A World Alone (Dead World Series Book 1)

by R. K. Weir

  I shut the cabinet doors, a little forcefully, before turning to him to answer. "Las Vegas."

  He nods. "Our base is located in Barstow, it's on the way to Las Vegas, you should come with us!"

  I throw a look in Logan's direction to see how he feels about it. As usual he just looks impatient and irritated, so I look back to Joey.

  "Do you have a car?" I ask, a plan already forming in my mind.

  "Better," he grins. "We have a bus."

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  Stella

  I hold the red backpack up in front of me. Its color isn't as nice as my old one, not as dark. But it's better than the garbage bag I've been lugging around. Pouring my belongings out onto the floor, I quickly transfer everything into my new bag.

  Click.

  I glance up from my crouch. Peering around the small room, I wait a moment before zipping the bag shut. My knees begin to ache so I stand up from the floor, my eyes continuing to dart between every corner of the small living room. I'm sure I heard something. Frowning, I strain to listen.

  Thud.

  Irritation creases my brow as I look up at the ceiling above me. It was probably Logan or Joey, rummaging around upstairs. It annoys me that they aren't quieter, if I can hear them from downstairs, who knows what else can hear them?

  Slinging the bag strap over my shoulder I move to leave the room, but stop. An infected man walks into the garden outside, slowly shuffling past the window. I stand still, watching it through the glass, hoping it doesn't look my way. Any movement now will surely catch its attention. It pauses and its bald head, covered in bloody scratches looks up towards the sky.

  It sniffs the air for a moment before walking again, its steps restricted by the brambles and small bushes of the garden. I start to feel relieved when it moves past the window and out of sight, but my breath catches in my throat when I hear a snap, followed by the indistinguishable creak of an opening door. My stomach drops as a single thought swims to the forefront of my mind.

  Is the front door locked?

  Logan was the last one to enter, so he should have locked the door behind him. With clenched fists I dash towards the open archway of the living room, only to stop myself when I see the front door slowly but surely opening, the infected already half-way inside. I can slam the door shut on it, but that will only bring its attention towards me. I curse under my breath. It's too late now anyway.

  Crouching down beside the wall, I poke my head around the side in time to see its dirty boot stepping over the threshold.

  Thump.

  I glance up at the noise.

  The infected makes a small cry at the back of its throat, as if acknowledging the sound. With an arm stretched out towards the banister, it begins to trudge towards the stairs.

  That's not good, I think, distress tensing my muscles. I throw myself away from the wall and quietly run towards the back door of the small house. I don't bother looking for a weapon. There’s no time, and confined in a small space like this, I'd rather take my chances running. I knew we shouldn't have stopped. We should have just kept walking to the stadium.

  I hurriedly throw the door open, its blinds rattling against the glass as I run out into the backyard. Turning back towards the house, I look up at the second floor windows. They're all empty, neither Logan nor Joey are near a window. Damn!

  Jumping in the air I begin to wave my arms above my head, hoping that they'll catch sight of me. But they don't. I glance around the garden, looking for anything heavy enough that I can throw. A stone maybe, or a stick. But there's nothing.

  Cursing under my breath I run towards the gutter pipe that stretches up the wall of the building. I drop my bag on the ground and hesitate, wondering for a moment if there's anything inside I can use to catch their attention. I decide against it, not wanting to waste any more time looking. With a firm grip around the pipe, I give it a harsh shake, testing its dependability. It shudders violently but doesn't tear away from the concrete.

  "I can't believe I'm doing this," I mutter, grabbing the pipe and pulling myself up the wall. I bite my tongue as I hold myself in position, struggling to find a foothold, the pipe slick under my grasp from the sweat of my palms.

  I lift my foot and place it flat against the wall before kicking myself up. The pipe shudders forcibly, threatening to break away from the wall, its hot metal already scraping away chunks of cement.

  Awkwardly, I manage to shimmy up the pipe, my breathing harsh in my chest. With perspiration running down my temple, I throw out my hand and bang it against the nearest window before clamping it back down on the pipe for support. If they didn't hear that, I'm leaving them to deal with the problem.

