by Jones, Isla
I trailed off when Leo finally met my gaze for longer than a second. There as flash in them, far beneath the mossy green, but I saw it. The corner of his lips tugged, and smirked bitterly, or was it with sadness?
“Just like that story you told me,” he said quietly. Though the others could hear him. “The one about the sharks in the ocean. The rest of the group are the surfers—and we are you.”
A sound of disbelief whispered from the back of my throat; like a bitter, hushed laugh. His words echoed in my mind, the ones he had spoken to me that very day; ‘You make out that I’m a better man than what I am. The group is valuable. They will serve their purpose in D.C.’
“What’s in D.C.?” The question spilled out of my mouth. “You told me that the group would be valuable there.”
Castle tensed and looked at Leo; Leo appeared shocked for a second, but then nodded as if to himself.
“I did,” he admitted. “And their value was for the same purpose as it is now. Only, we expect the attack to take place in D.C., as the deserters know that D.C. is the drop-off point.”
“We take precautions,” added Mac. “The day after you joined our group, we were ambushed—that’s when we realised that the others had been tracking us.”
The hot touch of the gun against my temple resurfaced. I remembered it, the shivers that rattled my body, the sensation of my heart jumping up and down in a wretched bounce—I’d almost wet myself that day.
“We discussed it and decided to inform the both of you.” It was Leo. “I suppose you could say that the two of you have been promoted.”
There was movement. Mac placed a revolver on the table and slid it toward Vicki. Leo did the same; he handed me one.
“Welcome,” he said in a whisper. I’m certain, even now, that only I’d heard him. I looked up at him and saw, for the briefest of seconds, that he smiled. Then, swiftly, his face was as hard as stone and he tore his gaze from mine.
“This information does not leave this room,” said Castle. “Is that understood?”
I nodded; Vicki agreed aloud.
Who was I going to tell? I didn’t talk to anyone in the group outside of those in the room.
Castle leaned forward, eyes on me, reaching through to my inner thoughts and riffling from one to another. “Why are you going to D.C.?”
I blinked, startled. “Oh,” I said after a moment. “My sister—”
“Your sister is probably dead.”
My muscles jumped; my fists ached to retort. “You don’t know that,” was all I said. “You don’t know.”
“I know the chances, the odds,” he said. “They aren’t good.”
My jaw rolled and I stroked Cleo’s needle-fur. “She’s alive.”
“Your name,” he said.
I looked up at him from beneath my lashes, hoping I appeared semi-dangerous. He was starting to irk me. “What about it?”
“Winter is a unique name,” he said. “Is your surname Miles?”
My lashes fluttered; shock dropped my jaw. I sat still in the chair.
Leo turned, ever-so-slightly, in the chair to face me, to study my reaction. All eyes were on me; but I only looked at one pair—the fierce green across from me.
After seconds, or minutes, I whispered, “My name is Winter Miles.”
There was a silence. Some, I think, were in on the information Castle so clearly had. But others—like Vicki—were just as taken aback as I was.
“So,” said Castle. “It’s safe to assume that your sister is Doctor Summer Miles?”
I shot up from the chair. Cleo scrambled to the floor. My hands shook; and I lifted one, pointing a trembling finger at him. “How do you know that?” I asked in a shaky breath. “How would you know my sister’s name? Who are you?”
Leo stood up, slowly. His hand reached out for mine, and I wonder now if he was trying to comfort me. I pulled away, my blazing eyes darting between him and Castle.
“We lost communication with the point of contact a month after the outbreak,” said Castle. There was no emotion in his voice. “Our mission was to transport cargo from Washington State to Washington D.C.”
“That’s where you’re going,” I said, my shaking hand falling to my side, the other tucked against my chest with the sling. “The Centre for Disease Control? Where my sister is.”
Adam said, “Civilians shouldn’t know about the CDC in Washington D.C. It’s top-secret.”
My tongue darted over my cracked lips before they pursed into a thin line. Fogginess obscured my vision as I resisted the tears welling. We lost communication a month after the outbreak. Those words haunted me; played in my numb mind on repeat, taunting me.
