when a noise in the night breaks my attention, and the sound of scraping footsteps soon follows it.

  "Oh shit," I mutter, the words quiet as my hands ball into tight fists. I turn around, my eyes narrowing into slits as I squint into the darkness. A jumbled mass of slow movement squirms in the absence of light. Instinctively I take a small step back, my throat swelling and catching my breath mid-gasp.

  A horde.

  Their many bodies shuffle and sway together, slowly creeping up the road as one. I take another step back, my eyes tracing over their outlines, counting their individual figures. Moonlight rains down on them as they step out from the cover of the trees and continue to stumble up the road. The silvery light ignites their tangled bodies, throwing out vivid shadows that skulk and slither in every direction.

  Another tremulous step as more and more bodies appear in the light, all shuffling towards the gas station.

  Towards me.

  Majority of their illuminated bodies appear broken and decayed, protruding bones glinting like dirty pearls. But a few of their bodies are fresh and unscathed.

  I take a few more steps back, my eyes focused on the constantly growing group of infected. I want to stay until no more of them appear. I want to know that there aren't any more. But they just keep coming. It's mesmerizing in a terrifying way, watching body after body step out from the darkness. My shoulders tense as my chest begins to rise and fall more rapidly.

  One more step back, my heel catches a piece of loose gravel and forces it to scrape against the road. A noise that catches the attention of the closest infected. What once was a man looks up, its bloody grey eyes gle
aming dangerously in the night as it stops walking to stare at me.

  It screams, and as if it is the conductor, the rest of the orchestra soon join, and the entire horde is singing into the void of night.

  I turn and run, my bag bouncing precariously on my back. The screams grow in volume as they belt out their song, a requiem of rapid footsteps following.

  My feet slap hard against the ground with every step as I sprint down the street, turning left where the yellow jeep drove off. I throw a quick look in their direction, only to receive another pump of adrenalin. Majority of the infected are shambling slowly, but the newer ones are running, sprinting towards me.

  My lungs burn with every shallow breath I take, my legs already aching for a rest. I'm not even half-way down the street before I'm drenched with sweat. I throw another look over my shoulder, a glance that lasts no longer than a second but is more than enough time for me to see them, a few hundred feet away, just rounding the corner now.

  Every muscle in my body strains as I force myself to keep going. And then I realize, this could be it. This could be how I die. I didn't think this in the gas station because I knew those two hillbillies were nothing to worry about. But I've never faced a horde before, and I've only ever outrun four fresh infected at one time, not twenty. And I got lucky that time.

  Luck seems to have abandoned me tonight.

  Every house and store I pass have closed doors. It's too much of a risk to try and open one, if it's locked I might not have time to try and break it open.

  Fatigue begins to settle on me, embracing the muscles in my legs and slowing them down. I push them harder, willing them not to give up, not yet. I don't worry about making noise anymore. Screw staying silent. If anymore infected join them now it will make no difference. I grunt and cry as I run, looking up and down the street for anything that could work to my advantage.

  And that's when I see it. A bright yellow dot, just like the sun, sitting outside of a building a few hundred meters away.

  I huff out a sound that might have been a laugh as I push myself harder. Gritting my teeth, I sprint the distance remaining and slam myself against the side of the jeep, parked outside of a bar. Why would he need to go into a bar? The thought leaves me at the scream of an infected. Clutching at the handle of the car door, I get a grip and tug harshly, frowning as it remains shut.

  The goddamn asshole locked it.

  I step back from the jeep, my hands trembling at my sides as I look down the road at the infected still running towards me. I turn towards the bar and run inside, slamming the door shut behind me. My head snaps around the dark interior as my wide eyes search. They settle on a figure hunched over the counter, gently swaying on a stool, broken bottles littering the ground around him. Their shards blinking like crystals in the moonlight.

  "You have got to be kidding me," I huff as I run towards him, crunching on shards of glass as I reach the wooden bar. I grab onto his arm and shake him hard. His head lifts up, the stench of alcohol filtering his breath.

  "We have to go, now," I command, trying to pull him off the stool while keeping him upright.

  His eyes lock with mine, hazy in reflection as he reaches a hand out to caress my cheek.

  "Princess?" he mutters, his eyes brimming with the crystal shine of tears. I lift his heavy arm up and loop it over my shoulders, seriously deliberating whether I should just take the keys from him and leave.

  "Whatever floats your boat, buddy," I strain as he stumbles and pushes majority of his weight onto me. He begins mumbling strings of words that are so knotted together they don't make sense. Looking around the small bar, shadows begin to throw themselves against the colored windows as the infected draw near. Their wails audible even from inside.

  It's too late to run.

  I look around again, for any place to hide. Under a table? In the bathroom? My gaze settles on the bar in front of us. Wasting no more time I carry the both of us around the counter, dropping us on the floor as the door of the bar is thrown open. My nails dig into the carpet of a small mat I have landed on as the sounds of several infected fill the bar. Beads of sweat drip from my nose as my trembling hands lift the carpet and slide it to the side. A small handle, embedded into the wood glints up at me as a crash sounds nearby.

