A World Alone (Dead World Series Book 1)

by R. K. Weir

  From here on it'll be nothing but a spontaneous thought, straying from the rest that will make his mind up. Whether he gives up or not is entirely up to him now.

  I turn away with a grimace, tempted to clutch at my throbbing wrist. Spikes of pain stab at it, imitating the feel of the knife first slicing through the skin. It almost feels wet with blood. I attempt a scratch, running my nail along the stale wool, but instantly regret it. A new trail of pain burns along the path my finger sailed, an unmerciful armada of itchiness arriving in force with it.

  Tearing my attention away from it, I focus instead on the slowly sinking sun, counting the seconds it takes to descend. I reach the high hundreds when it finally hits ground, sinking behind the hills.

  The quiet returns, and brings with it the slowly growing dark of night.

  Then a strange whir bites out, followed by a clanking hiss. Rocket makes a noise in the back of her throat before a blunt sputter coughs loudly from the engine. Aaron and I exchange a look as the bus slows down, creeping up the road for several more seconds before coming to a complete stop. No one speaks as the engine splutters out a final chuckle, before falling silent.

  My muscles tense in welcome, not bothering to grieve the death of noise.

  Rocket turns the keys in the ignition, but gives up quickly, slumping back in her seat. "Well shit," she mutters under her breath.

  The bus begins to submerge itself into a pocket of silence, when the scream of an infected pulls it back out.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

  Logan

  Nobody moves.

  A stillness falls over everyone on the bus as we listen to the silence that follows. It looms over us like a cloud as we stare down the road, struggling to place the source of noise. After a minute, Aaron begins to stand, rising from his seat with a slow precision so as to make as little noise as possible. He turns to look down the length of the bus, twisting his torso so that he can address everyone.

  "Get low, and be quiet," he whispers, his words so hushed that I wonder if Stella and Joey can hear him from the back. Shuffling sounds of movement implode within the confines of the bus, deafening amidst the silence.

  Aaron waits until the commotion has dissipated before turning to Rocket, reaching an open hand out towards her. "Weapon," he nods.

  Without a word or gesture, she reaches down the side of her seat and pulls out a golf club. It clatters against the side of the bus as she pulls it up, the sound forcing her to still a second, before finally handing it to him. He takes it from her, his fingers wrapping around the grip, his knuckles already turning white. I glance at his face and notice that his eyes have hardened to their usual stony regard. The lines of his face have even smoothened out and his lips have pressed themselves into a thin, concentrated line.

  He must have made up his mind.

  He must have chosen to keep going. Any evidence of the weak and hopeless man that had been sulking on that seat no more than a minute ago has entirely vanished. He stands straight, his other hand coming round to grip the golf club as all his muscles tense tightly beneath his shirt, stretching the material.

  The bus groans as Rocket opens its door, squealing lightly before fading off. Glancing out the window a final time, he steps down, dropping silently onto the road. He crouches down by the side of the bus, and begins inching forward. Disappearing momentarily from my view, I wonder if someone should have gone with him.

  I throw a glance around the bus, noticing everyone ducked down behind their seats. It doesn't look like anyone's going to help him. I look to Rocket and consider asking her to go after him, but quickly think better. If things go wrong, she needs to stay and try and start the bus up. A small sigh flees with a heave of my chest as I stand up from my seat and limp towards the door of the bus. I look down the side of the driver's seat and notice that there are no more weapons. I won't bother asking anyone, I know that they'll refuse. Fear making them selfish. Rocket gives me a look as I step past her, her brows shooting together, but she doesn't say anything.

  The pain in my leg has numbed itself with pins and needles, making it easier for me to jump down the steps without making too much noise. Aaron jumps at the sound anyway, his shoes scraping against the gravel as he spins around, holding the golf club up.

  His expression settles when he sees it's just me. He begins to lower the club when his eyes widen again.

  "Duck!" he yells, heaving the golf club back into the air. I drop to the ground as he swings it down. A blunt crunch fills the air and is quickly followed by a warm mist settling on the back of my neck. Another crunch as he pulls the club free and a heavy thud as the body slumps to the ground behind me.

