Twenty-Eight
Asia
Six Days on the Road
“Those new socks still holding up?” Jack asked.
I momentarily turned my attention away from the seemingly endless rolling hills in front of me and grinned at him. “Perfect. And I have five pair left.”
He looked surprised. “I figured you would have given the others away.”
“To be honest, I haven’t offered again. I will share all of the stale potato chips and Vienna sausages we find. But these socks? They are mine.”
I met Jack’s eyes, refusing to feel bad. He flashed a quick smile and continued walking. His shoulders relaxed a little bit. It was a rare thing to see, and told me he was at ease—if only for a moment.
I appreciated him for the distraction.
The past few days were rough. We still didn’t run into any more people, and only saw a handful of zombies, but the trek itself was hard.
We looked for vehicles but didn’t find anything big enough for all of us, or two working vehicles that would accommodate us. Plus, we stayed off major highways, but even the county roads were so choked with traffic that driving was nearly impossible.
So we were still on foot.
We made it about a hundred miles, if my math was correct, and still had nearly four hundred to go.
It was wearing on everyone.
Except Jack, it seemed.
He carried his overstuffed duffel like it weighed nothing, his pace steady and unbothered. Looking at him, I was almost overcome with the urge to kiss his stubbled jaw.
Instead, I said, “This walk doesn’t seem to be bothering you.”
He shrugged. “You get used to it.”
“When am I gonna get used to it?”
He glanced over at me, smirking. “You’re doing all right, Counselor.”
My heart did a ridiculous little flutter. Jack wasn’t free with praise—or affection—so when he gave it, even in his gruff way, it always meant something.
He didn’t say anything else, instead turning his attention back to our surroundings, taking a moment to check on the others. That flutter was joined by a warmth that had nothing to do with the sun beating down on me. This damn man. A few words, and I preened like a cat.
And even though my shins ached and my thighs were on fucking fire, I felt better than I had in days.
Still smiling, I looked up at our little ragtag group. Jack and I were stationed at the end of the line.
“Why aren’t you up front? ”
I had meant to ask him before but every time, I’d been distracted.
“Better to be at the back and keep an eye out and be a buffer against anything that might come up on you—I mean the group,” he said.
He cleared his throat but didn’t speak again.
But he didn’t have to. I wouldn’t let myself think it meant anything, but I still reached out and squeezed his forearm.
He didn’t acknowledge me, but I didn’t need him to.
I looked ahead again.
Lourdes and Miles were a couple of feet in front of us, taking turns dragging a small wagon that had a few cans of food and a couple of gallons of water. Elliot and Bridget were in front of them. Caitlyn had gone way up, maybe a tenth of a mile or so.
Jack warned her to stay close once, but hadn’t given the admonition again. I hoped her ego wouldn’t get her killed, but knew I had bigger issues to worry about.
Myself.
The others.
Jack .
Whatever was going on with Caitlyn was at the very bottom of the list.
“You see that?” I asked.
“Yeah. House up ahead,” Jack said.
“We should check it out.”
“Yeah.” Jack nodded.
I knew he was thinking about the same thing as I was.
I still had my gun and he had his, but between us, we only had a couple dozen rounds. The others still carried their makeshift weapons, but I knew that if we found ourselves in a tough situation, we wouldn’t be able to get out of it.
A house like this might have something we could use.
Jack let out a low whistle, and the others stopped and looked at him. He gestured toward the house.
“Are we going over there?” Lourdes asked. She looked apprehensive, but even before all this, she was a bit of a worrier.
“It might have some things we need,” I said.
Miles, still effervescent and filled with youth, looked excited.
Sure, every moment was suffused with terror, but in truth, most of the time, I was bored out of my mind. I could only imagine how this was for a teenage boy. Even with the risk, he champed at the bit to go.
I smiled at him. I was so proud of Miles. Hoped he got a chance to become the man he seemed destined to be.
“Are we all going? Or should some of us stay out here?” Bridget asked.
Caitlyn jogged up a moment later, a frown on her face. “It would have been helpful to know we were stopping,” she said.
“You should stay close,” Jack responded.
She scowled, and this time didn’t try to take the sting out with one of her fake-ass smile. “What did we stop for?” she asked instead.
“There’s a house there. We gotta check it out, see what we can find. There might even be a van or something,” Jack said.
“Shouldn’t somebody keep watch?” Caitlyn said.
“I think it’d be faster if we all went through together. Asia?” Jack looked at me.