  Luckily for them, the window slides open and Joey sticks his head out. Curiosity overrides shock on his face, and he actually starts smiling.

  "What the hell are you doing?" he asks, all of his features scrunched as he stares at me.

  "There's an infected coming up the stairs" —I pause, struggling to maintain my grip on the pipe— "you have to get out of the house!"

  He drops the smile, panic replacing the curiosity. With wide eyes, he nods and ducks back inside. I loosen my grip on the pipe enough to let me slide down. My feet hit the ground hard as I stagger back, my palms bright red from clasping the hot metal. I stare at them for a moment before picking my bag up and stepping a distance back from the window.

  Glancing around the small backyard, I’m grateful to find that there aren't any others nearby.

  Joey reappears at the window and throws down a bag that I fail to catch before he begins to carefully climb out. He reaches towards the pipe I used, his foot slipping on the window sill. He scrabbles to hold onto the pipe, his abrupt leap from the window ripping it away from the wall. Small chunks of cement and brick rain down onto the garden as the pipe snaps and Joey falls.

  The infected screams somewhere in the house.

  I rush towards Joey and drop down on one knee beside his crumpled form. The pipe had managed to lower him somewhat close to the ground before snapping, he shouldn't be too injured.

  "I'm okay, I'm okay," he says through gritted teeth, picking himself up. I help him to stand before looking back up to find Logan, standing on the edge of the window sill.

  "What the hell are you doing?" I yell, shocked at the sight of him. Joey looks up beside me, his mouth agape, eyes wide. "He's gonna break a leg if he jumps!" I say.

  "What other choice does he have?" Joey mumbles.

  The infected screams again. Logan throws a glance back into the room before launching himself from the ledge. The infected replaces him at the aperture, its arm reaching out and trying to grab him. My features pinch together as he hits the ground with bent knees and a loud thud. The infected thrusts itself forward with a scream, its entire torso sticking out of the window. For a moment I think it might fall out, but it pulls itself back with a growl.

  Logan cradles his leg as Joey and I kneel beside him, looking him over for any protruding bones. I didn't hear any snaps, I think, assuring myself that that's a good sign. He curses softly with a red face as we help to pull him up.

  I look up at the window. The infected stands watching the three of us, its lips, encrusted with dried blood are pulled back to reveal rows of blunt teeth, painted shades darker than they should be. I pull Logan's arm over my shoulder as Joey does the same. We stand still for a minute, balancing him as he shifts his weight cautiously from one foot to another, deciding which is the most injured.

  A snarl rips through the infected man's throat as it begins to lean out the window again, like a bird on a branch, readying itself to take flight. Its lifeless eyes, reflective and glossy in the sunlight remain focused intently on the three of us.

  "Come on, let's go," Joey says, beginning to steer us away from the house as he scoops his bag up from the ground.

  As if the small movement triggered it, the infected snaps back into the room and hurls itself away from the window with a violent throw, disappearing inside. I
ts snarl rippling through the house as it maneuvers towards the stairs.

  "Let's go now!" Joey shouts louder this time, pulling Logan and I towards the open gate at the back of the garden. I look away from the house and do as he says, the three of us struggling in a quick hobble. I glance back as I hear the back-door being thrown open and slamming against the wall. The infected sprints out into the garden, its arms twitching violently at its sides.

  I try to quicken my pace, finding it difficult under the weight of Logan. The infected screams again as it draws near, its footsteps easily audible behind us now.

  We reach the open gate. Joey drops Logan's arm and spins to slam it shut, but the infected crashes against it just before he can. I drop Logan's arm and throw myself against the gate, the impact forcing the infected back enough for Joey to reach over and shut the metal latch. He snatches his hand back as we both push ourselves away, the infected scratching and punching at the hard wood. I rub my shoulder, surprised at how thick and sturdy the wood is.

