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

  But for now I'm stuck here. I hold myself still against the tree, listening for any rustles of movement or signs that something might have seen me. I stay like this well after the sun has set, only moving once the cold of night has begun to numb my limbs.

  Shrugging my bag off I pull it onto my lap and delve inside. I ruffle through its meager contents until I find what I'm looking for. Pulling them out, I frown at the two plastic water bottles. Messy handwriting is scribbled across each bottle in permanent marker, distinguishing the clean supply from the dirty. The water in the dirty bottle is murky with mud from the depleting stream I collected it from; but at least the bottle is half full. The other bottle is empty. Just to make sure, I unscrew its cap and tip it over my tongue, hoping that maybe a few stray drops will fall. It's bone dry.

  I could have sworn I had more.

  Pulling a small pot and box of matches out of my bag I gather up a few sticks from the ground and flatten out a bed of grass. I should be able to make a small fire without attracting any attention. As long as I can keep it under control I'm sure I'll be able to boil the water and stamp out the flames before the smoke is visible. It's a risk I'm willing to take. I should have done it while the sun was still up, but the underbrush looks thick enough to hide the fire and the canopy above is so dense that its leaves, I’m hoping, will act like a net and stifle the smoke for long enough. I pour the water into the pot and hope for the best.

  If only I had marshmallows this would be just like camping. Although I've only ever been camping once and it wasn't a very pleasant experience. It was just after my mother had left. We were trudging through a forest for hours, searching for the perfect place to set up camp. Neither my brother nor I cared for camping, but our father had insisted. I still can't imagine why. The entire trip had put him in a sour mood. He tripped over almost every branch and stone. At the time I thought he was just clumsy, now I think he might have been drunk.

  "For God's sake, Nathan would you stop pulling your sisters hair!" His loud voice was plagued with irritation as he stumbled over the trunk of a fallen tree.

  "Stella started it!" Nathan whined as he gave my hair another tug.

  "Did not!" I cried, my small hands moving to shove him away.

  "Did too!"

  "Would you both just stop fighting! We're here." My brother let go of my hair and we both looked out at the small area of flat ground our father had managed to find within the woods. Nathan and I shared a look before observing the area once more, sure that we must have missed something.

  "This is it?" Nathan asked skeptically, dropping his backpack on the ground and looking to our father for confirmation.

  "Of course this is it!" Dad snapped, quickly plastering a fake smile across his lips as he looked down at the both of us with what we easily recognized as forced enthusiasm. "This is the perfect place to go camping. Come on, first thing we'll do is start a fire. Nathan you go get us some sticks, Stella, you see if you can find us some moss or dry bark."

  It wasn't long before the three of us were sitting on the forest floor, our father cursing under his breath as he struck two rocks together. The warmth of the sun had receded behind the trees a while ago and the cold air of night was beginning to settle upon us. Nathan and I shared a miserable look as our father persisted in lighting the fire. Each failure emitting a new curse word we had yet to learn.

  "Dad?" Nathan asked, staring at the small make-shift fire-pit in front of us.

  "What is it?" Dad huffed, striking the rocks together with more intensity.

  "Why isn't Mom camping with us?"

  The question silenced all sound in the forest. The birds stopped their caws, the wind stopped its howl and even the branches of trees stopped their creaking groans. The rocks in our father's hands came to a halt as he stared at the unlit fire-pit, his lips pressed into a thin line.

  "Because your mother has a new family now."

  The rest of the camping trip was just as miserable. Even more so now that we had realized our mother abandoned us with no intentions of ever coming back. On the second day, when the atmosphere hadn't lifted any, our father gave up and took us home. Camping has never really appealed to me since then. Lying here however, with a crackling fire to warm my frozen fingers and thick greenery shielding me from the world outside, I'm beginning to understand its appeal as a form of escape. Seeing the cloudless sky through the branches you can almost forget what the world has become. I think I would be able to forget, or at least pretend for a while, if it weren't for the dying howl of that infected.

  The water's been boiling long enough that it should be clean by now. Moving the pot away from the fire I put out the flames and wait for the water to cool. Once it has, I begin tipping it into the clean water bottle, grimacing as a few drops spill over the edge. It's still a little murky, and I wonder if maybe I didn't boil it for long enough. But I've already put out the fire and I'm not willing to risk lighting another one. One sip of the water is all I allow myself before I begin stuffing everything back in my bag. I zip it up, glancing through the bushes in case the sound has attracted any attention. Only when I'm certain that the street around me is still do I turn the bag into a make-shift pillow. Propping it up against the trunk of the tree, I lay my head down on it and stretch out in the grass.

  My muscles manage to loosen some as the hands of the meadow embrace me, massaging the knots from my joints. With the grounds soft hold imitating the warmth of a bed, I feel almost safe as I stare up at the swaying branches and dancing leaves.

  It feels almost like this small park is a bubble, protecting me from the world around it. Everything seems so serene, like a small taste of paradise. For the first time in what seems like an eternity, I’m comfortable enough to let my guard down.

  I've just begun closing my eyes when a woman screams and the bubble of the park bursts.

