She’d taken care to clean up Hunter, but scuffling with monsters had left its mark on her too. She ran a hand over the neck of her shirt, a long gash in the material revealing the scratches and blood beneath. Claws, claws, claws. She cringed, the words and images like trying to block out one of those surgery shows. You just couldn’t unsee it. She drew the shirt over her head, gingerly lifting the shoulder she’d injured. She didn’t want to look, but Mackenzie turned in the mirror, peering over her shoulder at the purpling bruise that crossed her back. It was only mildly swollen, but hot to the touch, and she winced, pulling her fingers free to draw the hair away from her neck. The bruising here was lighter, less severe, making her grateful the railing had hit where it had.
They’d left a few bottles of water on the counter for brushing their teeth, and Mackenzie poured a small amount on a washcloth, brushing away blood from the scratch on her chest. The mark wasn’t deep, but it had left a nasty red welt, like being scratched by a cat. Cool water seemed to ease the sting, so she soaked the rag through, pressing it there as she decided what to do. She glanced at the empty tub, badly wanting a shower. The water would be freezing, if it came out at all, and then there were the warnings of contamination.
Pressing the stopper on the sink drain, she let the small faucet run for a minute into the basin. The stream sputtered and choked, but what came out looked clear, smelled clean. Not that she knew what contamination smelled like. Hoping the gallon or so resting in her sink had been safely waiting in the lines and tank, she dipped her head sideways into the pool of water. It wasn’t as cold as she’d expected, which made her feel better about the water heater tank theory, but she made sure not to get it near her face, just in case. She wrung the excess out of her hair, letting it fall back into the basin, and reached into the shower for the bottle of strawberry-scented shampoo. It was a considerable improvement, given that she’d not been brave enough to wash it since Riley had left and there’d been no good-enough reason to risk standing in the kitchen boiling the extra water without someone on lookout.
She let her hair soak for a moment, wrapping it into a twist on top of her head so she could kick off her socks and jeans. The foam dripped, splattering onto her shoulder and back, and she took the cloth quickly over her skin. Gooseflesh rose, at either the damp and cold or the knowledge she was alone in her current state of semi-undress.
In the scary movies, it was always the naked girl who got it.
She yanked the clean jeans over her legs, trying desperately not to slip on the wet tile floor, and then leaned over the sink again, hurriedly splashing water over her scalp. Water trailed over her back and she cursed, wrapping a towel around her head and using another to catch stray trickles before they soaked the new clothes. She was not going back upstairs. Running some conditioner and a comb through the ends of her hair, she tossed the towels in the hamper without thought of how long they’d lie there unattended. Worrying about that sort of thing would get her nowhere. She needed to focus on what could help, what she could take or do that might aid in the search for Riley and his army.
She pulled the clean shirt over her head, careful of her bruised and tender shoulder. It was heather-gray and fitted, the logo of a close-by state school emblazoned across the chest.
Mackenzie had never worn much makeup. She had naturally dark lashes, but periodically swiped her lips with the balm she kept in the front pocket of her jeans. Aside from the leather bracelets wrapped at her wrist, it was her only embellishment. By the time she’d situated her things and laced up her boots, the damp hair had left dark spots across her shoulders, soaking through the thin cotton tee. She grabbed her jacket, winding a spare hair band beneath the bracelets and tucking the sewing kit into a back pocket. She realized it was probably the last time she’d have the comfort of a mirror and toiletries, and reached back for the toothbrush and comb.
She paced the house three more times, opening drawers and searching for useful tools, sorting and re-sorting her backpack before dumping the entire thing out to start again. Pack light, she remembered Riley saying. I’m not going to carry an extra fifty pounds just because you want to be sure you have nine flavors of lip gloss.
She’d smacked him then, laughing. It had been a hiking trip, one he’d needed a chaperone to attend. But the rules still applied.