  Joey and I share a glance. He puffs his cheeks out with a sigh, his face red and splotchy with sweat. I give myself a moment to breathe, wiping the perspiration from my forehead with the back of my hand.

  "I told you we shouldn't stop to scavenge," I huff, too tired to glare at either of them. Joey rolls his eyes and Logan limps to the fence across from us so that he can lean his weight against it. I glance up and down the small alley we are in, wedged between rows of houses. All their back fences lead here. Some open. "Let's get moving," I say, not feeling entirely safe as I try to ignore the commotion on the other side of the fence.

  "Here," Joey says, shrugging his bag off and handing it towards me. "You carry the bags and I'll help him," he juts his chin towards Logan. I reach out to take the bag, but hesitate, imagining which of the two would be easier to drop if we had to run again. I nod and take the bag from him, slinging it over my other shoulder. Logan could grab me and pull me back, no risk of that with a bag.

  Joey moves towards Logan and reaches out towards his hand, only to have Logan push him back.

  "I'm fine," he hisses, his face pinched in pain. "I can walk on my own."

  Joey looks back at me, unsure.

  "Don't be a baby, Logan, you can barely stand!" I gesture at him, struggling to hold himself upright against the fence. He takes a step down the alley, his eyes squeezed in concentration, his nose scrunched and lips pursed.

  "Just give me a minute," he says through gritted teeth, using the fence as support.

  "We don't have a minute!" I say, more than a little annoyed now. I throw a hand towards the gate behind us, rattling on its hinges. It looks pretty sturdy, but I don't want to take any chances.

  He opens his eyes, but only to glare at me.

  "Fine," he spits, "come on then." He reaches an arm out and slings it over Joey's shoulder as he pushes himself away from the fence. Together they stagger up the alley and out onto the street. A quick survey of the area proves that the coast is clear, at least for now. The sound of the infected is still loud behind us, and I’m sure that it will attract others.

  I walk slightly ahead of them as we trudge down the streets, Joey asking every ten minutes if Logan needs a break. I scoff every time I hear him ask. Logan's ego is far too big to allow him a break. Although I suspect that Joey is only asking because he wants one.

  As we round the corner of a street, I come to a stop, observing the large amphitheater at the end of the road. Logan and Joey stop beside me.

  "There it is," Joey points.

  I follow his finger to see a bright yellow school bus, parked just beside the entrance.

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  Stella

  Joey grins broadly, as if he didn’t expect to actually find them. I squint at the bus, barely distinguishing the outlines of people moving around inside. Or what I hope are people.

  "Come on," he beams, his entire character seemingly rejuvenated. "Let's go!"

  Joey pulls Logan forward, emitting a string of curses from his tightly pinched lips as he struggles to keep in step with the eager strides Joey insists upon. "Don't worry, you can sit on the bus," Joey tells him, ignoring the sideways glare Logan shoots him with.

  Joey and Logan walk past me as I stand and watch, peering at the small movements within. Although not tinted, the windows are dark, making it difficult to see inside. I stand still, watching for another minute. The movements within seem too smooth and fluid to be that of the infected. This calms me some. Walking forwards, I make sure to remain behind Joey, just in case they aren't friendly to strangers.

  As we approach, one of the figures within the bus stops what they are doing to look at us, their body moving closer towards the window before lurching back in a sudden, swift move. My steps falter, unsure of what could have caused such a reaction. Maybe Joey really was locked in that bathroom for a reason, and they were hoping never to see him again. . .

  If that's the case, it's strange that Joey appears so enthusiastic to reunite with them.

  The door of the bus slides open with a creak. I stumble to a halt as I wait for someone to appear. Joey pulls Logan a few steps closer before coming to a stop, his focus centered on the open door of the bus. It isn't long before a woman appears, her long, orange hair, pulled into a retro style is like streams of lava, clashing against the chestnut color of her skin. Her eyes land and linger on Joey before glancing at Logan and I.

