by Maira Dawn
Clothes torn, the small woman had also lost one of her tennis shoes, her bare foot peeking out from beneath a thigh as she sat on it. Deep, red scratches covered her exposed skin. Her dark blue hands rested in her lap as if she were seated at a religious meeting listening to a sermon. Her head seemed bowed in prayer.
"Oh, no," Skye whispered, "What is she doing out here?"
"I reckon she's gone," Dylan said in a resigned tone.
Tears came to her eyes. “Gone? You think she's dead? That's terrible!” Skye whispered, her voice breaking on the words. “How terrible.”
“I’m gonna make sure.” Dylan opened his door.
"What? No!" Skye grabbed his arm and pulled to hold him back. "That is dangerous. Isn't that dangerous?"
Dylan looked down at her hands gripping his bicep and said, "You just want to leave her here, then?"
"No, that would be... I don't know. You can't touch her, or get too close and breathe after her if she is alive. I don't know, what do we do?" she asked, confused between what was right and what was unsafe.
"I'll get out, walk a bit closer and see, that’ll tell us who to call," Dylan said pushing open his door. "You stay here. Inside the vehicle this time."
"Okay, but I can help, if you want me to...," Skye’s voice trailed off. She hoped he didn't want her aid in any way. "Please, please be careful."
“I will, Skye. I don’t plan on dying today.” Dylan’s calm voice reassured her, and after a quick look at her, he stepped out of the truck.
Dylan slammed the side of the truck bed with his hand causing a loud, metal bang. Skye jumped and eyed the woman. If she were alive, she should have stirred. The Sick didn’t like loud noises. But the woman didn’t move.
The closer Dylan got to the sick woman, the tenser Skye became. By the time Dylan made his way over to the woman, Skye was on her knees in the driver's seat. One of her hands clenched the steering wheel, and one gripped the back of the seat, to the point of numbness.
When Dylan crouched down in front of the woman, Skye sucked in a sharp breath and held it. When he leaned forward to peer into the woman’s face, Skye feared that breath would become a scream. Skye bit her lips closed.
Dylan stood and backed away. Skye blew out a long, ragged sigh.
Dylan walked back to the truck and yanked the driver's door open. He looked her up and down. "You're lookin a bit peaked."
“I was worried!” Skye’s glanced back at the woman. “Is she gone?”
"Yeah," he sighed. "Guess I'll try calling somebody. If not, me and Wade will need to do something."
“You can't! It could make you sick.” Even as Skye said it, she realized what a dilemma this was. It wasn't right to leave the dead woman here, nor was it healthy. On the other hand, it could make them sick to be near her. Her voice fluttered. “This is bad, so bad. Let's hope that someone answers.”
Dylan climbed in the truck and peered at an anxious Skye. His hands twisted on the steering wheel. “It’ll be okay. Like I said, I dealt with this before.” Skye acknowledged Dylan, and they continued on, but the discovery had marred the beautiful day for Skye. “Have you seen others when you’ve been out before?"
“Yeah. Some gone, some Sick and wandering. They can be anywhere, even walking the woods. Not much I can do but call someone. I give ‘em some food or water if they take it.”
"I haven't seen many up close. Are the Sick coherent enough to be aware they need help?"
"Some are. Some mutter about finding someone or trying to get to the doctor. Others," Dylan shook his head, "I don't think they know where they are. They just mumble around. But you got to be careful, lucid or no, some come after ya."
Skye's thoughts went to the video she had first seen on YouTube, she shivered. "Violent without provocation?"
"Ain't no provocation coming from me."
"That's frightening."
Trying to lighten the moment, Dylan said, "Me or them?"
Skye shot him a glance and giggled as she settled in for the ride to the next house.
Chapter Six
Slow and Easy
The next two houses stood empty. The first Dylan already checked for stores, so he pulled into the driveway of the second home. This one might have some food available. Dylan told Skye to "stay put" and jumped out of the truck before she was able to say anything.