  CHAPTER FOUR

  Stella

  I'm running before she screams a second time.

  The camouflage of the trees is abandoned, the bubble of the park shattered as I sling my bag over my shoulder and sprint out onto the street. Her cries pierce the night, like lightning, the silence that ensues imitating the overbearing force of thunder.

  I pause in the middle of the street, flustered. My cheeks are hot as I struggle to breathe quietly.

  She shrieks again.

  I start running in the direction of the noise, like a wolf hunting the moon.

  I'm an idiot.

  A suicidal idiot.

  Every step brings another reproach.

  Another scream, closer this time, much closer. I slow to a halt before moving any further, rethinking my abrupt decision.

  It's always a risk dealing with other survivors. Especially so soon after they've died. And from the sounds of those screams, she's either dead or very close to it. I still have some food and water, but she might have more. She might even have the keys to a working car! The last three corpses I've come across barely had anything useful on them. But they had been dead for a while. This woman has probably dropped all her belongings right where she died.

  Ripe for the picking.

  All I have to do is get to her corpse and maybe wait awhile for the infected to finish up with her. Or maybe if I'm lucky, she had a bag that she dropped in her panic to survive. That way I can scoop it up without having to wait or deal with any unwanted attention.

  She screams again.

  The sound forces me to move out of habit and I find myself taking three steps before I manage to restrain myself.

  I need to wait for her to die.

  I glance around the street, my heart burrowing deeper into my chest at every shadow that waves. The bright moonlight casts a ghastly glow along the road, deepening the darkest shadows surrounding it. The night doesn't agree with me. It wants me to hide in its embrace, along with the monsters it veils.

  The woman wails again, longer this time. I need to get to her soon before every infected in this town does.

  She must b
e at the end of the road.

  A small distance away that is cordoned off by the dark of night. I move off the road and into the tall bushes by its side. They rustle as I move against them, a sound incomprehensible against the tormented calls of the dying siren.

  My steps crunch amidst discarded leaves as I slowly make my way up the street, the woman's screams growing closer with every step. As I approach, the darkness recedes, allowing me to see her grave site.

  A gas station on the corner of an intersection.

  Not the most glamorous of places to die and definitely not where I would have wanted to drop – but you get what you're given I suppose. I step around a tree and behind a bush, pushing aside a few of its leaves so as to get a better view. My fingers curl at what I see.

  Shit, I think as my nails dig into my palms.

  Sitting outside the gas station is a bright yellow jeep. The same bright yellow jeep that saved my life not even a few hours ago. Its brightly painted exterior emulates the surface of the sun and wards off all the darkness surrounding it, acting as a beacon in the night. Standing beside the jeep is a man. I squint my eyes to try and get a better look at him, but his features remain indistinguishable in the night. Shadows trace every curve of his face and hide his identity.

  But I don't need to know what he looks like when I already know who he is.

  He's a wanna-be-hero. Hard to find in this day and age. Most of them have already died out due to their heroic (or idiotic) acts of sacrifice. Only the clever ones still remain. And he must be a clever one. Heroic enough to risk damaging his car to save me, but smart enough not to stop and risk giving me a lift.

  He's probably doing the exact same thing that I'm doing; waiting for the woman to die so that we can salvage her corpse. Any other survivor and I'd probably have to fight them off or make a deal with them. But a hero, well, if I play my cards right he just might be nice enough to let me have all the loot to myself.

  Pushing aside the small prickly branches I step out from the bushes and back onto the open road. His back is towards me as I approach him with small steps, his height increasing with the closing distance between us. Large muscles seem to tense beneath his clothes as my foot scrapes against the skin of the road. He turns his large body towards me in a quick swing, a gun coming along with him and resting at a level with my chest.

  I stop mid-step, my hands slowly rising above my head.

  "Hey there, big-boy," I smile, the words coming out in croaks. I can't even remember the last time I spoke, even uttered a curse. Noise is deadly.

  He doesn't lower the gun, instead he takes a step forward as the woman inside screeches again.

  "Grace you can quit yellin' now, we got another one!" he calls out with a voice as gruff as mine.

  Slowly, my smile fades as he begins walking towards me, his gun now raised towards my head. As he steps around me, telling me not to move, a skinny woman steps out from the gas station, looking me up and down as if evaluating her prize. When he takes the switchblade from my back-pocket and throws it into the night, the situation dawns on me.

  I've been played.

  The man grabs one of my arms and roughly twists it behind my back, pulling my bag off as he does so. I let out a small whimper and allow my arms to shake a little. He shoves me forward towards the woman and the gas station.

  I begin to cry, the fresh tears brimming in my eyes before they spill. They roll down my cheeks in long streaks and hang at the bottom of my chin.

  "P-please just l-let me go!" I whimper, twisting my body around to face the man so that he can see my tears. He pushes me ahead with the barrel of his pistol.

  "Quit the dramatics, princess, we all know you're fakin’ it," he grunts, unzipping my bag and rustling through its contents. I frown, not expecting a meat-head like him to see through my act. I suppose it was too much to hope that he would be sympathetic to a crying girl anyway.

