Six

          “We need to get out of the city.”

            “I don’t think we should follow Reed’s map,” Jagger says, clutching it at his side. “He’s going to lead us right to the heart of everything.”

            “But they’re after me.” I hold Jagger’s gaze and then move from him to Cole to show them I’m serious. “And I want to know why.”

            Cole has no idea, but I catch Jagger as his eyes briefly move down to my ankle, a wound that healed in record time instead of turning me into a monster. That’s why they want me. But I want to know how. How could they know?

            “And then what, Sloane?” His voice is loud, harsher than it needs to be. “You’ll walk happily away from them and they won’t mind letting you go? There’s a reason they sent this,” he gestures towards the noises fading in the distance.

            Cole steps between us as my grip on my shotgun becomes airtight. “Which is why we need to keep moving and can discuss this when we’re somewhere safe. Right now we have the military and zombies, both ready to rip us to shreds. We don’t need you both doing the same.”

            He takes the map from Jagger’s hand and folds it back into its original square before shoving it into his back pocket. “Come on.”

            He stalks off down the alleyway, his shadow stretching out behind him. Jagger and I follow behind him wordlessly at a distance both from Cole and each other. With everything going on, my guard shouldn’t be down and neither should the barrel of my gun, however I can’t help feel some sense of relief going in the opposite direction of the rumbling noises behind us.

            When we reach the end of the block, Cole crouches on the corner of the brick wall to peer around the side, when the coast is clear, he stays down and motions for us to follow. The three of us hug the wall with Bullet staying close behind until we reach the very street we were on before with Reed.

            “We might be able to see what we’re dealing with from here,” Cole says. He tilts his head past the safety of the wall and looks down the road. With my hand on my shoulder, I maneuver until I’m behind him, behind my neck to see the people who are after me.

            “Tanks,” Jagger says. I don’t realize he’s staring over the top of my head until he speaks. “And Jeeps?”

            Cole sighs and moves out of sight. He presses his back to the wall and rubs his face as Jagger continues to watch and I sink to the ground beside Cole. “Looks like it.”

            “They have people walking along the storefronts. They really want you, Sloane,” he adds quietly.

            When we begin moving, all of us silent as we walk through the streets. All the zombies are gone, just like Reed said. And with the sound of the humans and their machines, it’s no guess that they’re on their way there. I just hope that they get what they’re looking for.

            Cole handles the note Reed gave me, using it to guide us through the city as we put more and more distance between us in the military. He says we’ll be far enough away that we’re safe but close enough to get back on track towards Reed’s destination for me if we choose to go.

            We. Because if Jagger and Cole don’t want to go with me, I’ll go alone.

            Though our food supplies are low because Reed ambushed us before we could go through the store, no one says anything, because no one wants to break the silence. I hope that wherever we stop will have food, though being in the city it seems like a longshot. Everyone who’s surviving would have raided everywhere by now, and if the people were smart before they abandoned their homes, they would have took what they had with him.

            Eventually we come upon a suburb, empty and ghostlike with its fading houses and missing cars. The only one I can spot is a rusty green Sedan in someone’s driveway, as if it were parked there before the outbreak hit. Other than the rust creeping its way along the bottom of the doors and the rims, the lone sign that it’s been sitting here for long are the broken windows. Whether it was human or zombies that scattered the glass on the asphalt, I can’t tell.

            Cole picks a house on the opposite side of the street, picking a house wedged between others that look completely ordinary and inconspicuous. The wood squeaks as my feet strain the steps of the wraparound porch, and when I trip, I see the crack split through them. Someone had fallen, but with more force than a simple slip.

            “Careful,” I murmur quietly, unable to keep quiet as Jagger opens the door. I know we’re still not okay, but without knowing what’s in the house, I can’t take any chances.

            The door creaks as he nudges it open with his shoulder, keeping his rifle against his collarbone as he aims across the foyer. Once he’s covered the area, he moves deeper into the house, making sure each room is clear. Cole follows him inside, scouting the left once Jagger disappears into the right, and I go straight towards the stairs. As I walk up, I watch Bullet for any signs that he hears anything. By the time I’m at the top, his ears haven’t flattened.

            I walk through the rooms with ease, clearing the large master bedroom and adjacent bathroom quicker than I expected. Down the hall, I find a girl’s room and search her closet and dresser for anything I can use. I still have my washed dress in my backpack, but Reed’s clothes aren’t easy to move in and the air outside is starting to chill.

