A World Alone (Dead World Series Book 1) Read online

  A

  WORLD

  ALONE

  R.K. WEIR

  Kindle Edition

  A World Alone copyright © Ross Weir, 2016

  All rights reserved.

  This book is sold subject to the condition that it shall not, by way of trade or otherwise, be lent, hired out or otherwise circulated in any form of binding or cover other than that in which it is published. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means (electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise) without the prior written permission of the copyright owner.

  This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, organizations, places, events, incidents and dialogues are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

  For more information contact: www.rkweir.com

  Book cover image bought from thebookcovermachine.com

  First Edition: September 2016

  10 9 8 7 6 5 4 3 2 1

  For my parents, who always believed in me

  Sometimes, dead is better...

  Stephen King

  Pet Sematary

  CHAPTER ONE

  Stella

  T

  HERE'S ONE IN THE HOUSE.

  The dragging thump of footsteps, somewhere downstairs, is what tips me off. My entire body goes rigid as I strain to listen. Going down to investigate is a necessity, and with a heart that beats against me I leave the bedroom and step out into the hall.

  Muffled sounds and the occasional sniff are all that I can hear as I move towards the staircase. The cries an animal would make if something had frightened it. But the stench of deteriorated flesh is swift to assault me as I poke my head downstairs, and I know that the source of noise is neither animal, nor frightened.

  The front door is wide open, allowing a substantially bright stream of sunlight to illuminate the stairs directly in front of it. I mentally retrace my steps and try to remember if I shut the door. I'm almost certain that I did. In fact, I'm positive that I did. But I must be wrong.

  Because they can't open doors, not without breaking them down.

  It's not long before the source of noise reveals itself, stepping into the pool of sunlight at the base of the stairs. I withdraw myself further behind the wall, my heart now beginning to pound.

  An infected.

  Tangles of hair encrusted with dried blood surround a portion of its head that’s missing. The white of its skull is visible, highlighted by the sun beneath the dirt drenched scalp. Its clothing is torn in random places and stained in others. Long arms hang limp at its sides, its spindly fingers clenching and unclenching at random intervals. Despite this movement it manages to stand alarmingly still, its body angled towards the open door, distracted by a sound of the wind.

  Perspiration dampens my brow and trickles down the sides of my face as my eyes study the entirety of its body, analyzing every twitch and spasm. My heart jumps with each small, agitated movement it emits.

  I'm unaware that I'm holding my breath until it throws itself towards the stairs and an unintended gasp leaves my lips. In an instant I'm quietly running back towards the bedroom, my heart beating in pace with the footsteps I hear coming up behind me.

  Panic overwhelms my thoughts while my eyes dart to every corner of the room, landing on the door of a small closet. Daring a glance behind me, I step inside and pull the door with a slow precision, leaving it open a crack to avoid the creation of noise. I don't know if it has heard me, I can only hope that it hasn't.

  The darkness hugs me, and only now does the confinement of the small space register in my mind. I’ve trapped myself with no other options. Like a drum, my pulse pounds in my ears, overbearing upon the sound of its steps and groans. In no time at all, the infected appears at the door of the bedroom, its approach silent compared to the beating of my heart. It’s found the room so fast that I’m almost sure it knows I’m in here. A wolf mid-hunt, it pauses in the doorway and lifts its head up in the air, nose sniffing for a scent. I bite down on my tongue to avoid a breath from escaping.

  Like a switch, its head snaps down and it enters the room with the awkward stagger of their kind. It stalks towards my place of hiding, its long legs bringing it close with quick steps.

  I fall back on my hands and crawl as far away as possible, pushing myself into the corner of the closet and pressing myself against its walls. The infected only draws nearer, and I'm certain now that it has heard me.

  The sound of its labored breathing infiltrates the silent expanse separating us when it comes to a stop. Its tall figure stands right outside the door, its body motionless. A strong pulse reverberates through me, pounding within the confines of my skull and tightening my parched throat. The metal wire of my bra has broken out and stabs into my skin. I want to push it away but I don't dare to move. My eyes, wide and unblinking are focused on its legs and the dirty fabric that ripples, like waves, with every small sway.

  Without thought my hand slinks across my body and coils around the small switchblade tucked precariously in my jean pocket. The cool metal feels like ice against my skin. Slowly, and carefully I pull it out, my eyes searching for any small sign of movement. Any small sign that I'll have to use the flimsy knife now clasped in my hands.

  But it turns its body away, back towards the bedroom door. The smallest sigh slips through my clenched teeth and out desiccant lips as it walks out of sight, and relief floods my veins. My grip on the knife loosens as I stand up in the closet. I wait several seconds before opening the door and stepping out, the knife held in front of me. Moving towards the door of the bedroom, I peer out and exhale at the sight of an empty corridor.

  If there’s one, there’s bound to be more. I need to leave. Looking back at the bed, I single in on the dark red shape amongst the white sheets and pluck my backpack from the soft mattress. My eyes linger on the clean spread and soft surface, my limbs crying out for a rest. The house seemed like such a promising pit stop, almost completely untainted by the world outside.