  Pushing myself off the ground, I turn to look at the infected man, blood already pooling from the hole in its head. How was he so quiet? He hadn't made a sound, not even a snarl.

  "You alright?" Aaron asks, his voice still a whisper. I turn to him with a nod, reaching up and running a hand along the back of my neck. I pull it back to find a dark streak of blood smeared across my palm. Grimacing at the sight, I wipe it off on my pants. He nods back and moves to the front of the bus. I follow after him.

  The bright headlights throw out two, thick streams of light. Illuminating the road with a steady yellow glow as the sunlight diminishes into night. The headlights are comforting, but I only dare to think of the things they may be attracting towards us.

  Handing me the golf club he digs his fingers under the latch and pops the hood open. Propping it up, he leans forward and peers down into the dark depths of its mechanical heart, his hands gripping at the sides. I glance around, making sure there's no movement nearby.

  "You know how to fix it?" I ask. He remains still, analyzing for another moment before shaking his head and pushing away. He pulls the hood down enough so that Rocket can see him, and gestures for her to come out and help.

  I take a step away, making room for her as she steps down and moves to inspect the problem. She wastes no time and ducks her head in, both her hands covered in grease before I even blink. While she does this, I glance down the side of the bus and stare down the long stretch of road we've come from.

  Even in the dying light of the setting sun, the black smoke is still visible. Like an outstretched arm sticking out from the earth, waving all infected towards it. It isn't safe to be out in the open. And it won't be until the smoke is gone, or all the infected that can see it have reached the school. I can only imagine the size of the horde that has probably already congregated there.

  The stuff of nightmares.

  I shake the thought away and focus on the task at hand. Throwing another glance around the street, my stare lingers on the small one-story house we've broken down outside of. A shadow passes by the window, but I ignore it, as long as the front door is shut.

  "Can you fix it?" Aaron asks, he too looking around the street. Rocket pulls her hands out with a sigh, her fingers slick with the black shine of grease.

  "I told you the engine was dodgy," she says, almost defensively, as if it's her fault we’ve broken down.

  "Can you fix it?" Aaron asks again, speaking with a harsh bite as the tensity of the situation works its way into his voice. I don't have to see her face to know that she is glaring. She looks back down at the engine before throwing her hands in the air.

  "Maybe," she says, reaching down and fiddling with a different part. "But it'll take time."

  Aaron nods as he takes a step back from the bus, his gaze flickering to the pillar of smoke towering in the distance. "It's not safe yet," he concludes, stepping towards me and reaching out for the golf club. I hand it to him. "We'll stay in that house for tonight, and in the morning we'll try and get things working again." He points towards the small home behind me, the one I saw a shadow in.

  "We'll have to clear it out first," I say, and he nods, walking towards it with the golf club raised. Rocket and I begin to follow him when he turns to look at us.

  "One of you stay with the bus, tell the others to pack up
their things," he says, glancing between the two of us. Rocket turns to me.

  "Your leg—"

  "Is fine," I finish for her. I'll be damned if I have to spend another minute being useless because of my leg. It's practically already healed, save a light throb that accompanies every step. She gives me a look. "I'll go with Aaron," I tell her, "you go and get everyone else ready."

  She pauses a few seconds longer, as if expecting me to change my mind. When I don't, she turns away with a sigh and makes her way back to the bus.

  "And, Rocket!" Aaron calls out quietly. She stops to look back at him. "Turn the headlights off, would you?"

  I turn back to Aaron, offering him a curt nod as Rocket walks back to the bus. He adjusts his grip on the golf club before turning back towards the house. I throw another glance up and down the street as we approach the front door. Small dots in the distance move slightly, but fade with the quickly draping curtain of night. They vanish entirely when the headlights flick out. As Aaron reaches for the door handle, I wonder how much time we have before we're in trouble.