“Winter,” said Leo with a tint of humour, “appears to know a lot that she shouldn’t know. It might be a hidden talent of hers.”
We lost communication. The words played in my head, over and over. A month after the outbreak.
“What else should you tell us?” asked Vicki. I could hear the exhaustion in her voice; the exasperation, as if she couldn’t bear to hear any more secrets.
“We will tell you whatever we decide you need to know,” said Castle. “As for what we should tell you, that’s a matter of opinion.”
I wanted to know more. Just one more thing: “What’s in the caravan?”
“That,” said Leo, coolly, “is classified.” He still stood beside me, a little space between us.
“Everything you’ve told us so far is classified.”
“And we have decided to inform you of some of what we know,” said Castle. His gaze lingered on me as he added, “At our discretion.”
I looked at him, and through the daze I couldn’t feel his icy chill reach me. In my bubble of realisation, I was safe from his gaze.
“I need to pee,” I said.
Adam made a face.
It was a lie, I didn’t need to relieve myself at all. But I fibbed all the same, turned and walked out of the dining room; my thoughts on Summer.
*
The voices of the group muffled when I shut the door behind me. I strolled out of the house, aimlessly. If they’d lost communication with the CDC, it was likely—almost certain—that Summer had died.
Did they lose communication because the centre was overrun by rotters? Were other people to blame for the black noise? Did the CDC—did Summer—have something to do with the plague?
Before then, I hadn’t hoped Summer was alive; I’d believed it; a strong and unwavering belief, no doubt in my mind. But now—
“Winter!”
I turned around. Leo jogged toward me down the porch steps. He slowed as his boots thudded against the path worn into the soil. When he stopped in front of me, his lips parted as if to speak. But he said nothing, and just rubbed his hand against his chin.
His soft gaze offered comfort where his words did not.
“Do you think she’s gone?” The high-pitched sound that was my voice startled me. The repressed sobbing fit clung to every squeaky syllable.
He stepped toward me, closing the distance between us, and slung his arm around my good shoulder. It broke me—withheld tears were freed from my eyes, and I choked on my cries.
I rested my forehead against his collarbone. I barely felt the hardness of his collarbone against my skin or his other arm wrap around me, tugging me closer. Melting against him, my hands clutched onto his black t-shirt as my body shook with the sobs ripping through me.
“The CDC might still be operational,” he said, his voice a gentle breeze washing over me.
A hiccup was my response.
As he rubbed circles on my back, he said, “If we didn’t think there was a chance, we wouldn’t be completing our mission, would we? I won’t lie to you—it’s a possibility that the CDC has been overrun, but there’s also the chance it hasn’t. We are still completing our mission, as requested, and when we reach D.C., we’ll find out what happened. Either way, Winter, I’ll make sure you know what happened to her.”
His t-shirt rubbed
against my forehead as I nodded. Snivelling, I pulled away from him and swatted the dampness from my freckled cheeks and nose.
Distractedly, I mumbled, “What’s your mission?” My lips had moved, words had come out of my mouth, but my thoughts were on Summer.
I was so distracted that I didn’t realise he’d ignored my question.
“You need to stay focused,” he said, curling his index finger beneath my chin to tilt my face upwards. “Hold onto that hope, that belief, that she’s still alive. It will keep you alive.”
Laughing shakily, I moved his hand from my chin and took a step back. I asked, not rudely, but in exasperation, “Why do you care? Why do you give me chocolate, let me in the RV and the farmhouse? It’s not to keep an eye on me, Leo. At least, not anymore. I’m not valuable; I offer nothing to this group. So, why am I getting this protection … this special treatment?”
Slowly, his hand reached for my t-shirt. His fingers curled around the fabric and pulled me closer to him. Each movement was steady and slow, giving me time to realise what he was doing, giving me time to slap him, shout at him, pull away. But I didn’t.
I stumbled forward, my boots scuffing against the dirt patch. Cleo rolled on the soil beside us. My eyes remained glassy, but were unable to tear away from the dancing green that stared at me from beneath long lashes, like sea foam that washed up onto shore and twinkled beneath the stars at dusk.
