by Isla Jones
My vision blurred as I dived to the cold, sharp grass. My hands were outstretched; Cleo leapt into my arms. I wrapped her up in my arms and made to pull her against my chest—there was a hollow cry.
My head turned and my gaze swept over the landscape behind me.
Adam was using a crowbar to pry open the backdoor to the shop. Castle stood nearby him, but he watched me from across the way. His head dipped, so slightly that I almost didn’t see it—but I did.
I smiled back, a watery gesture, before I nuzzled my face into Cleo’s spiky coat.
“Winter?” The voice shook, like Cleo did in my arms, and was filled with the same tears that caught in my throat. “I can’t believe you made it.”
My face stayed buried in Cleo’s fur, but my eyes lifted to see Vicki drop to her knees in front of me. Mac passed us, giving me a nod of acknowledgement, and went over to Castle.
A calm, tranquil relief softened Vicki’s full cheeks. It wasn’t a passionate relief, like the one that overcame me at the sight of Cleo, or the one I’d surely be swallowed up by if I saw my sister. It was the sort of relief that spoke of our shared sentiments; we weren’t priorities to each other, but that shouldn’t mean we didn’t like one another.
“Thank you,” I whispered. The groan of the crowbar tore through the wind again. I cleared my throat, hugging Cleo to my parka and spoke over her whines. “Thank you for saving her. For keeping her safe.”
Vicki smiled; her plump cheeks puffed out. She looked healthy, I noticed. Healthier than I would’ve expected.
“I …” she hesitated, licking her lips. “About that night,” she said. Traces of guilt laced her tone. “Cleo woke me up. You weren’t there—You’d gone to the toilet, maybe. I didn’t pay it much thought. Cleo had to go wees, so I took her out back and …”
“I know,” I said. “It happened fast. I’m not angry you saved her. I can never repay you for that, Vicki. Not ever.”
Vicki seemed to relax; her shoulders drooped and her smile sweetened. As she dipped her hand into her coat pocket, the sound of the crowbar caught my attention again. With a quick glance over at them I saw Adam wedging it between the door and hinges. Mac and Castle talked about a metre away from the other soldier.
“Here,” said Vicki, yanking my attention back to her. Her gloved hand held out a woollen hat. Or, it had once been a hat, but now had holes all over it. “I’ve been putting this on Cleo,” she explained. “To keep her warm.”
I appreciated the gesture. As I took it from her, Cleo scratched against the rough material of my parka, trying to dig inside. She would need something warmer than a scraggy hat to brace the winter plague. The parka hood, I decided, would be more suitable. For the time being, I slipped the hat onto her tiny shivering body and scooped her up in my arms.
A loud bang tore through the air.
I whipped around to face the back door where the soldiers were. Adam had gotten the door off of its hinges; it dangled for a second before it crashed to the frosty dirt. All he had to do now was use wire-cutters to get through the screen door. I thought it odd that a screen door was inside the shop, but after a lengthy stare I realised that it had been nailed onto the doorframe—a survivor had done it at some point.
Vicki and I walked side-by-side and approached the deltas. Normally, I would’ve let Cleo prance around on the grass, but I only just got her back. I tucked her into parka and closed the zip. Above my collarbones, her little black head poked out.
Castle broke away from Mac and came towards me. There was a dubious glint in Vicki’s eyes before she walked ahead and joined Mac.
For once, I suspected that Castle didn’t know what to do with himself. He folded his arms over his chest—the parka puffed out his shape, making him look like a mouldy marshmallow—and looked at Cleo.
“It would appear you have something to live for after all,” he said.
I would have agreed with him if it weren’t for the tightness in his voice, one that pulled like stretched violin strings. In true Castle fashion, he wasn’t saying what he wanted to.
“Why do I get the feeling you’re not happy about that?” I asked bluntly.
Castle turned his face to the side and watched Adam cut the wires apart into a big enough hole for us to fit through. Mac and Vicki, on the other hand, stood beside the discarded door, eyeing Castle and I. There were mixtures of curiosity and surprise stirring in their gazes, and their lips moved to whisper words that didn’t reach us.