  If only I had locked the front door.

  Turning from the seductive lure of the bed, I crouch down and creep out into the corridor. With my body pressed against the wall, I inch towards the stairs. The front door is almost in my line of sight when the infected walks out of a room from down the hall. I repress a gasp and just manage to quickly slip into the nearest room, my heart thundering like a storm in my chest.

  I look around my new hiding place – an infant's bedroom. My jaw clenches at the significant lack of furniture and closets to hide in. The sound of footsteps make their way towards me as my eyes snap between every empty corner. In a fluster I shuffle behind the small cot in the center of the room and duck down behind it. Squinting through the wooden slats, my fingers curl around the knife in my hand, like a python determined in strangling its prey.

  The infected stops outside of the room and I hold my breath, hoping against hope that it will move on.

  It steps inside, its arms still limp as it walks towards the cot, sniffing the air with a raspy wet sound. It moves towards the cradle until it's standing directly above it. I lower myself as close to the ground as I can, my hands quivering and impossible to still. After a moment it begins walking again, this time circling round the cot. I follow its speed, creeping like a mouse in the opposite direction until we've swapped sides. I glance back at the door behind me, the idea of running a tempting one.

  But I choose to remain still until it begins moving again, and finally we're back to our original positions. Looking up at it through the s
lats, my view of it is made a shaky one from the merciless trembling that wracks my body in waves. Its eyes, haunted with a lifeless stare explore the walls of the room, never looking down. The expression painted on its face remains one of consumed austerity as its nostrils flare with every momentary sniff. While its lips, having forever lost the life of words, part the slightest bit to allow a snarl.

  Satisfied with its exploration, it turns and leaves.

  Another bottled breath relieves itself from my lungs as I stay crouched, listening to its footsteps descend the staircase. Each resounding thump echoing with comfort as the distance between us furthers. That was far too close. This time I wait several moments before leaving the room, something I should have done in the safe confines of the closet.

  I pause beside the staircase and peer downstairs, listening intently for any sign of the infected. After a moment of silence, the thought scampers into my mind that it must have left the house altogether. As soon as it reached the bottom of the stairs it must have heard a noise outside and left through the open door to catch it.

  The thought calms the considerable dread that had built up a fortress within me as I descend the stairs, one quiet step at a time. The bright sunshine blinds me as I reach the last step and squint to see out the door. The street appears empty, but it hasn't been that long since the infected left, which means that it’s still nearby. It's a safer idea to leave through the back door, I think.

  Standing up from my crouched position, I take off at a jog and turn towards the back of the house. And that's where I see the infected, standing at the end of the hall with its blank stare pointing in my direction. Crashing into an invisible wall, my entire body comes to an abrupt halt. Its body is still, save for the abrasive twitch of its hands.

  The fortress of dread has crumbled, and in its place a citadel of terror has been erected.

  Slow and deliberate, I take one step back.

  And that's when it screams.

  CHAPTER TWO

  Logan

  Do not feel bad.

  I force myself to focus on the road ahead.

  Do not feel bad.

  My grip on the wheel tightens and I find my eyes straying to the rear-view mirror, and the two women fading in the distance. Their arms remain above their heads as they continue, desperately, to try and flag me down.

  Do not feel bad, I growl the words at myself and try not to think of their faces when they saw my jeep driving towards them, the relief that flooded their eyes, only to twist into an expression of utter despair when I didn't stop.

  Do.

  Not.

  Feel.

  Bad.

  The words are engrained in my mind when the two women vanish from sight, and I find myself at a crossroad with guilt and relief.

  It's survival, nothing else. Helping those two women would have drastically decreased my chances of staying alive. I don't need a chart or an expert to understand that. It's the simple truth – albeit a harsh one – but a truth nonetheless. After how long I've lasted out here, and all the shit I've endured.

  I’m not ready to give up just yet.

  Even if there isn't much reason to stick around.

  Slowing the car to a halt, I move the pistol in my lap onto the passenger seat beside me and pull out a map from the glove compartment. My fingers curl like dying flowers around its edges, careful not to tear the delicate material. I unfold it, treating it like a dried petal that might disintegrate if handled roughly. Squinting at all the thin, intricate lines I glance up at the surrounding desert and curse. Maybe it’s because I don’t know how to properly read a map, or maybe it’s because life is just shit, but I find myself getting irritated.

  My hands clench into fists around the paper, and I scrunch it up and shove it back into the glove compartment. I don’t need a damn map when I know the general direction I’m supposed to be heading.

  Glancing around at the arid landscape one more time, I start the ignition and begin driving again, catching a glimpse of my reflection in the side-view mirror as I pull back onto the road. I scratch at the stubble that lines my jaw, threatening to sprout into a full beard. Shaving isn't on my list of priorities, but I'll have to make it one eventually.

  There aren't many infected around as I drive. They know there isn't anything to find out in the desert, as if they know we can't survive out here.