Duct tape, bandages, matches, needle, socks. The food and water were a given, something they couldn’t do without. But the rest had to be worth its weight if she was going to carry it forty or fifty miles without a break. Setting aside the comb and a handheld radio, she stared at the measly contents of her survival kit.
Giving up the vanity of a proper comb was one thing, but there was no reason to be ridiculous. “Toothbrush goes,” she said to the pile. Her hand curled around the thin blue brush, tightening to a fist when she spotted the figure standing behind her. She gasped, heart in her throat, and then glared at the man who’d snuck up on her. “Don’t do that.”
Hunter stared at her, too long, and she ran a hand self-consciously through her hair. It had dried into loose waves, falling carelessly over her face. She tucked it behind an ear, standing to brush bits of glitter from the front of her jeans. “I went ahead and grabbed the other pack, if you want it.” He nodded, noncommittally. “You know,” she added, “there’s plenty of water in the kitchen if you want to clean up before tonight.”
His eyes roamed over her, taking in the new clothes and flushed cheeks.
“Did you have any luck?” she asked.
Hunter raised an eyebrow, stepping closer to her pile of supplies. “Don’t believe in magic, but you believe in luck?”
She crossed her arms. “Is that a no?”
He slid the toe of his shoe against the heap, tipping an emergency candle free of the stack. “I was able to secure some gasoline. Other cars were out there, but several roads are impassable, so we’ll take the containers where we require them. We leave now.”
Now. She pressed a hand to her stomach. “Not at dark?”
His gaze came up to meet hers, suddenly too close in her family’s living room, the center of Mackenzie’s old world. “You’ve changed your mind?”
“No,” she squeaked. She cleared her throat, tried again. “I just thought you had a plan.”
He nodded. “This will work. As long as we can get to the site before seven, I think you’ll be safe.” Her brow drew together, but Hunter turned, heading toward the kitchen as he continued. “There will be room in the car for whatever you might want to take, but you should carry light, in case we need to leave it on the road.”
She grabbed her pack from the floor, following him through the hall. “I’ve got it down to about ten pounds. It’s the water really that’s the main weight.” He stopped by the basin, glancing up at her. “But I can do it,” she said. “No problem.”
Mackenzie was beside him when he grabbed the hem of his shirt, dragging it over his head with one arm. She swallowed, stepping back to glance out the window instead of at his lean, muscled torso. It wasn’t that big of a deal. She’d seen bare man chest before.
He unwound the band that covered his wound and dropped it to the floor, bending over to splash cold rain water over his skin. Wet man chest. Awesome. She crossed her arms tight over her middle, curling her fingers into her ribs and forcing her eyes back to the kitchen window. She’d been through the start of an apocalypse; she could handle being around an attractive guy. It was so not a big deal.
Chapter 8
Mackenzie tossed her bag through a back window, opening the driver’s door of her father’s ninety-eight Accord while Hunter poured part of one container of gas into the tank. Their eyes met over the sedan’s roof. “What?” she said. “My car, I’m driving.” He didn’t argue, but his blink was too long to be agreement.
The lid of the fuel tank popped closed and Hunter picked up both partially filled jugs to put in the trunk. Mackenzie slid in behind the steering wheel, clicking her safety belt into place before turning the key. �
��Honestly,” she said through the open car window, “I don’t know why you’d expect it any other way.” She smiled, painfully aware that she had about five seconds of courage left. If he didn’t let her drive the car, keeping her mind and hands occupied, there was no way she’d be able to do this. “Come on,” she chirped, “there are monsters out there.”
Hunter chuckled, the sound unnatural in the debris-scattered lawn of her family’s lifelong home. But when he slipped into the seat beside her, she had the strangest feeling that was a show too. That somehow he wasn’t ready to go.
She looked at him again in daylight, and saw the clean, smooth skin of his hands, scuffed but uncut jeans. She shifted the car into gear, wondering where Hunter had been in the two weeks since the monsters had attacked. Not hiding in a basement like her, certainly. But he couldn’t have been fighting them this whole time, not in the shape he was in. She bit her lip, hoping he’d holed up to study them on the internet, watching their patterns of movement through a slit in his window frame. He was an expert, right? He knew what to do.
