Within These Walls: Series Box Set

by Tracey Ward

  I close my eyes, cursing myself silently. “Yeah,” I admit reluctantly.

  “You been outside yet?”

  “No.”

  “It’s crazy out there.”

  “Yeah.”

  He pauses, considering my clipped answers and tone. “You sure you can’t make it to the bar, Vincent?”

  “Is the Boss calling us in?” I answer evasively.

  “The Boss is dead.”

  I lick my lips, gripping the edge of the windowsill hard. “How’d that happen?”

  “Fever.”

  “That’s a shame.”

  And a lie, I think to myself.

  “A crying one,” Marlow says dryly. “Fucking weeping,”

  My phone beeps in my ear again. I ignore it. “I’ll come in as soon as I can.”

  “Good. Make it quick. We have a lot to talk about. This will die down in a few weeks and we’ll stake our claims when the smoke clears. I’ll need you with me when that happens.”

  I release my hand from the windowsill, my knuckles white and aching. “Yeah, okay.”

  “Get your ass in gear. And try to stay alive, would you?”

  “Don’t worry about me.”

  He laughs roughly. “Kid, you’re the last of my worries right now.”

  When I hang up I shake my hand out, shaking my head as well, and I bring up my missed calls list.

  Sienna answers on the first ring. “Are you coming?”

  “Yeah, Sin. I’ll be there soon.”

  She breathes a loud sigh of relief. “Thank you.”

  She shouldn’t be thanking me, but I don’t bother telling her that. It’s better if she’s grateful. It gives me the upper hand, like I’m doing her a favor by coming to her house when really it’s exactly where I need to be. Outside this building the streets are flooding with rain and people and I know the thin door to this apartment won’t hold anyone out. I have almost zero food or water, no power which means a dead phone in a matter of hours and a dead cell means no internet. No news. I’ll be completely ignorant and that’s a thought I can’t stand. Her house is a well-stocked mini-fortress where I can wait out the storm.

  Where I can easily avoid Marlow.

  “You’re alone?” I ask Sienna.

  “Yeah. My dad is in Japan and it’s just me here at the house and I’m so freaked out.”

  “Keep your doors locked. The gate too. Set the alarms. Don’t let anyone but me inside.”

  “Okay.”

  “Give me some time to get across town.” I watch a blue car race down the street, jump the curb, and tear up the road. It plows down a NO PARKING sign without even hitting the breaks, sending the metal sign clattering across the pavement behind it. “I have a feeling it’s going to take me a while.”

  “Please hurry.”

  I hang up the phone and slip it into my pocket before grabbing the charger that I take to the bar with me. I don’t know how long it will be worth anything, though. They cut off cell service to Oregon in a matter of weeks.

  I grab my bag, a large black duffel that’s been with me since the day I ran away, and I stuff most of my clothes into it. I don’t have a lot. Never too much to carry. I throw in some essentials – toothbrush, toothpaste, brass knuckles – and stash my gun in my belt loop under my coat. My knife I keep in a sheath strapped to my calf on the outside of my pants. Normally I conceal it but not today. With what’s going on outside I need it handy more than I need it hidden.

  I hesitate at the door. Pulling a calming breath deep into my lungs, I stop to ask myself if this is smart. I wait for that gut check, the confirmation in my blood that tells me I’m making a good decision. One that will keep me alive.

  Part of me doesn’t want to leave this room. It wants to close up shop and hide from the chaos, from the sickness and the fighting. Some small part of me – a part that I’ve tried to leave behind time and time again – just wants to be safe. That part of me is a kid, a coward, and I shove it aside as I throw open the door and turn my back on my apartment.

  The rain is instantly on me the second I clear the building. I’m drenched but I don’t mind it. What I’m worried about is the rush of people. They’re in the cars packed bumper to bumper up and down the street, in doorways and windows, on the sidewalk. They’re running, shouting, shoving, and the last thing I want is for one of them to touch me. If what Sienna said is true the Fever isn’t in Seattle yet. It’s in Tacoma and making its way up, but that’s not a theory I want to test. And honestly I worry more about a panicked healthy person than a mindless sick one.

  I push through the crowd and head up the street. I start climbing and weaving, my bag getting heavier and heavier the farther west I go. I stop a little over a mile into my run, leaning over and letting the bag rest fully on my back and not my shoulders. I’m young, I’m in shape, but I’m not a cardio guy. I go to the gym six days a week to lift and spar in the ring. I keep my shit tight, cut, but I don’t run because I don’t need to. I train to fight, not be a pussy.

  I stand up straight and look around, noticing how much thinner the crowd is heading this direction. Everyone is running for the freeway, trying to get out of town like rats fleeing a sinking ship. I watch as a guy across the street on a dirt bike weaves through cars and up onto the sidewalk. He slows down for people. He putts along one inch at a time, barely making better time than the cars standing still next to him on the road.

  I sprint across the street, jumping over the hood of a car and sliding off it so fast I nearly land on my ass on the pavement. They honk their horn as I scramble to right myself and dodge between the rest of the cars and up onto the sidewalk. I dip my shoulder, center my weight, and crash straight into the guy on the bike.

  He shouts as he tips over and sprawls out on the sidewalk. His bike has toppled with him and I quickly grab it and stand it upright.

  “What the hell, bro?” he yells.

  People hurry up and down the sidewalk around him. They walk between us and block me from his view as I throw my tired leg over the bike and settle in.

  “You okay?” I call without looking at him. I’m busy checking out the handle bars, testing the throttle.

  “Yeah, no thanks to—Hey, what do you think you’re doing?!”

  “Stealing your bike.”

  I gun it and fly forward before quickly snapping the break and spinning around. It’s as graceful as my hood slide and I nearly hit the asphalt harder than he did, but my reflexes save me. I kick my feet out and drag them along the ground to get me right again, then I’m gone. I roar past the guy as he screams at me, I fly by people who jump out of the way to save themselves. I keep a straight line and the high whine of the bike announces my approach. People are dumb but they can be fast when they want to be. Like when they don’t want to get run over.

  Or when they know the devil is on their tail.

  END SAMPLE OF GODS OF THE DEAD.

  About the Author

  I was born in Eugene, Oregon and studied English Literature at the University of Oregon (Go Ducks!) I love writing all kinds of genres from YA Dystopian to New Adult Romance, the common themes between them all being strong character development and a good dose of humor.

  My husband, son, and snuggly pitbull are my world.

  Visit my website for more information on upcoming releases, Tracey Ward