  Giving it a light shake, it refuses to turn all the way. He pulls back, his grip on the golf club visibly tightening as a low gargle purrs on the other side of the door. We both stiffen, afraid to attract its attention in case it throws itself against the wood, making enough noise to attract any strays in the area. The sound is deep and guttural, like the snarl of a dog without the bark. The hairs on my arm stand on end as we listen to the noise die off with a final, small croak. We wait another minute, only breathing once we hear the soft drag of footsteps moving away.

  "Back-door," I mutter, conscious to keep my voice low. With a nod, Aaron turns and begins walking across the front lawn and around the side of the house. I pause at the window, peering through the flimsy curtain inside at the silhouette moving sluggishly. It looks like only one, but there could be more.

  I walk down the side of the house, feeling confined between the brick wall and the wooden fence. It leads out into a sizable backyard, a large tree standing proudly in the middle. I'm about to inspect more when Aaron slides the glass door open, a curtain billowing out at him with the wind. He turns his head to the side as a heavy stench comes with it. I move towards him and grab at the curtain, struggling to get a grasp as it weaves around wildly.

  Eventually, my fingers manage to claw out a tuft. I wrench it away, an infected woman appearing on the other side. It lunges with a shriek, its attention torn between the two of us. Aaron swings the club at it, knocking its jaw out of place with a crack. It stumbles back at the impact, but manages to wrap a hand around the stem of the club. Aaron pulls the club towards him in an effort to shake the infected off, but he only pulls its body closer.

  Like a crow jumping from a tree the infected swoops at him, its body colliding with his and knocking them both to the ground. It screams, spittle of saliva flying from its open mouth. Stepping forward I kick it in the ribs, knocking it off of him. Discarding the club Aaron straddles and holds it down by the neck.

  "Use the club!" he shouts, struggling to keep its writhing body in place. Its arms flail wildly whilst its neck snaps out at his, like a turtle from a shell it extends further than it should. It isn't until I'm reaching for the golf club that I notice the skin on the back of its neck beginning to split. Another violent lunge and the gash spreads across its neck, almost decapitating its head completely. It continues to snap out at him regardless, but its head lolls around more uselessly now, like a rag doll. I don't bother watching anymore.

  Swinging the club down, the head of it impales its forehead. Its arms go limp, falling to the wooden veranda with heavy thuds. Aaron holds its body down for a moment longer, only moving off once a dark pool of blood begins to spread out. Panting heavily, he stands catching his breath. After a minute he tosses his head towards the body.

  "Well she was a bitch," he smiles, reaching out for the golf club. I offer him a smile back but little else, failing to find the humor in the situation. Taking the golf club, he steps into the living room. I follow closely after, my eyes squinting into the darkness, struggling to comprehend the dark silhouettes. The interior is pitch black, no light spreading from the gentle stream of moonlight filtering in through the open door. We pause for a moment in the stream of silver light, allowing our eyesight to adjust.

  "You check out the kitchen, I'll go look in the bedrooms," Aaron states, already walking off. I look around the dark living room, wondering how the hell I'm supposed to find the kitchen. With my arms extended out in front of me, I take tentative steps around the room, my shoe eventually moving from the gentle spread of carpet to the hard welcome of linoleum.

  I reach out to the nearest wall, finding the handles of cabinets. Assuming this is the kitchen, I glance around the small space, satisfied when I don't see anything moving. My stomach, sensing that it's in a place of food, rumbles. I clutch at it, surprised at how hungry I am. I consider looking through the cabinets for food, but think against it. What's the point if I can't see anything? My stomach groans in protest, but I ignore it, moving out of the kitchen to go and look for Aaron.

  "Aaron?" I hiss, my voice feeling lost in the dark. After a moment I assume the silence has taken it when a shape moves towards me.

  "Looks like it's all clear," he says. "Let's get everyone inside." We both move at the same time and end up crashing into each other. Apologizing, we step back.

  "Where was the front door?" I ask, my arms held out against a wall. I hear a shuffle of movement beside me and snap towards the sound.