Castle had never been prepared to speak what was on his mind. He waited for Adam to finish cutting the wires and declare it to us. Then, Castle walked away—taking his secrets with him. With a huff, I marched over to the others, cradling Cleo against me.
Cleo was a piece of my puzzle. Holding her in my arms had put me back together again. For the first time in weeks, a wholeness washed over me and that constant, dull ache in my chest had been doused. Only a simmer of it remained—for Leo.
When I stopped beside the discarded door—where Vicki hovered—Adam was swinging the crowbar in his hand and peering into the darkness of the shop. Through the wires, the silhouette of a dark corridor stretched ahead, but that was all any of us could see.
Mac and Castle readied their weapons, and both glanced back at Vicki and I. They each shot us meaningful looks, and in that moment I realised that I’d been demoted. An hour before, I was Castle’s equal, his partner—we wielded our guns and ventured into dark corridors together. Now, the deltas were back and I’d been pushed out.
Vicki had been banished, too.
Though, I don’t think she minded as much as I did. Where I glowered at Castle, she smiled sweetly at Mac. But I didn’t fight the silent exclusion. I had Cleo to worry about again, and with that came the avoidance of risks.
Adam was first to squeeze through the gap in the wires. Mac followed; then Castle. Their slow-moving shadows were quickly swallowed up in the blackness of the corridor, leaving me with nothing but a dark abyss to stare into.
“So,” said Vicki.
I knew that tone. I used that tone often, back when I had roommates whose lives I could pry into, and at times with my sister when she spoke of flings here and there.
Before Vicki could say it, I answered her unspoken question.
“It’s not like that.”
I shifted my weight off of my ankle. Castle had been right to shout after me when I’d run to Cleo—the small flame of pain had already ignited and burned at my ligaments. If he was anything like me, he would say I told you so. He wasn’t; he wouldn’t.
Vicki studied my face. While I stared at the black doorway, the sharp touch of her eyes on my cheeks irritated my skin. My fingers itched to rub my face clean of her theories.
“I didn’t say it was,” she replied after a heavy moment. “You did.”
“It’s pretty obvious what you were thinking—what you were all thinking.” I looked at her, and thought of Summer’s stern teachings. I told Vicki then what Summer had always told me: “Eyes don’t lie.”
“If that’s the case,” said Vicki, “then I’m right about the two of you.”
My jaw rolled as I lifted my gaze to hers. “Nothing happened between us. We were just … stuck together.”
Vicki’s gaze pried into mine; I could almost feel the way she peeled back my lies to uncover the truth, the truth burning in my flushed cheeks, buried in my shifty eyes. I glanced at the doorway, hoping the delta trio would remerge and break up the conversation I didn’t want to have.
“I remember the day you joined us,” said Vicki with a soft smile. I arched my brow and looked at her. “It was only … what, a month ago? Maybe longer.” As she shook her head, black strands of her tangled hair swayed. “And I just saw you as another survivor. Then, Leo came to give the same speech he gives all strays we pick up on the way. I was given the same speech. I didn’t think much of it, until you interrupted him—no one interrupts Leo.” The smile on her lips quirked a little, and she shot me an amused look. “I though
t he hated you for it; your little spark of stubbornness and insubordination. Yet, every day that passed made me reconsider.”
I shrugged. “We got to know each other.”
“And each time you did,” she said, “you grew that bit closer. It became obvious to the rest of us—even Rose noticed, Adam too.”
I wondered what any of this had to do with Castle, or Vicki’s suspicions about what may or may not have happened between us.
“I told you about Zoe,” said Vicki. It wasn’t a question. “And I told you how she and Castle had … something. But I didn’t tell you how Leo got in the middle of them, did I?”
My brows furrowed. “No,” I said. “You didn’t.”