Dylan approached the front door of the wooden house with slow, deliberate steps. His eyes narrowed in concentration, alert to every sound, but only birds and an occasional squirrel scampering across the front yard sounded. Dylan was careful to dodge the worst of the small twigs and leaves littering the yard. Still, from time to time he was unable to avoid one, and there would be a snap or stir on the ground below him.
Dylan threw a look back at the vehicle when it pinged. Skye sat inside, her eyes glued on him. Relieved she had listened, he moved on to make sure house was safe before he brought her in.
Dylan held his crossbow in his hands, loaded but pointed at the sky. He didn't want to shoot some innocent person, but he also wanted to be ready for anything. Dylan tightened his hand on its stock, the crossbow’s strap tapping a light rhythm on his forearm with each step he took.
Slow and easy. It's what Dad taught me, and it works every time.
Dylan reached the front door, then stopped and listened. There were no sounds coming from inside. Since the house was empty the last time he passed by, he reckoned it still would be. On top of that, he knew the woman on the side of the road was the mother of this household. Still, it paid to be careful, it was possible someone else holed up here. Dylan turned the front door’s handle and pushed it open.
A family had lived here. A husband, wife and their five very active kids. Dylan had often seen them running through the yard as he drove by. None of them were here now, dead or alive.
How long had the wife been out there before she sat down to die by that tree? Where's the rest of them?
Dylan scanned the entry from the door before stepping into the larger space without a sound, first one foot then the other. He opened and closed any doors he saw as he moved through the room.
The kitchen was in disarray. Contents from the cabinet littered the countertop, cartons and papers lay on the floor. A half-packed box sat on the counter. Someone loaded it, maybe the people that used to be here, maybe someone scavenging.
Dylan’s foot hit a fork that rested on the floor, and the metal utensil skittered away. He tensed, his teeth on edge, the scraping against light wood floor seemed loud in the quiet dwelling. He cursed his carelessness and stopped to listen. Nothing.
Still, Dylan's attention to safety required a check of all the rooms and closets. Nothin here. I hope they made their way to town even though it’s mostly a death sentence either way. If they're with the doc, they’ll get proper care, and I don't want to come across those kids roamin around somewhere.
Dylan's skin crawled as he recalled the Sick he’d seen in the past. Their limbs so stiff, they barely allowed them to walk. Mouths open, gasping for what little breath their bodies allowed them. Foam dripping from their blue lips.
Some of the Sick stretched out their arms, begging for help. Others seemed angry, aggressive even. Those that could still run often came after him.
His thoughts strayed again to the wife leaning against the tree all alone. Dylan’s heart burned with hatred against this illness. How long was she wandering, sick and scared? It shouldn't be that way. I wouldn't let it be.
Dylan turned his attention back to the supplies and finished loading the half-filled box sitting on the countertop. Dylan packed up a few more boxes and stacked them by the door.
Chapter Seven
Anyway…
Skye stared at the house Dylan had disappeared into. A small, wood-sided cottage, it couldn’t contain more than the basic layout, two or three little bedrooms, living room, kitchen and bathroom.
What is taking him so long? A million bad possibilities ran through her mind.
Skye w
aited in the car as Dylan requested, not because she wanted to, but because she didn't want another argument. He was right when he pointed out, more than once, that he knew what he was doing. She did not. Still, that knowledge didn’t stop the tapping of her fingers on the seat as she examined the house again and again for any sign of Dylan.
No matter what Dylan’s skills were, Skye’s nerves remained on edge, not only for him but for herself. Now alone in the vehicle, the sunny day seemed less bright as she scanned her surroundings. Are there other sick or infected out there ready to pounce on me if I stray from the car?
Skye shivered as she remembered the Sick chasing her as she drove away from Colton, the smear of bloody handprints they left on her Jeep.
She squinted as she tried to peer through the house windows. Dylan passed by a couple of them a few minutes ago, but after that, nothing.