She swallowed a hysterical laugh, turning onto the next block without bothering to switch on the signal. It wasn’t as if traffic rules still applied. The roads were empty. And that was where they were even passable at all.
The sight of crushed houses and overturned cars still made her stomach dip, but at least they were moving forward. Mackenzie was terrified, but in the light of day, on their way to actually do something, she was starting to gain ease. Purpose.
Nothing could change the past; she had learned that the hard way. But the future, well, that was open to numerous outcomes. At the very least, acting was better than waiting. Better than helplessness.
They drove through a second cross street, and Mackenzie had to take the car over the curb to pass a group of abandoned vehicles blocking the roadway. She slowed as she did so, seeing that they appeared to have been pushed there by a black shingled roof. As in, the top of a house. She tapped the gas pedal and then slowed again, swerving to avoid a pile of lumber and debris that included the front half of a bicycle, a busted microwave, and fluffy pink insulation. She recognized it as the Pink Panther kind, thanks to that summer job at the local building supply.
Another cross street approached, and she realized with a sinking feeling that she was never going to find Adamstown. There were no indicators, no familiar landscape or street signs to guide her there. She was driving blind.
The sun was the only marker she could be sure of. She needed to head east. As long as she kept in that general direction, she should be able to guess where the city was. There would be people. The news had shown looting and the beginnings of gangs and rioting. Those who hadn’t fled could lead her closer to the army.
“Stay off the main roads,” Hunter said, stopping her intended turn.
“But—” Her words dropped off as she caught sight of his face. Grim did not begin to describe his expression. His eyes flicked to a side road, narrowed, and then scanned the debris of an overturned semi.
The trailer lay on its side, back doors open to reveal a cargo of torn cardboard and scattered pallets. If there had been anything of value inside, it was long gone.
Hunter gestured toward the next block. “There. Make a right and we’ll run parallel with Montgomery Street.”
Mackenzie wasn’t certain which street was which, but she followed Hunter’s direction, hoping he had a better sense of where they were going than she did. She crossed over lawns and through ditches, barely topping ten miles per hour most of the time. But it was still faster than walking and she felt safer inside the car. It smelled of Riley, of home.
The streets became clearer in places, the houses less demolished, more power lines standing, and Mackenzie realized that her neighborhood was indeed the epicenter. Aside from the rioting and burning of the cities on the news, West Ridge was possibly the worst place hit. It had been flattened, demolished.
The bitter taste of fear welled up and she had to push it back, focus on the path. It wasn’t a road, really. Not anymore. After what had happened, they might never see industrial society again. Even if she told their leaders, even if the army defeated the monsters that swarmed this world. Things would never be the same.
Not after this.
She passed over a railroad crossing where stopped cars had been pushed from the roadway. She imagined tanks, snowplows, army caravans with troops and weapons and aid.
But there was no one. There had been no one, not in all the miles they’d driven. Had everyone shut themselves up in their own basement hideaways? Had they evacuated to some safer spot, some notice that she and Riley had missed?
Or had Mackenzie been the only one foolish enough to stay?
“Turn left,” Hunter said from beside her.
His voice startled her, and she jerked, but Hunter didn’t notice. He was staring ahead at a group of trucks blocking a road that crossed their own. At first, she was relieved at the sight of actual people, but it didn’t take long for Hunter’s mood to sink in.
These weren’t soldiers, not for her army anyway. They were blocking the road to stop traffic; they’d be gathering supplies like food and water, gas. Stealing them. And, Mackenzie realized as she saw the crowd of abandoned vehicles roadside, securing what they wanted without a care for leaving anyone alive.
She kept forgetting this was the end of the world.
