Cody thinks on it. “My first thought was a bus yard. But a lot of people might have had the same idea. The diesel’s probably all tapped out.”
I chew my lip, tossing the problem on an ever-growing pile. At the moment, the bus is the best form of safety we have; I’m not stupid enough to think my house is our last stop. I’m rolling those thoughts over in my mind when Cody turns in his seat suddenly, looking behind us.
“Did you see that sign we just passed?”
I shake my head; not crashing into obstacles occupies my attention.
“Larsen’s Farm,” Cody says, staring over the tops of the seats. He quickly looks down at his map. “It looks like it’s a few miles away.”
I pull a face, not sure what he’s implying. “You think we’ll find food there?”
“Farms have tractors. You know what that means?” He turns toward me, an idea sparkling in his eye. “Diesel.”
“Good idea, Han.”
“Han?” He furrows his brow then smiles. “Oh…the Princess Leia Pop. Cute.”
“Just keep navigating, Solo.”
Another sign comes into view. I study the painted wooden block, which is affixed to a tree at the side of the road, turned upside down. The words “Larsen’s Farm” are almost completely faded off. That’s the last sign, even though we’re getting closer. That seems strange—unless we’re lost? After second-guessing our route a few times, we pull down a heavily wooded road, populated by dilapidated houses and wild, unpruned trees. Other than a car or two at the side of the road, the area is more abandoned than everywhere else. I cross my fingers that we’ll find gas. We’ll need weapons, too. No way I can fight an army of Arts with a crowbar.
“There it is!” I point toward a disheveled farm stand at the side of the road.
A few boards hang loose on the rickety, wooden outbuilding, creating gaps in the sides. Rolling past it, we see tipped fruit stands, an emptied cooler, and a smashed cash register. Across the street is a gravel parking lot.
“This place is obviously picked over,” Cody confirms. “But we might have better luck up there.”
He points toward a driveway just past the stand. A cracked road, strewn with weeds, leads upward toward a wide, grassy field occupied by three buildings. Among them is a tall, red barn.
“Let’s check it out,” Cody says.
The tires crush asphalt and stone; the suspension jolts over divots in the broken pavement. Cresting the hill, we approach two large, wooden stables straight ahead. Downed fences surround the dilapidated structures; one of the buildings’ roofs has caved. I scan the interiors, but I see no fresh signs of animals or people. We turn our attention to the barn, which sits about a hundred feet away and to the right, across an overgrown field. Paint peels from the faded exterior, exposing the bare, rotted wood beneath. Two enormous doors guard the front of the structure, which rises to twice the height of the stables. The front doors are open just wide enough to see the glint of metal inside.
Farm equipment.
“Bingo,” Cody says excitedly.
Our eyes roam past the barn. Even farther away is a small ranch home, accessed by a separate driveway, seemingly unoccupied and in similarly poor condition. An older-model pickup is in the driveway, looking sadly out of use. Tall grass and weeds are the main crop here, growing rampant around the barn and the house and everywhere between, almost hiding the property.
Leaning forward in his seat, Cody points at the tall building. “I don’t see a road to the barn. I’ll probably have to go on foot, but it shouldn’t take long. I’ll check for gas and come right back.”
“I’m going, too.”
Cody thinks about it. “Maybe you should stay here; you never know when we might have to make a quick getaway.”
I start to argue, then I remember our run-in with Ted. “You’ve got a point.”
“If I see anything alarming, I’ll hoof it right back here.”
Relenting, I stay in the driver’s seat while Cody pulls the lever and opens the doors, toting his gun. Stepping out on to the gravel, he makes a slow turn and looks back at me.
“Lock the bus while I’m gone.”
“Okay, Dad,” I murmur, and then he’s on his way.
Reaching over, I pull the lever, shutting and locking the doors. Cody treks toward the stables and peers cautiously inside. In the dim light, I see bales of old hay lining the inside walls. Other than that, I guess the buildings seem empty; after a cursory look, Cody heads for the large barn, forging a path through the thick grass. He looks like a floating torso, gliding by magic across the field. Soon, he’s at the doors, peering into the semi-darkness. He muscles one of the doors open wider, revealing the front end of a tractor.