Survivors were all around us, in the camp, on the porch, by the vehicles, but we were alone in that moment. I only heard his soft breaths, felt them brush against my nearing lips. As our faces aligned, he lowered his head to touch our lips. A faint touch, a whisper of a kiss, but one that sent tingles from the skin down to my curling toes.
For reasons I can’t begin to comprehend, I reached up on my tip-toes to meet him. Connected, our lips parted and my eyelids fluttered shut. Each eyelash of his tickled my mine, and his tongue made to caress mine. They touched. We touched.
“LEO!”
I gasped. I stumbled back as if I’d been dunked in a bucket of ice. Leo still stared at me, the moment evaporating; Castle marched down the steps on the porch.
“Leo,” he said sharply. “A word?”
I could see the stream gathering behind Castle’s eyes. He gestured to the off-limits RV.
Leo’s jaw ticked. He slowly turned his face to glare at his comrade. But Castle glowered at me, then he stormed over to the RV. Sparing me one unreadable glance, Leo sighed and followed Castle, leaving me on the patchy soil with Cleo and snakes slithering in my stomach.
***
Sleep evaded me. Cleo and I curled up together on the lumpy armchair by the kitchen. Vicki slept on the musky rug in the centre of the room, choosing to give Mac the cold shoulder for the night. As much as I would’ve liked to have fallen asleep like Vicki had, I couldn’t. When I wasn’t consumed with thoughts and horrendous possible fates that Summer could’ve met, I was replaying the almost-kiss with Leo in my mind. It didn’t catch me off guard that I’d kissed him back. It was Castle’s interruption of our moment that kept me from sleep.
Castle didn’t like me. It was obvious. I had grown used to it in a way, but his hostility was different. It wasn’t formed on foundations of mistrust or abhorrence, as far as I could tell, but more that I was encroaching on territory he preferred to remain exclusive. Total disclosure; Castle felt threatened by me.
I don’t think he’d ever imagined that Leo would care for a survivor.
Since the afternoon, when Castle had summoned Leo away, I hadn’t seen either. They remained cooped up inside the restricted RV discussing whatever top-secret cargo it contained. I was intrigued, curious. The classified cargo piqued my interest and gnawed at my will-power, bit by bit. As I sat there, on the armchair, I decided; when the opportunity presented itself, I would find out what that RV held—
I heard something. A creak or a groan, I couldn’t be sure. It came from outside, hissing from the darkness. Cleo must’ve heard it, too; she whimpered in her sleep and her tail whipped my thigh once before stilling.
“Shh,” I hushed, gently moving her from my lap to the cushioned seat. I slipped out of the way and off the armchair. Cleo continued to sleep soundly, and I placed my backpack next to her, hoping she’d think it was me while she dozed.
Standing in the blackness of the living room, I waited for another sound to reach my ears. The groan had likely been a car door closing against its hinges, or the property gate swaying in the light breeze. But all I could see through the window was pure darkness. There weren’t any lights flickering on the property—nobody was awake, or at least there were no lights to indicate anyone else was awake.
We couldn’t have lights on at night. We had to be quiet. If not, then the rotters would come—in numbers. They would come for us; fast, furious and frenzied.
My boots thudded against the creaky wooden floorboards as I crept out of the room. In the hallway, I unclicked the front door and pulled it open. The view wasn’t any clearer from the netted swing door I faced. I could only see darkness. That was strange. Adam and James were on guard somewhere; I should’ve seen their flashlights bobbing around the farm or from the top of the RV.
But the RVs weren’t there anymore. They were moved to the back of the property, where a dirt path led to an unpaved road—our getaway. Or should I say, our abandonment of innocent civilians and children?
Splaying my left hand on the netted door, I pushed it open and slinked through the gap. I shut it behind me, hoping the moans of the rusted hinges wouldn’t wake Cleo or Vicki.