  The ones that do bother to venture out this far are slowed anyway by the harsh winds, constantly grinding sand into their joints until their limbs have withered away altogether, like sandpaper against wood. They wouldn't pose a threat unless there was a horde of them, and they rarely ever travel in hordes.

  It isn't long before the familiar shapes of buildings manifest in the distance, their bodies molded by the heat and looming like waves.

  Phoenix.

  A town I'd probably never have come to if it weren't for the circumstances. Always have to look on the brighter side of things, even when the entire world has gone dark. At least I've been traveling a lot, visiting new places and seeing new sites. Places void of the living and sites that are either completely destroyed or in the process of accelerated erosion, but hey, it is what it is. I can't exactly say that it hasn't been interesting.

  Looking around at the buildings as I drive down random streets, I try to scope out any place that may not have been looted, or a place I can stay for the night. The jeep isn't exactly comparable to a warm bed.

  A flicker of fast movement catches my attention up ahead when a girl sprints out of a house and onto the road. She pauses when she sees me. An infected man emerges from the house right after her, like a creature from its cave stalking its prey with flying limbs.

  "Goddammit," I mumble as I press down on the accelerator.

  The girl takes the hint and runs the rest of the way across the road, leaping out of my way and leaving the infected directly in my line of sight. The sick bastard doesn't even look at me as I run it down. Its eyes remain trained on the girl as its body falls under the wheels of the jeep with the sickly sounds of snapping bones.

  I don't ease up on the accelerator; the death of one always attracts others. In a few minutes the road will be clogged with other infected. A sense of déjà vu creeps in on me as I glance in the rear-view mirror at the girl standing by the side of the road. She stares after me for no more than five seconds before running off.

  Smart kid.

  I may not be willing to pick her up and give her a lift, but I helped her out no less. That should count for something. I saved her life, I've done more than is required of me. More than I even expected from myself.

  At the very least, I shouldn't have to feel bad this time.

  But I do.

  CHAPTER THREE

  Stella

  Miracles.

  I don't believe in them. You get lucky or you don't, that's the way it works. Miracles are just lump sums of unfiltered luck that people inappropriately labeled. To receive such extraordinary luck and then attribute its cause to some divine grace just never sat right with me.

  It wasn't a miracle that I passed that algebra test without studying, I just got lucky with the multiple choice. Same way someone is lucky to win the lottery. It all comes down to plain, dumb luck.

  No miracles involved.

  At least that's what I thought until now, when a bright yellow jeep just saved my life.

  I didn't believe in miracles before but I sure as hell am questioning that philosophy now. Standing on the side of the road I watch the jeep drive away as the infected, crippled beyond repair, lets out a groan. I stare after the yellow car for a second longer, part of me hoping that he will stop, the other part just grateful for what he’s done. Glancing down at the infected's mangled body, I suppress any sound of disgust as my eyes graze over the protruding bones, sticking out as if desperate to escape the rotting flesh encasing it.

  Its anguished moans will attract others soon unless I stop it now. But in its state of contortion, I'm not entirely sure where its head
is, or how it's still alive. Either way, I'm better off running than searching the mound of flesh for its source of noise.

  Tucking the switchblade into my back pocket, I turn from the road and run. Already exhausted, it takes only a few minutes before my breathing becomes ragged again, each breath jolted from the bag that bounces on my back, smacking into my shoulder blades with every step.

  I hate this suburb. The houses are scrunched together and the streets are wide with little coverage. It would be too easy for an infected to spot me, even if I ducked down a little bit. As I round the corner of one house and come out onto a short street, I spot a small oasis of green up ahead. A park with trees and shrubbery. It isn't the greatest place to hide, but it's probably the best cover I'll find in a while.

  The street looks clear, but there could always be one lurking in the doorway of a house. The last thing I want is to run into another one. I can handle one of them, but it's safer to avoid them altogether. If the option to run is a viable one, I'll always choose to run. I think anyone would choose to run; there's no sense in fighting one of them up close with the risk of getting bitten.

  Slowing to a quick walk I bend, crouching as close to the ground as I can get while glancing around the street. The sun glares down on me as I scurry towards the park, its brilliant beams forcing sweat to soak my shirt and jeans.

  My feet instantly feel lighter as I set foot on the overgrown grass, like stepping on a cloud after riding a thunder storm. I waste no time in diving into the shrubbery, crawling through the wild leaves and prickling thorns until I come upon a tree trunk, moderately surrounded and concealed, like a mini forest. I turn back and readjust some of the branches and bushes I moved before sitting down and resting my back against the trunk of the tree.

  Strands of grass latch themselves onto me as I quietly breathe, their long bodies swaying in the soft breeze. Even from this distance I can hear the infected that had been chasing me. Its screams piercing the air like a beacon, signaling every other infected in the surrounding area. It'll be a while before the coast is clear for me to move. After all the infected congregate around their fallen counterpart, they'll be on the hunt, which means I'll have to be quick if I want to get out of this town alive.