I suddenly felt on the spot.
I had no freaking clue of the best protocol to search a house after the apocalypse. So I went with my gut.
“Sounds good. We can get in and get out,” I said.
“Or we can all go in while someone lays a trap for us out here,” Caitlin mumbled.
“Fine,” I responded, doing my best to keep my annoyance at bay. “Caitlin, you watch the house from the outside. The rest of us will go look and see what we can find. Signal us if there’s trouble.”
“Yes, ma’am.” She rolled her eyes.
I ignored the sarcasm and headed off with Jack. Together, we approached the house, the others trailing behind us.
The house shone, absolutely beautiful.
From far away, it looked old, but as we got closer, I could see that it wasn’t. It was clearly new construction, built to mimic old. Wide front porch with four rocking chairs and ceiling fans, the white clapboard still pristine.
“I bet this place cost a million bucks,” Elliot said.
“Or more,” Jack commented.
“Well, let’s see what kind of security a million dollars gets you,” Elliot said .
He stepped up onto the porch and went to the door. After peering around, he turned the knob. The door swung open effortlessly, and Elliot smiled.
“Apparently not much,” he said with a little chuckle. Then he banged on the door, waiting. I went to step on the porch, but stilled when Jack’s hand found the small of my back. His touch lingered briefly, a touch to steady or claim—I didn’t know which, but I felt it all through my entire body.
Only silence greeted us after Elliot’s knock, but I still wasn’t comfortable. I glanced at Jack, who nodded, and together we all went in.
“God,” Bridget muttered as she entered.
The cool air made the hair on my skin prickle. But the miracle of air-conditioning faded to nothing in the face of the repugnant scent.
I didn’t speak but breathed out a harsh exhale.
The heavy stench permeating the air was breathtaking, and not in a good way. I tried to ignore it, but it was nearly impossible.
My brain tried to sift through the smells.
Spoiled food .
Trash.
Rotted flesh.
It was that last that got me.
I glanced at Jack and saw his thoughts were the same as mine.
Together, we moved quickly through the house, walking toward the source of the smell, our weapons at the ready.
The house was indeed beautiful, with trendy black hardwood floors, high end appliances.
A house to which a lot of love and care were clearly devoted.
The back bedroom, the place where the smell was strongest, had an open door. Jack lifted a finger, then slowly walked in.
“You can come,” he called after a moment.
I stepped in beside him, then shook my head as I covered my nose.
A man and a woman lay on the bed.
What was left of the woman’s face looked serene.
Not so for the man.
His face—what was left of it—held the anguish of his last moments.
His hand, now stiff with rigor mortis, still gripped the gun that I assumed he used on her and then himself .
“A tragedy,” I said softly, but didn’t allow myself to think about that. Instead, I looked at Jack, frowning. “There might still be bullets there.”
I paused for a moment, then shook my head. “That’s fucked up, isn’t it?”
“Yeah, it’s fucked up,” Jack grated out, “but you’re not. It’s smart. We need that. They don’t.”
He looked at the man again, something like regret on his face. But he wiped it away quickly. Jack hated revealing how deeply he felt things. I felt humbled he allowed me to see it, however briefly.
“What are you thinking?”
“Does it matter?” he said.
I frowned, inhaling to calm myself—something I instantly regretted when the smell of decay hit me again. “I wouldn’t have asked if it didn’t.”
He tried to push me away.
I wouldn’t let him.
“I guess I understand getting to the point where you think there’s no reason to live, but this—it’s not the answer. Not ever,” he said.
I couldn’t disagree with him, but I wouldn’t judge the man. Who knew what pushed him to this point?
Instead of addressing it, I walked over to the man and grabbed a towel that had been haphazardly tossed in a corner.
“I got it,” Jack said, his voice clipped. He took the towel from my hand, prying the gun out of the man’s stiff fingers, sparing me from doing it.
Instead of watching, I quickly searched the bedroom. “Another box of rounds here,” I said, trying to pretend I didn’t feel guilty for being excited about it.
“Good.”
He took the gun, checked it, cleaned it, and we closed the bedroom door behind us.
We made it back to the living area and found Bridget and Lourdes searching through laundry for different clothes, while Elliot and Miles gathered canned goods, candles, and flashlights.
“Not a bad haul,” Jack said.
“No vehicles, though. They have a pickup and a little electric sedan,” Miles responded.
“Still, it’s something—” Jack started.
A piercing scream cut him off.