“No one really knows what went on between the three of them,” said Vicki. She looked at me, and I saw the swarm of concern beneath the cool hues of her eyes. “And if I didn’t see the way Castle looks at you, or how Leo would watch you when you weren’t looking, then I would tell you to be careful—Leo and Castle are best friends, but with bad blood between them. And Zoe was caught in the middle of their shit.” Vicki sighed and looked back at the door. “Look how that turned out for her.”
“You told me that Rose bullied her out of the group.”
“It was a factor in her reasoning, I’m sure. But there’s more to it than we know. She got in between Castle and Leo’s mess. All I’m saying is be careful of those two when they reunite.”
I shook my head. “Leo’s dead.”
Vicki’s gaze swerved to mine, her eyes widening.
Her blue-tinted lips parted, as if to speak, but I interrupted whatever she was about to say.
“I saw him go down. One of those monster got him—”
“Leo’s one of the best survivors,” she said harshly. “He could’ve gotten away.”
“I don’t think—”
“He’s alive,” she snapped. “It’s Leo. Leo wouldn’t be taken down by an infectee.”
“I saw it, Vicki—”
“You’re wrong!”
“It bit him, Vicki!” I’d thought the bite of the icy air would freeze any tears in my eyes. I was wrong; they slipped from the corners of my eyes and slid down the sides of my nose. “It bit him—right on his shoulder. I saw it with my own fucking eyes. Do you think I want it to be true?”
Vicki’s jaw tightened and she whipped her face away.
“Leo is gone.” My voice shook as I spoke the words, as if I didn’t want to say them, as if that when they were said aloud it made it real. But it was real whether spoken or not. “I’m sorry.”
Vicki didn’t say anything. She hugged her arms around her jacket and dropped into a stiff silence. It would be outrageous for her to be angry with me for Leo’s death, but somehow I suspected that she blamed me for it—or for telling her. I didn’t know.
As I made to speak, a strange sound whispered along the breeze.
Vicki had heard it too. We both glanced around, unsure of where the noise had come from. But there was nothing to see other than the whitening trees and dusted grass.
Vicki took a step forward. Her eyes settled on the black corridor through the doorway. I followed her gaze, but all I saw was a pit of never-ending darkness.
“I think…” Vicki hesitated, taking another step forward. “That sounded like a moan.”
Rotter moans weren’t the first thought that came to mind. Other images came to mind, only for a moment, but I stomped them down.
I inched closer to Vicki—then froze beside her.
The sound came again. It was a moan, but quiet, as if far away or muffled. The whistle of the wind drowned out much of the noise, but we heard it.
And it came from the doorway.
“What’s taking them so long?” asked Vicki.
I shrugged. A part of me wanted to go inside and check on the deltas. They wouldn’t leave us out in the cold—literally—to catch up on what had happened; and the moan couldn’t be explained by that.
“What if one of them got hurt?” I asked. “Or they found someone who’s hurt?”
Vicki frowned at me, mulling it over, but the creases at the sides of her lips told me that she wasn’t convinced. And neither was I.
“I’ll go,” I said. “You’ll need to watch Cleo.”
Vicki held out her arms. I could’ve sworn she’d sucked in a breath, as if she’d thought I wouldn’t ever let her hold Cleo again.
Cleo relaxed in Vicki’s arms; something she only did when she trusted a person. Cleo’s instincts could be relied on, so there was only the tiniest twist of guilt in my stomach when I walked away from them and went to the black doorway.
My hand automatically reached for the holster when I stopped at the doorway. The cool touch of the gun-handle was like a kiss of protection to my palm; I pulled it from the holster and switched off the safety.
THE MEET-UP POINT
ENTRY FOURTEEN
As I aimed the gun ahead, my leg fought against the urge to pull back—I stepped into the dark corridor. My bag was in the Jeep; I didn’t have a flashlight to brighten the blindness that swallowed me whole.
The corridor was long. Longer than I’d expected. The shop from the outside didn’t seem this large. But as I crept by open doors and looked inside, I realised that the back of the shop had been a house—someone had lived here.
Billy came to mind. With the thought, my heart thudded faster.
I crept further down the corridor. A floorboard creaked underneath me; I stilled.