  "Easy! Easy! It's just me," Aaron says, moving out of my way. "I think it's over here." The creaking sound of a door being pulled open fills the space, but no moonlight filters in. "Guess not," he mutters, shutting the door with a quiet click.

  It takes several moments before we find ourselves back in the living room. An embarrassing length of time considering the size of the home. Together we move towards the front of the house, throwing open the curtains to allow a semblance of light to seep in. The moonlight makes little difference, but enough that we can now find the front door. We open it in time to see Rocket waving everyone off the bus.

  I hop out onto the front lawn, eager to escape the dark confines of the house. Judging by Aaron's quick pace, I assume he feels the same.

  "It's all clear," he states, waving the small group of people inside. Reaching the front door, they're hesitant to walk inside, but a trusting nod from Aaron is all it takes to nudge them in.

  Stella and Joey are the last to get off the bus. They begin making their way towards the house when Rocket grabs Joey's shoulder and pulls him back.

  "Uh uh," she says with a shake of her head, "not you." Joey looks at her. Even in the dark I can see the pain in his expression. Stella shifts her way between them, knocking Rocket's hand loose.

  "Just leave it, Rocket," she says, her words monotonous as she moves to try and steer Joey away.

  "Just leave it?" Rocket spits, pouncing in front of them. "People are dead! And I'm supposed to just leave it!"

  My brows furrow. Why is Stella sticking up for him? I told her what happened. She knows that it's all his fault. So why the hell would she defend him? I'm about to speak up when Aaron jumps in.

  "Look, Rocket, now isn't the time for this," he says, cautioning her with his eyes.

  "Now is the perfect time! I ain't keeping him around any longer just so he can get more people killed!" Her words are spoken quietly, but the emotion carrying them is loud. I'm surprised she has the self-restraint to keep her voice down.

  "Rocket we'll discuss this later," Aaron states, trying to stare her down. She holds his glare as I move to stand beside her.

  "Rocket's right," I say. "Joey has no right to stay." A flicker of emotion crosses Stella's face, but it's gone before I have the chance to catch it. "Do you even know what he did, Aaron? He blew up the bus! It's his fault everything you worked so hard for is gone!"

  "He didn't mean for anyone to get hurt," Stella offers, her wo
rds calm as her eyes bounce between Rocket and I. Rocket shakes her head.

  "Girl when we first met I thought you were smart, but you acting dumb as hell now!" Rocket sneers. Stella glares back at her, taking a threatening step forward. Aaron throws out a hand, holding her back.

  "Alright let's just all calm down!" he shouts, his words louder than intended. He casts a nervous glance around the street while the two women scowl at each other heatedly. "Look, we need to stick together, okay?"

  "Bullshit!" Rocket snaps, Aaron becoming her prey once again. "What the hell is this Aaron! What's the real reason you're sticking up for him?"

  The question surprises me, one I haven't considered before. I've been wondering why Stella is sticking up for him, I completely forgot about Aaron. A tense moment of silence stretches out between us as his jaw clenches. As another moment stretches and the silence grows thicker, Rocket asks again.

  "Well?"

  All eyes have centered on Aaron. Even in the dark I notice his muscles tense, his hands curling into fists. It's only when a gentle breeze brushes past that he relaxes, his shoulders sagging slightly. His eyes traverse to Joey's. As they share a silent conversation, he sighs, a long and heavy sound.

  "Joey is my brother."

  Silence. Three pairs of eyes widen at the revelation and bounce between the two men, analyzing every feature and trying to see the similarities, the family connection. It takes me awhile, but eventually I notice it in their eyes. Even though Joey's are blue and have aged worse, while Aaron’s are brown, they share a familial resemblance. The connection is feeble, like a thin band tying them together. I'm not surprised I never noticed before, it's the only similarity they share.

  The silence stretches itself out, becoming unbearable when Rocket scoffs.

  "You've gotta be kidding me." She hits them each with a venomous glare, watching them for another moment. Expelling a breath, she turns away, shaking her head and muttering as she goes.