Good hunch, Cody.
My attention wanders to the rear of the barn, where rows of trees extend as far as the eye can see. Looking closer, I notice round objects hanging from the leafy boughs, the morning sun just striking them….
“An apple orchard!” I sit up. An idea blooms and withers; the fruit won’t ripen until fall. But seeing them gives me a warm recollection of normal days, apple-picking with Mom, Dad, and Jared.
Movement rips me away from my nostalgia.
Is someone between the trees?
Not one someone. Tons of someones.
It takes me only a moment to recognize the malicious swagger and outstretched hands of the infected.
“Cody!” I hiss to an empty bus.
Of course he can’t hear me.
He’s already disappeared into the broken-down building.
18
Intruders
The stricken weave through the apple trees, charting a quick course for the wooden barn and the doors through which Cody vanished. My heart pounds. A hundred feet stand between the hungry savages and my only companion. None of them notice me or the bus—yet. But that won’t matter if they tear Cody to shreds.
I need to do something.
Vaulting from the driver’s seat, I dash to the closest window, fumble with the clasps, and stick my face sideways through the narrow opening. I need to warn Cody, before his brave jaunt becomes his last.
“Cody! Watch out!”
He doesn’t answer. I project louder, trying to reach the distant barn doors, but if Cody hears me, he doesn’t emerge. I fiddle with the window some more, but it won’t open any wider. Ironically, the vehicle’s safeguards—meant to keep people from sticking heads and arms out—prevent me from alerting my friend.
I spin and lock eyes on the steering wheel. If my voice won’t draw his attention, a noisy blast from the horn should do it. I reach the front of the bus and ram my palm into the center of the steering wheel. A shrill blare bounces off the walls of the stables and barn. The commotion draws the attention of two of the stricken, but the rest have already filtered after Cody. The two distracted creatures pick up speed through the tall grass, whipping past the side of the barn and heading diagonally toward me.
Gunshots ring from inside the barn.
Crap!
Desperation becomes a decision.
I need to get to him. Now.
I grab the wheel, reverse, hit the gas, and start mowing down the overgrowth toward the barn. The tires bounce angrily over the rough, bumpy terrain, throwing me around in the seat. The two monsters continue racing towards me, oblivious to the danger of the ten-thousand-pound transport vehicle hurtling at them. Grass folds beneath the vehicle’s grill; I’m practically surfing it now. I clutch the wheel with bloodless knuckles and…Wham! The collision sends the first one flying; but the second gets caught in the tangled grass and falls in my path. The front end of the bus launches upward over the body, slams back down, bounces and wobbles, before stopping.
The engine roars like a triumphant gladiator, but the tires spin uselessly.
I’m stuck!
I turn the wheel. I stomp the pedals. I curse and plead while the engine revs and whines, but the vehicle isn’t moving. I throw the bus in reverse; it’s just not happen
ing. The tires can’t get a grip.
And I am a second away from losing mine.
Two more gunshots sound from inside the barn. A long, piercing yell echoes and dies. I make the only choice I can. I grab the door handle, throw open the doors, and leap down the stairs. The front passenger’s side wheel is three feet off the ground; my battered sneakers land hard on uneven dirt. I clutch my crowbar and look around. I’m on some type of crop field hoed into deep rows. Movement draws my attention to the front of the bus, where, six feet out, an infected weakly writhes, blood streaming down its face in rivulets. It lolls its head toward me, but it seems fatally wounded. Too late, I see the first half of the second stricken, shimmying out from the bus’s undercarriage, dragging useless legs. The front wheel smashed its midsection flat, but its gnarled fingers latch around my ankle, pulling me sideways. I cry out and wrench free. With a hearty strike of my crowbar, and then two more, I drive its face into the mud until it’s no longer moving.