Mackenzie sped up, trying not to look in her rearview mirror. If they followed her, she wouldn’t have a chance. All she could do was hope their spiderweb tactic was working well enough to keep them there, lying in wait for another car, not following her. She took a shortcut through a parking lot, swerving needlessly wide when the door of a truck parked building-side opened, the sun glinting off its mirror.
“I thought seeing people would make me feel better,” she said.
Hunter didn’t reply, only gestured toward the sidewalk, where a thin strip of metal coiled into the roadway. Mackenzie drove around it, adding one more thing to her list of things to be cautious about: flat tires and pillagers and monsters and death. Her arms ached with tension, hands tight on the wheel. She wished she’d never left the house. She wished her brother was here. So she could strangle him.
“Dammit, Riley,” she said, hand smacking the steering wheel.
A car turned onto the roadway ahead of them, picking up speed as it advanced in their direction.
“Right,” Hunter said.
Mackenzie turned, taking the corner a bit too fast for all the debris covering the pavement, and then jerked the wheel as a truck drove into their path. Faster. It was all she could think. Maybe instinct, maybe fear, but something told Mackenzie they were in trouble before her mind had a chance to process the cars in her rearview mirror.
“They’ll try to box you in.” Hunter’s voice was calm. “Don’t go so fast that you do the job for them. Nor slow enough they have time to react.”
Mackenzie’s gaze cut to him. If she hadn’t been so scared she might have rolled her eyes.
“They are rash, disorderly. Too far outside the city and the main streets.”
His words were not a comfort. It only meant these men weren’t the threats she should worry about.
It meant more danger awaited them.
A motorcycle buzzed past her door, cutting so close in front of the car it nearly clipped her bumper as it moved into her path.
“Keep going,” Hunter ordered, though he didn’t have to. Mackenzie had seen this on TV. They were going to do whatever it took to stop her, and she wanted no part of what came after that.
She pressed her foot to the accelerator, speeding past the bike, thunking the man’s elbow off a side mirror. She winced, but didn’t let up, swerving and dodging oncoming traffic—if you could call it that—as this gang of bandits tried to cut her off.
She came into the business district, open lots and cement-covered lawns. It was just the space she needed to evade her pursuers, leaving them no way to block her in. The band o
f men knew that, apparently, because the vehicles chasing her slowed, changing course and turning back. Toward their trap.
As a muscle-tank-shirted guy in the back of a truck waved the last car off, Mackenzie breathed a sigh of relief. But the drive only got worse from there. She began to see traffic. Mostly on foot, but a few bicycles or ATVs. People loitered in the streets, wandered across the lawns of burned and torn-down houses. A small girl with dirt-smeared face and stringy hair held up a sign begging for food. It was not her writing; it couldn’t have been. She looked no more than five or six years old. But she’d been left to stand there, alone and hungry. There was no question of her hunger. They all had that look. Not just for food. They wanted rescue. They wanted before.
Hunter was quiet as she drove through the city’s outlying streets, winding her way closer and closer to Adamstown. Mackenzie assumed he was watching out the window, looking for more threats, but when she glanced at a cross street—where two young, rail-thin girls fought over an old twill jacket—she saw that his eyes were caught on the console beneath the dash. Where her driver’s license rested.
There was nothing to hide there: brown hair, brown eyes, 1024 Oak Lane. But Hunter had that look again, the one he’d given her since she’d brought him through the iron gates of her house. He didn’t trust her. She’d lied to him.
Mackenzie had made a habit of keeping everything inside since the death of her mother. But there was no need now. Riley was almost eighteen. The world was coming to an end. No social system could keep them apart now. Riley had done that himself when he’d decided to join the army.
She could tell Hunter. She didn’t have to hide.
His eyes flicked to hers, catching her, and she squinted back at the road. He hadn’t spoken, but an understanding had passed between them, both of them feeling the uncomfortable truth. They were strangers, despite what they’d been through. She needed him, more than he needed her. And Hunter might never trust her.
King of Ash and Bone Page 5