Was there any reason that would justify going up to the home? Even though her stomach fluttered, her hand crept to the truck’s door handle. As she touched the smooth chrome handle, Dylan appeared in the doorway. Skye blew out a sigh of relief and flung the truck door open.
Dylan raised a palm, telling her to stop. With care, Dylan scanned the woods again. She looked around. He was right, one could have snuck up on Skye as she sat there. She eased the door back closed.
She studied the man as he did his job. Her eyes lingered on his tossed black hair, trailed down strong arms showcased in a sky-colored t-shirt with no sleeves, drifted to his trim waist and over his jean-encased legs to his worn, hickory-colored hiking boots and back up again.
Dylan's craggy face and blue eyes seemed ever on the alert as if looking for someone or something. In particular, or in general, she wasn't sure. His muscular shoulders were usually tense, ready for action. This stance was such a part of him, it wasn’t developed in response to recent events but started in childhood.
When Skye first met Dylan, she thought him as a bit more than average height and build, but he seemed so much larger now. The protection he offered made her seem less vulnerable as everything around them fell apart. Dylan gave her and Jesse stability in this unstable world.
Tom and Dad are right. Dylan is steady when it come to this sort of thing and can take care of trouble. He's what I need to stay safe.
Dylan continued out of the doorway, moved to the side and toward the back of the house searching the area as he went. Her eyes shadowed him.
He has that walk, that kind of... stride, that makes most women look twice.
Once she lost sight of him, her train of thought came to an abrupt halt.
Whoa! No. He also has a boiling temper, and a very troubled background. I’ve already dealt with a man like him before, and it was not good, not good at all. This situation is too complicated, and it’s definitely not the right time for this! And anyway...
Her mind drifted back to high school graduation, and Craig, her first love. On that day, it seemed all her dreams were coming true. Yes, they were young, but that didn't always have to be a bad thing, her eighteen-year-old self had reasoned. Her entire being caught up in a warm, fuzzy love bubble.
She thought Craig had been too, and maybe he had for a while. But within a year of marriage, the whole thing had fallen apart with a suddenness and ferocity that had shaken Skye to the core, and she couldn’t even blame it all on Craig.
Skye knew she should be over it, reasoned that she was a mental health professional and should know better than to hang onto it. Skye even racked up the hours with a therapist of her own. The idea of exposing herself to another relationship made Skye uncomfortable. Nowadays, it was rare for her to even find a man attractive enough to glance at twice.
Skye swallowed and crossed her arms. Then he comes along.
A single, sharp rap on the truck window startled her. Skye glanced up to ocean blue eyes. As her face pinked, she unknowingly raised her hand to her cheek.
"You okay?" Dylan asked her through the glass, his gaze sweeping over her glowing cheeks and uncomfortable demeanor. It was more than her face that blushed now. It felt like it ran through her whole body. Skye looked everywhere but at him.
Skye quickly pulled her hand down and opened the door. "Yeah, I'm fine. You took a long time, and I was worried."
Skye jumped out of the truck as Dylan gave her a confused, prolonged gaze and raised an eyebrow. She shifted her head and ever-reddening face away from him.
To her relief, Dylan turned toward the house. As he walked in front of her, Skye tried to keep her gaze off him and on the instructions he gave her about the most important items to scavenge.
Dylan turned and looked at her. “Are you listening?”
Eyes to the ground, Skye almost bumped into him. “What? Yes, canned food, medical supplies. Why wouldn’t I be listening?”
“You usually ain’t so quiet. Seems like you always have somethin to say.”
“You told me not to talk.”
“Geez, woman.” Dylan shook his head. “In the woods. In the woods.”
Dylan put a hand to Skye’s back to urge her along as he threw a glance at the tree-line. The outline of his hand seemed to flame against her skin even through her shirt, and she scooted forward.
Skye rushed through the front door and got to work. At last, Skye regained her composure. She vowed not to look at him like that again and kept her head down concentrating on what she was doing.