  "Rocket!" Joey exclaims, bringing the woman's attention back to him. Her expression remains blank as she stares at him from the door of the bus. Throwing her foot out, she steps down, her boot crunching on the gravel of the pavement. The corner of her mouth pulls slightly into what could pass as a smile.

  "Joey," she says lightly, her eyes trained on his. "I thought we'd lost you."

  "Oh, you should know you can't get rid of me that easily!"

  She stares at him with a blank, unreadable expression. Her shoulders are strained back in a rigid posture and her hands hang furled at her sides. My eyes dart between the two of them, the air thickening with the tension around them. She attempts another smile as she looks Logan over, her eyes analyzing the situation.

  "I see you brought new friends," she glances at me, her honey colored eyes seemingly dark in thought. Remembering the importance of first impressions, I step forward and hold my hand out for her to shake.

  "I'm Ste—"

  "She's my girlfriend," Joey interrupts with a smirk, drawing both our attentions back to him. "And this is my grandpa," he gives Logan a light shake. I cross my arms as Logan growls under his breath, the three of us appraising Joey with irritated looks.

  "Why don't you help him on the bus?" She steps aside and gestures with a sweep of her hand for them to board, before turning uncertain and looking at Logan and I for confirmation. "If you're coming with us?"

  "If that would be alright?" I say, glancing at Logan for any sign that his opinion has changed.

  "Of course," she smiles, this time authentically as she tips her head forward with a small nod. "But if you try anything," she continues, "either of you." She splits her cautionary glare to Logan. "I ain't gonna say how easy it would be for me to put you both down."

  Joey flashes a toothy grin in her direction before pulling Logan onto the bus. I linger outside, appraising the woman once more. She looks at me expectantly, waiting.

  "Sorry," I say with a shake of my head, realizing that I’ve been staring. "I'm Stella."

  Her lips pull into another smile. "Rocket."

  "That's an interesting name," I note.

  "Oh thanks," she says, her tone genuinely flattered. "It was my nickname back when I was a NASCAR driver, I like it better than my real name so I figured, what better time to change than during the apocalypse?" She smiles with a small shrug of her shoulders.

  I begin to reply but stop when Joey pulls down one of the windows at the back of the bus. He sticks his head out and looks down at the two of us.

  "Do you two ladies wanna get a move on?" he as
ks with the same grin he always seems to carry. He ducks his head back inside and rolls the window up as we both glare at him. I look back at Rocket, ironing my features out into a softer expression.

  "I hope he wasn't a bad surprise," I nod towards where Joey sits on the bus. She appraises me with a look before glancing over her shoulder at Joey's outline in the window. She stares at him for a moment, her lips slowly pulling into a firm line as the air begins to tense once again with the weight of unspoken issues.

  "Me too," she says absently. Turning back to me, she forces another smile and gestures for me to board the bus. I manage a smile back and reach out for the railing, pulling myself up. I pause on the first step as I catch sight of a tall, slender man. His dark eyes widen behind thick glasses as he meets my gaze. He drops his eyes quickly, running a pale hand through his dark, gelled hair.

  "That's Gale," Rocket says, coming up behind me. "He's clever, but he don't talk much."

  He forces a tight-lipped smile that is short lived, keeping his eyes on the floor of the bus. Logan and Joey sit together near the back, although Logan doesn't look too happy with his company, he seems content staring out the window as Joey talks in his ear. He spares me a look before returning his attention to the window.

  "Why don't you sit up here with me?" Rocket suggests, gesturing to the bench behind the driver's seat. "It's a long trip and I could use the company," she smiles with a shrug. I return her smile with a nod and sit down on the cushioned seat, shrugging both bags off my shoulders and throwing them onto the bench opposite me.

  "I'd say buckle up," she slides into the driver's seat and starts the ignition before hanging her wrist over the wheel and looking back at us. "But we don't have any seat belts."

  She stomps her boot down on the accelerator and the bus jolts forward as she pulls it off the sidewalk and out onto the road. I lean back in my seat for a moment, grateful for the opportunity of rest, no matter how short it lasts.