  Pushing myself up I dig my fingers into the latch and wrench it open. It creaks loudly, a noise that silences all others in the bar. I freeze, staring down into the dark cellar. An infected screams, the sound of footsteps running towards us accompanying it. I lift the hatch open higher and shove the drunk down into the darkness before I dive in myself. The body of an infected crashes over the bar just as I slam the small door shut behind me.

  I pause in the darkness, listening to the clash and screams of the infected just above. Dust falls through the creaking floorboards as their feet frantically stomp the area, their blood lust unsatiated.

  With shaking legs, I struggle to find the small steps in the dark. But I manage, and I submerge myself into the unknown abyss.

  "You look like her," he groans somewhere in the cellar, a soft noise, lilted with sorrow. "What she would have looked like."

  I step down onto solid ground and find him sitting against a wall, not far from the stairs.

  "I . . . I didn't save her," he mumbles. Even in the dark I can see the tears staining his cheeks as he buries his head in his hands.

  "You need to be quiet," I tell him, glancing up as several bottles smash overhead.

  "I didn't save her," he repeats, "I didn't save her. . .'"

  "Seriously, shut up," I whisper as a growl resounds directly above us. The noise filters off into a long held croak, and I can imagine the infected pressing its face against the floorboards. I hold my breath, listening as the sound dies away and footsteps wander off to another place in the bar.

  "I let her die."

  Another minute passes and I allow myself a breath of relief, only to now notice how stuffy the air in the cellar is. It's warm and reeking with his alcohol riddled breath. My nose wrinkles at the smell. It reminds me of my father and the nights I spent taking care of him after my mother left. In the darkness of the cellar, with nothing but that smell, it’s just like I’m back there, taking care of him.

  "Dad?" I whispered, stopping just outside his door. I listened to the soft breathing emanating from the dark. "Daddy?" I muttered again, reaching out and feeling the wall for the light switch.

  I found the small button and flicked it on. Artificial light splayed itself across the room, exposing the ugly mess of my father spread out on his desk. I pushed the door open a little more and took a step inside. My nose crinkled as the smell of vomit fused with alcohol impacted my senses.

  A snore ripped through the silence of his study, causing me to jump at the sound. I huffed a sigh as his arm moved, nearly knocking over the drink clasped in his hand. Walking over to his desk, the stink only growing stronger, I plucked the bottle from him and stared down at his sleeping figure.

  A sound at the door caught my attention and I looked up to find my brother watching me, a bag slung over his shoulder.

  "Nathan?"

  He shook his head and turned away.

  "Nathan?" I called again. His heavy footsteps faltered on the stairs, but he didn't stop. I dropped the bottle on the ground, not caring as its liquid sloshed out and stained the carpets.

  I took off at a run, skipping down the stairs two steps at a time. My lungs blazed in my chest as I struggled to take in air, my heart beating furiously in fear of what I thought was happening.

  "Nathan!" I shouted this time, my voice quivering as I reached the front door. I wrenched it open and stumbled outside in time to find him opening the door of his car.

  He paused, but didn't look at me. A stretch of silence separated us, broken only by my panting as I stood on the porch. His hand firmly gripped the hood of his car as he waited, his knuckles turning white from the exertion.

  "Please don't do this," I breathed.

  He shook his h
ead, the white of his teeth showing as he bit his bottom lip. "I'm not just gonna wait around for him to die, Stella."

  My stomach seemed to clench as the familiar prick of tears stung my eyes. "Don't leave," I mumbled, "please don't leave."

  His eyes softened and his shoulders began to sag. "Stella, if you're as smart as I know you are, you'll do the same."

  "No," I spat, as if the word would change anything. As if it would stop him from leaving. He shook his head again, his eyes turning back to the soil at his feet.

  "Jesus, Sis, at least don't let him stop you from living your life," he said, looking back up at me, "go to that party you were invited to and forget about taking care of him for one night."

  "No." Tears fell as I clenched my fists at my sides, refusing to believe what was happening. He breathed out a sigh, shaking his head one last time.

  "I'm sorry, Stella," he whispered, just loud enough for me to hear before the wind whisked his voice away.

  "No!" I cried as he got into his car and shut his door, "please!"

  More tears fell as he reversed out of our driveway and drove off down the road. I stood rigid, watching his tail lights slowly dim in the night, until they disappeared entirely.

  I sat out on the porch for an hour after he had gone, breathing in the crisp night air, calming myself down. I didn't blame him for having the courage that I didn't. I didn't blame him at all. He was right, I should have run away. There was no point in me staying.

  I wonder where Nathan is now, and if things might have turned out differently if he stayed. Maybe I wouldn't be stuck in a cellar with some drunk.

  He groans again in the dark, "I didn't save her."

  I exhale a breath and look down at his crumpled outline on the floor, his shoulders shaking with silent sobs. My brow furrows a little as I watch him, and I find my scowl softening. I was planning to hit him over the head for all the trouble he's caused me. But I can’t see that happening now that I realize how broken he is. How defeated. Kneeling down, I reach a hand out and place it on his shaking shoulder.

  "Who are you talking about?" I ask lightly, moving my hand in small, soothing circles. He lifts his head from his hands, looking at me from the corner of his eye.