Had that been the moan I’d heard outside? Just a floorboard groaning under the weight of footsteps?
Biting my lip, I slowly lifted my foot from the wooden slab—a long, deep groan came in protest and seemed to ripple down the hall. I shuddered; the gun shook in my hands.
The screaming sound of my heartbeat followed the groan. But I moved onwards, slow and steady, into the darkness. The back of my eyes ached trying to see through the black. But everything was there in shadows and faint outlines.
I took a final step, then stopped. The corridor had ended with a door—one, I assumed led to the shop front. But it was cracked open, and a small slither of grey light came from the gap. My body leaned forward and I tucked the gun closer to my chest. I pressed my face against the gap and tried to see through to the other side of the door.
The light was natural. It was the cloudy grey from outside. There must be a sunlight or non-boarded window, I thought.
Clasping onto the gun, I slid my foot forward until the tip of my boot touched the door. Then, I guided it open—inch by inch. More and more grey light flooded the dark corridor I stood in, until my eyes adjusted and I could see the peeling corners of the wallpaper surrounding me.
My breath came out in ragged whispers. I tried to swallow them back, but I just choked on them. I took a moment, behind the safety of the door to steady my breathing. But each second I wasted behind the door could be a second that Castle couldn’t afford.
I sucked in my tummy, stretched myself out, and slipped through the crack in the door.
I’d been right. A sunlight above let in the grey daylight from outside. It shone down like moonlight on the dusty counters and racks of timing belts. There was no one in there.
As I stepped forward, my heart skipped a beat—in place of floorboards was concrete. It made my movements almost silent. The only sounds came from my heart punching against my ribcage, and the hiss of my breath slipping from my lips.
I swallowed, stepping around the service counter. For some silly reason, I thought of it as a barrier—a barrier between myself and whatever was lurking nearby.
“Castle?” I whispered. The gun moved with my gaze, lingering from shelf to shelf. “Castle, are you in here?”
There was a rustle.
It sounded like wrappers, as if someone had opened a bag of crisps. It had come from the far shelf on the left. My gun and gaze rested on the shelf. I stepped out from the counter, the soles of my boots treading softly on the stained concrete. Hooked around the tr
igger, my finger trembled. I tried to steady it, to relax my hand—Castle had told me to squeeze the trigger, not pull it, and I was afraid I would do so by accident.
I neared the first shelf. My eyes quickly darted down the aisle, checking for anything out of the ordinary, checking for an intruder, a rotter. All that I saw were packets of bolts and a rubber hose discarded on the ground. I kept moving.
The final shelf drew nearer. There weren’t any rustles or signs of movements; but I know what I’d heard. At the side of the shelf, I paused. My flat chest seemed to grow as I took in a long, deep breath. It didn’t help calm my nerves in the slightest. My skin still prickled and over the beat of my heart in my ears, I heard a sharp ringing sound. That happened sometimes, though I never understood why.
My right foot slid forward. The gun was pointed, ready to fire. I jumped around the shelf and—I shrieked.
The gun went off. I was certain my shrill scream had drowned out the blow of the gunfire. But I was too panicked to care. I turned and ran back to the door behind the counter.
And I hit a wall.
The wall grabbed me and spun me around. I looked up at it and found that it had sharp green eyes, like blades of grass in spring.
The wall was Castle.
“What is it?” he demanded, grabbing my shoulders. “What happened?”
As it dawned on me, the guilt flushed my freckled face. I don’t doubt I looked like a freshly picked tomato, bright red and splotched in dirt.
“Winter,” he shouted. “Why were you screaming? I heard gunfire!”
My lips pursed and a shiver ran down my spine. As I bowed my head in shame, my lips moved and the shaky sound that was my voice mumbled.
“What?” he said. “What did you say?”
“A rat,” I whispered. “It was a rat—It gave me a fright.”
Castle’s fingers still coiled around my shoulders. He was silent for a moment; silent and still. I waited for the storm to come.
“A rat,” he repeated; his voice was as blank as the eyes I glanced up at. “You saw a rat.”