  Scowling at him, I turn back around and stand up a little straighter.

  It’s clear that I need a new plan.

  CHAPTER FIVE

  Logan

  The bitch is still screaming.

  I squirm uncomfortably, my knees throbbing from the hard linoleum floors as I sit back on my heels. The thin wire coiled around my wrists, binding them together, slices into my skin with every small movement. I can feel the blood wetting my palms and trickling down my fingers.

  She screams again. An ugly noise. One that forces me to wince every time. It won't be long before every infected in town is swarming us. No doubt by then I'll be left behind as bait. If I wasn't so pissed off I might actually be willing to admit that their con is a pretty smart one.

  The one time I decide to ignore the voice in my head and try to help, this happens.

  I would slap myself if my hands weren't restrained.

  The woman watching me is thin and fragile. She paces the floor in front of me, a feeble knife in one hand and the keys to my jeep in the other. She's not even watching me. Her attention is focused solely on her boyfriend standing outside, waiting to catch any more poor suckers looking to help. She throws her head back and wails again.

  I grit my teeth.

  "Can you please shut your goddamn mouth?" I ask.

  She finishes her wail before looking down at me and taking a step closer. Transferring my car keys to her other hand, she raises it in the air, ready to slap me.

  "Grace you can quit yellin' now, we got another one!" her boyfriend calls from outside.

  Hand falling to her side, she gives me a dirty smile before turning to the door of the gas station and walking out to evaluate their new prize. I would have preferred it if she hit me.

  This is my chance.

  They haven’t bound my legs and I can run out the back door while they're all out front. But that would mean losing my car and everything in it. Before I have time to contemplate further, the door of the service station clicks open.

  A girl, no older than nineteen is pushed forward into the store. She stumbles and falls to the ground while the boyfriend rummages through her belongings, the girlfriend clinging to his back, desperate like a child trying to catch a glimpse of their Christmas presents.

  "Well, did we get anything good hon’?" she asks, standing on her toes to peer over his shoulder.

  "Bottle of water, a pot and some matches, nothin’ good," the boyfriend grumbles back, turning to her and pulling her into an embrace. "You did a good job screamin' sweetheart. It's not our fault these assholes didn't have anythin' good on em'."

  I can't stand to watch anymore. My eyes roll before landing on a pair of emeralds, staring up at me from the floor. Their glow catches me off guard and fills me with a sense of familiarity. All I want is to look away, but I can't.

  Until she blinks.

  I snap away from her gaze and turn my attention to my left shoulder instead, trying to ignore the cooing babbles of my captors.

  "Psst, hey," she whispers at an octave lower than silence. I look back at her, only to be painfully held by the green light of her eyes. Her thick eyebrows pull together as she watches me grimace. I drop my eyes and focus my stare on her small nose instead, painted with dirt and grime.

  "We can take them," she breathes.

  I pause for a second, deliberating the imposition of her statement. "What?"

  "They think I'm weak, we can take them by surprise," she explains, nodding her head towards the couple kissing at the front of the store. "I'll take the big guy, you handle the bitch,” she pauses, looking back to make sure I understand.

  "Got it?" she asks.

  I huff out a breath of amusement. "I like your spirit kid but my hands are tied, so are yours, how are we supposed to do that?"

  "I don't know," she shrugs, "use your head." She doesn't waste a minute. As the couple separates she jumps up from the floor and runs towards them. Without hesitation she pulls her head back and slams it into the nose of the boyfriend, snapping it out of place. The impact makes a smack loud enough to imitate the soun
d of a gunshot.

  He goes reeling with a shout, dropping the gun in surprise; the gun they took from me. The girlfriend sees the pistol clatter to the floor and dives like a fox to pick it up. I stand up and move towards her, sticking my leg in-between hers I use my other to sweep her down, knocking us both off our feet. Her chin strikes the floor first, a bubble of blood bursting from her lips as her teeth clack together.

  I untangle my legs from hers and stand up as quickly as possible, my side throbbing from the collision with the floor. The girlfriend is sobbing, blood oozing from her mouth, but still crawls towards the gun. I swing my boot and kick her in the face, trying to ignore the crunch of teeth and squelch of liquid. She stops moving.

  I look over to the girl. She's standing over the body of the boyfriend, watching me, her green eyes innocently analyzing. I look away.

  Sitting down next to the body of the girlfriend I work to find the small knife in her hand. Prying it from her grasp, I manage to position the blade at an angle that lets me cut the wire from my wrists. Once it’s cut away, I stand up and look down at the dark and bloody lines that are etched into my skin; they burn ferociously as I rub at them.

  "Care to give me a hand?" the girl asks, her eyes settling on me with no indication of leaving. Leaning down I snatch my car keys and the gun up from the ground before I move towards the girl and cut the wire from her wrists. "Thanks," she mumbles, as she picks her bag up from the floor and begins stuffing all her belongings back inside.

  "My name's Stella," she says, swinging the bag onto her back.

  "I didn't ask." I turn to leave. I need to get away from her eyes.