On the porch Ivan slept rough on the rickety rocking chair. He held a loaded gun in his hand, laying across his lap, and he snored a gravelled sound. It was the only noise I heard outside. He must’ve decided he didn’t like the camp, and opted to sleep on the porch instead, for whatever reason, I didn’t know. Tents offered better coverage. Though, the porch provided a better view.
As I stepped down the fragile wooden stairs, my gaze darted around the darkness. Second by second, my sight adjusted to the blackness of the night, and I saw the shadowy outline of the vehicles—the ones that weren’t relocated—and the camp. Even the barn, to the far right, was perceptible. But no movement caught my eye.
I couldn’t decide if this was a good thing, or a terrible thing. No movement could mean we were safe from the infectees and other groups, but it also caused me to wonder where Adam and James were. If they were patrolling the farm, their flashlights would give their location away. If they remained on guard in a vehicle or atop the RVs, I should’ve seen their outlines.
Crouching down, my shaky fingers wrapped around the handle of my gun—the one Leo had given me, fully loaded—before slipping it out of my boot. I stepped onto the dirt, my boot crunching against the soil.
I wandered farther away from the house, closer to the line of parked vehicles. My gaze scanned the cars—that’s all that were there now. The RVs and the supply vans were gone.
At least, I thought, we won’t leave them stranded. The lies we tell ourselves to keep going.
“Oi!”
My heart plummeted to my stomach as I whipped around to face the source of the voice. Ivan still slept on the rocking chair, but had grumbled and shifted a little. Nobody else was on the porch.
“Up here!” The voice came from the roof, and my gaze darted to the source. I exhaled with a whoosh as I spotted Adam perched on the edge of the roof, legs dangling over the edge. “What the hell are you doing?”
I muffled a bitter laugh. Anxiety depleted within my veins, and my grip loosened on the handle of the gun.
“Nothing,” I mumbled, though I knew he couldn’t hear me.
“What?” he shouted down at me.
“Where’s James?” I hollered back at him, throwing my arm up in exasperation.
“What d’you care?” I could hear the mockery in his loud voice. Ivan heard it, too, apparently.
“You trying to wake the whole camp up?” Ivan grumbled.
&n
bsp; “I thought I heard something,” was all I said, shrugging meekly.
“What?” shouted Adam.
“I thought I heard something!”
Adam snorted. I didn’t hear it, but I faintly saw the jerk of his body and shake of his head. “What’d you hear?”
“A … A groan, I think. Like a car door opening! Shouldn’t you go find James, or at least turn your light on?”
Oddly enough, a light from the camp ignited. Glancing over in the general direction of the tents, I saw an exceptionally peeved old woman emerge from the erected fabrics. It was the woman I’d seen knitting earlier.
“What in the salvation’s name are you doing, young girl! Get back inside before you wake the whole camp up!”
My spine straightened instinctively and I flushed the shade of the blood. “Yes, ma’am,” I muttered before power-walking back to the shadowy porch. I didn’t want to be on her bad side; I’d seen how she’d handled those knitting needles.
Before I reached the bottom step, Adam switched on the light fixed to his sniper riffle. It blinded me as he aimed it down at my swiftly moving form.
“Can you not!” I shouted up at him. All I received in response was a flicker of the light as he switched it on and off to further aggravate me. “Asshole!”
He laughed and swept the light away from me, aiming it ahead. As I climbed up the steps, Ivan jolted from the chair and cocked his pistol.
My eyes almost bulged out my head. I threw up my hands and backed away. But he wasn’t aiming it at me. He wasn’t looking at me, either.
I turned around to follow his aimed shotgun and watched the light from the sniper above drag across the landscape. It passed by something before Adam flicked it right back at the object. When I realised what it was, my heart didn’t plummet to my stomach—it dropped right down to my bum and nausea shot up my throat.
James was strapped to the fence, his wrists, torso and legs bound by rope. But he wasn’t alone … Three rotters feasted on his lifeless body. And many more were coming.
Someone was leading them straight to us; a group of fifty rotters, arms flailing in the air as they sprinted to the farmhouse across the field, chasing a man peddling a bicycle.