I wade through the tall grass toward the barn, toward Cody. My pulse thuds so hard I feel it behind my eyes. A brisk wind blows my hair back over my shoulders, but my strides are hindered by the grass. I’m slogging an exhausting nightmare sprint. Snarls and bangs reverberate from the building. I’m finally free of the crop and, racing for all I’m worth, I hoof it to the entrance, where beams of light make spotlights through the battered shingles. The tractor fills the front of the barn—a gigantic metal behemoth, its shoulders rising high above me. Cruel, purposeful metal attachments hang on the right-hand wall. Past them are stacks of grain and a row of hand tools; along the left-hand wall are some troughs and a wheelbarrow. Commotion draws my attention farther back. It’s dark, but I see a loft about twenty feet up, over the back half of the structure, straw sticking out over the edge, bales of hay stacked all over it. Below are four creatures leaping into the air, snatching and grabbing at the platform above them.
Sticking his head out between two bales of hay on the loft, Cody spots me and yells, “Get out of here, Hannah!”
He aims his gun and fires at his attackers, striking one of the infected in the chest; it falls to the ground near a pile of already-dead bodies and a broken ladder. The surviving stricken stamp over and around their dead brethren, oblivious to the carnage and to the object that would’ve helped them climb. One of them turns its head, notices me, and starts in my direction. Cody fires at it and misses. I take a stumbling step back toward the exit, but the monster is already running, propelled by the sight of a ground-floor meal. Wisps of hair sprout from the stricken man’s dirty head; his white, Talking Heads T-shirt is ripped and stained. He growls, exposing his yellowed teeth, and races towards the tractor. His moans alert the other two infected, who bound after him. I back up another step, glancing over my shoulder for a misplaced rake or another obstacle; tripping over something would be my last mistake. Even still, I won’t make it more than a handful of steps out into the field before they tackle me.
Cody rises to his knees, lining up another shot. He fires, striking the rearmost infected, but the other two keep coming. Making a hasty retreat, I circle around the opposite side of the tractor, keeping it between me and two sets of ravenous teeth. Cody fires again, but I don’t think he hits anything.
Forging past the other side of the tractor, I run deeper into the barn, scanning the area ahead for a place to escape or hide. Piles of bagged grain against the wall offer no help, nor do a few buckets and hoses that threaten to trip me up. Racing underneath the overhang, I meet Cody’s fear-stricken eyes for a brief moment before I pass under him. The loft is too high to reach; I can’t prop up the ladder. Besides, I have no time. Pounding feet and bloodthirsty snarls fill my ears. The creatures are close.
Reaching a row of wooden stalls along the back wall, I locate the first handle and tug. It breaks off in my hand, but the rickety door opens a few inches, scrapes, and stops. Hay blankets the floor; a rotten, old carcass makes me gag. I yank harder, widening the crack just enough to squeeze through. And then I’m in. I spin and shove the door closed just as one of the infected crashes into the other side. The impact throws me back a step, but I recover, bracing myself against the door, frantically searching for a latch. There’s nothing here, naturally. If there’s a lock, it’s on the opposite side so the horses can’t lock themselves in. Unfortunately, I also can’t lock the nasty infected out.
Feet planted, back against the door, I fight against the weight of the hungry stricken. I glance at the top of the stall, a few feet over my head; all I see is the underside of the loft. Cody’s out of sight.
I’m on my own.
Crashes shudder the wood I’m holding. The two monsters hurl themselves against the door relentlessly. Each time they shove it open an inch, I wedge it back. It seems like I’m playing a desperate, unwinnable game. I grit my teeth; my sneakers slide back over hay. The gap next to the doorjamb widens. Four hands jut through the opening; one of them catches hold of my hair. I scream and instinctively pull back; my eyes sting with pain as fingers rip hair out by the roots. I keep one wobbly shoe in place, fending off the probing hands. A face pokes through the opening. A man with a patchy, filthy beard locks eyes with me, desperately longing for me. His glazed, bloodshot eyes tell me all I need to know: he’ll rend me limb from limb like Ian and Sarah.
I’m not ready to die yet.