            The pants are tighter than I expected and longer than I need, so I bend over to roll up the legs when I pause. Somewhere upstairs there’s a noise. It’s a small, quiet sound, so much that I wonder if I misheard. I freeze and hold my breath, listening. It doesn’t repeat itself.

            Cautiously, I continue changing my clothes. I end up with only a tank top to wear underneath Reed’s plaid long-sleeved shirt and a pair of boots that hurts the side of my feet. As I’m rolling my sleeves up, something catches the fading daylight and I turn to the dresser.

            I pick up the wooden frame silently and run my finger over the smiling faces underneath the glass. A sister and brother are grinning at the camera, the girl a child and the boy a toddler. It must have been taken a long time ago.

            Footsteps become closer from down the stairs and a door opens nearby. In the hallway I listen for any signs of danger, but all I hear are two sets of feet walking down the wooden steps into the basement.

            As I near another door, I realize I’m a man short. Turning around, I search for my dog. “Come on, Bullet,” I call gently. When there’s no response, I walk back into the girl’s bedroom. Bullet stands as still as a statue with his ears pulled back flat against his fur and his expression grave. “Bullet,” I repeat. “Come on.”

            He takes a few steps towards me, each movement robotic. By the time he reaches my side, I know something’s wrong. Slowly, I run my fingers across his head and massage his fur, but his ears don’t perk up again.

            “What’s wrong?” I whisper as if he might respond.

            Suddenly, he jerks back and lowers his head towards the ground, looking back and forth across it like some kind of evil insect is crawling to get him. But he’s hearing something I don’t, trying to figure out where it’s coming from. Then there’s a bang, though unlike before, it’s not quiet in the least.

            It’s like a body throwing itself against a door.

            The thumps continue, shaking the floor that lies beneath me. I see movements behind the blurred glass in between consciousness, but each time my brain tells me to run, my body refuses to move.

            I catch myself before I’m pulled under and run my hand along my face, tearing me away from the memory. Another crash repeats and immediately I’m holding my gun ready, expecting something to barrel out of one of the rooms and down the hallway at me. However nothing comes, and the sound pauses again.

            Leaning my head closer to the railing, I let my hair fall from my face and listen for Jagger or Cole. When I hear no movement from below, I call as quietly and urgently as I can.

            “Guys?” My voice echoes through the house. “Cole? Jagger?”

            I debate stomping my foot to alert them but no doubt whatever was making the thumping noises would feel it too, and know exactly where I am. My hand finds Bullet’s head again and I calm him, preventing him from making too much noise.

            “Let’s go find out what this is,” I say quietly. “Come on.”

            I lead him away from the top of the stairs and down the hall, passing the doors I had already been through that hand openly, letting me see everything inside. When I reach one of the rooms I hadn’t checked, I hold my breath and press my ear against the door. Silence.

            Taking in a deep breath, I put my finger on the trigger of the shotgun and use my other hand to twist the handle. Quickly I kick the door open, pointing the barrel around the small bathroom in a second. After double checking to make sure I didn’t miss anything, I realize the room is empty. I can see every corner from the doorway, so there’s no use going inside.

            The next door I come upon is wide open. I feel too exposed as I pause in front of the room that appears to be the boys. The walls are painted blue and airplanes hang from the ceiling. As if it had been slept in the night before, the red and navy sheets of the small children’s bed are messed up and a pillow sits on the ground.

            A small growl comes from beside me and I step into the room, ignoring the annoyingly loud thuds of my new boots on the floor. As I scan the room of misplaced toys and the shadows they create from the clean window, I don’t find anything strange. I’m about to move on when Bullet growls again, walking past me and into the middle of the bedroom. He walks towards the closed closet, its double doors perfectly sealed. When he lowers his head and shows me what I missed, I feel my small breakfast from Reed find its way into my throat.

            Two bloody handprints stain the carpet, dark red in colour from the blood turning old. They slide down towards the closet door, the stains only getting thicker. I can’t contain my breath that comes out louder than I want. I’ve missed something so vital to our safety here, and if I’ve done that here, who’s to say I’m not putting our group in danger?

            I don’t doubt the movement came from the closet, yet I don’t feel brave enough to face whatever is in there alone. Too many times I’ve made mistakes and had my flashbacks take control, so who am I to say that I’m safe by myself?

            Without making a sound, I take a chair from the desk that sits in the corner and put it underneath the door handles, preventing the closet from being opened easily. It won’t hold forever, but it will give us time. With only the sound of my heartbeat in my ears, I inch my face towards the door and listen.

            Something moves.