Skye followed Dylan's instructions to the letter, she needed to learn from him. He had instincts she didn't have, and her plans required her to pick up as many skills as she could. She was not born to this life like he was, but was starting from scratch, and it left her at a disadvantage. There was a lot of catching up to do.
Skye‘s only deviation from Dylan’s instructions was going into a young boy's room. Skye searched through the clothes and saw some Jesse’s size. His current wardrobe comprised of what was on his back when they rescued him and another set she badly modified from Dylan's closet. She tried not to think of the young boy these used to belong to as she picked out a few shirts and pants for Jesse.
Then she headed to the parent's room and found a few clothes that should work for the men. The wife's clothes were a little tight for her, but Skye found some that worked. She filled a large garbage bag Dylan had brought and dragged it out the door, letting it plop down the stairs.
Dylan stood beside the homeowner’s two vehicles siphoning gas. At his questioning glance, she said, "Clothes, is that okay?"
He gave her a shrug and a nod.
As Skye continued to drag the dark bag over to the truck, Dylan tracked her. Skye reached the back of Dylan’s vehicle and tried to lift the sack from the top. She only got it half-way up the tailgate.
Skye grabbed the sides of it and pulled. Her nails clawed at the plastic bag creating holes. She pushed her body against it, wedging the bulky bag between her back and the tail of the truck from there she would roll it up and over.
Skye huffed, turned for the final big push and came face to chest with Dylan. Skye stumbled back in surprise. How did the man sneak up on her like that?
Dylan grabbed the fat bag before it hit the ground and slung it into the truck bed as if it were weightless, then more carefully, added his two gas cans.
After watching the shiny, black bag soar up over the red tailgate and plop down onto the ridged flooring. Skye put her hands on her hips, disgusted with herself. "I'm pathetic."
"It's heavy." Dylan shrugged. He clearly was trying to make her feel better.
"No, I really am. I've never been one to work out much, and you know, desk job. I'm a wimp. I have to get stronger."
Even if Dylan hadn’t said a word, the up and down gaze he gave her along with his expression informed her, he did not find her wanting in any way. “You’re just fine,” he said.
This, on top of her own earlier thoughts, undid all her efforts to compose herself. Once again, her cheeks colored pink.
Dylan reassured her. “It'll come. Livin different now, you'll ge
t stronger.” He gave her one of his rare wide smiles. “Til then, even then, I can be the heavy lifter.” He raised and flexed his substantial arm muscles.
She laughed, which turned into a giggle. Oh brother, what's wrong with me? I fall for one of the oldest moves in the book? Me strong man, you little woman? Her blush deepened. This is not helping!
Skye rushed to her side of the cab and jumped in. She sat so far away from Dylan, she almost hugged the door. When the truck started and her foggy head cleared, she continued berate herself. She didn't stop until they reached the next house.
Chapter Eight
This is Skye
Squeals of children rang through the air as Dylan pulled into the driveway of a cream-colored ranch house. A boy and two girls, between six to ten years of age, ran through the yard chasing each other. The oldest girl took the lead, her brown hair streaming out behind her as her bare legs pumped below her pink t-shirt and shorts. A quick twist to glance behind her was the girl’s undoing. Her brother, who was close enough to use that short distraction to catch up, touched her shoulder.
“Tag!” he shouted.
It was odd watching the normal scene. It seemed like so long ago since Skye sat on her front porch and saw the neighborhood children playing the same game. Where are all those children now?
“Too loud,” Dylan mumbled.
“They’re kids.”
“Yeah, and I want them to stay alive. To play again another day.”
Skye grimaced. They were too loud, hadn’t she and Dylan just worried about every small noise they made at the last house.
Dylan mistook her expression. “I ain’t tryin to be… I don’t mind them playing.”
“No, I understand. They are very loud. It’s just… I don’t know… sad.”
Dylan nodded. “It is.”