Raising the crowbar up so the prongs are above him, I hit him with all my might. The weapon lodges in the side of the creature’s head; blood and bone splatters. The stricken man’s eyes roll back and he falls to the ground with my crowbar, wedging the damned door further open. The second infected takes advantage, pushing her way through, barreling at me like a junior Sumo wrestler determined to crush her first opponent. Drooping skin hangs from her sizable body, flopping everywhere. She knocks me backward and into a pile of hay. On my back, I fend off her snapping jaws.
Her bloodstained lips open and close in a deranged clatter.
She bears down harder.
Throwing an arm up, I gasp for breath. Her massive stomach crushes me; my ribs are bent to the snapping point, and something digs into my side.
She’s tearing out my insides! Oh God! She’s….
Hold on…what is that?
It takes me a moment to realize I’m feeling the sheath of one of my knives trying to puncture my kidney.
With a desperate grunt, I reach down, find the handle of the blade, pull it out, and swing sideways with all my might, piercing the side of the woman’s head. The blade slides in several inches and stops. Her mouth opens and closes a last time. And then she’s lying on top of me, smothering me with her sweating, greasy skin. Pinned, I kick and squirm, fighting my way out of what feels like a quicksand made of lard.
And then I’m on my feet again.
I back away from the dead woman, pulling quick breaths. The infected’s bloodshot eyes stare blankly toward the floor; gore trickles from the fatal stab wound in her head. With effort, I reach down and tug the blade free, releasing a fountain of pink viscera, just as a voice screams my name.
“Hannah!”
19
Surprise
Cody calls for me again.
I spin and face the front of the stable. Through the open stall door, I see the second body of the infected I killed, my crowbar sticking from the top of his head like a strange, metal antenna. I race over and retrieve it. Dislodging it takes more effort than the knife. I put one foot on the back of the stricken’s head and yank up hard, managing to get the weapon loose, then shake off bits of brain and skin.
No time to hurl, I head back into the main room. My eyes are darting around for danger, but I can’t see anything but the enormous tractor and the pile of dead infected. And then I spot a familiar pair of dangling legs.
I race to where Cody’s hanging off the lip of the wooden loft, afraid to drop. “Let me help you!”
I sheathe my knife and set down my crowbar, catching him by the torso to cushion his fall. We both land with a grunt, a
nd he dusts himself off before giving me a hand. Together, we spin in a slow circle over the straw-covered floor, taking in the carnage. Four bodies lie there, plugged with bullet-holes. Two are draped over the fallen ladder, staining the rungs red with their blood. A few bales of hay are broken and scattered on the ground, knocked from Cody’s struggle on high.
“I tried to get down sooner…” he says guiltily.
“Don’t worry about it. I took care of them.”
“They were on me so fast I could barely fight back.” Cody shakes his head. “I barely made it up the ladder before they got me. They knocked it down and broke it, so I had to fight them off from up there.”
I study Cody for injuries. One skinny knee juts through a large rip in his jeans, speckled with blood. His arms are scraped and bleeding.
“Are you bitten?”
Cody looks down, inspecting his wounds. “No. Just banged up a bit.”
I exhale with relief. Stepping away from the mess, we survey the entrance of the barn, afraid more stricken might charge through, but all we see is bright sunshine and the field of overgrown grass.
Turning back to the bodies, I say, “You’re a regular gunslinger.”
“Yeah,” Cody says, his face reddening. “Well…you should see how many shots I missed.”
I look around, noticing some chipped holes in the floor to verify his story. I’m just thankful he didn’t hit me.
“We’re going to need more ammunition soon.”
I nod, having the same thought.
“Where did they come from?” Cody asks.
“There’s an orchard around back,” I explain. “I guess they were lurking in the trees. I tried warning you as soon as I saw them coming.”
“I heard the horn…” Cody says. Looking at the blood-soaked crowbar in my hand, he shakes his head in disbelief. “You’re getting pretty good with that thing.”
I shrug, but the compliment gives me no satisfaction. Forcing my attention away from the bodies, I cover my mouth. In my struggle to survive, I’d barely thought twice about killing the infected this time. Already, I’m starting to grow the callouses this new world demands.
Alive Again | Book 1 Page 9