17. Rosie
Chapter seventeen
Rosie
T he building burned behind us, angry flames lighting that sky that spoke to the desperation of the people who’d set the fire.
“Are we expecting a chase?” Addams said as he navigated through the dark streets.
“Hard to tell…” Wilder winced, clutching his shoulder.
I unclicked my seatbelt, clamouring over the console.
“What the hell are you doing? Stay buckled.”
I landed unceremoniously, half on Wilder’s lap.
“You’re bleeding, and you’re doing that thing where you pretend you don’t need help again.”
Addams snorted from behind the wheel, the sarcasm thick. “What? Wilder not accepting help? Never.”
“Just drive. Take the main roads. I don’t want to get hemmed into some alley by one of their trucks.”
“Got it, Cap.”
Pulling down his jacket as gently as possible, I exposed Wilder’s damp shirt. Only the area around his left deltoid was bloody. Something I took to be a good sign. Wordlessly, he passed me his med kit. By the beam of his flashlight, I saw a shallow cut. Clean and straight, the two inch long wound bled slightly. After sterilizing and dressing it to the best of my abilities, I relaxed against his good side. My feet rested on the plastic jerry cans, Wilder’s hot thigh pressed against my own. Nobody spoke, unanswered questions and the heavy musk of sweat and smoke hanging in the air.
“We’ll drive until we’re out of the city limits, if the gas lasts that long, and then we’ll stop somewhere to fill it up,” said Addams, matter-of-factly.
Relief that Wilder could turn his brain off for a moment coursed through me. We weren’t alone anymore. Someone else could look out for us while we weren’t our best. I didn’t know Wilder’s friend, but I knew he had our back. My eyes had only slipped closed when the car began to slow. We couldn’t be out of gas already.
Addams' voice roused me from a half sleep. “Look alive back there.”
A dark pickup truck blocked the two-lane road ahead, parked diagonally over the barely visible centre line. Wilder cleared his throat, leaning forward in his seat.
“Think it’s empty?” he asked.
The running lights snapped on with a flash, cutting through the darkness, and answering his question. I saw them right away. The dead shuffled, procession like, along the sidewalks and edges of the road. They moved in the opposite direction, probably drawn by the light and noise of the fire.
“Wilder…”
“I see ‘em.”
I kept my voice to a whisper. “Why the fuck are they making us stop here? This is dangerous for them too.”
“Intimidation,” Addams said, stock still behind the wheel.
Wilder nodded his agreement.
I hoped they were right.
“Can we go around?”
Addams eased us forward, the route around the truck pushing us closer and closer to the undead. A wet hand smacked against my window, followed by a slick, squeaking sound as we rolled by. I recoiled, heart pounding wildly. Rolling down his window several inches, the metal of Wilder’s rifle scraped against the glass as he held it steady. We were side by side with the truck now, a man with a skull-print bandana covering the lower half of his face in the driver's seat. Moving at a snail’s pace, Wilder kept his weapon trained on the man. Our vehicle was so close that if he leaned closer, the muzzle would scratch the truck's paint.
Through the open window, a cool breeze drifted in, carrying the stench of rotting flesh.
“Don’t come back,” the man said loudly enough for only us to hear.
Our car shook slightly as bodies grazed the bumper, hemmed in between two opposing threats. Apparently fed up with the game, the truck began to pull away. The tinted back window rolled down enough to reveal the bloodied face of a younger man. A teen.
“Wilder.” I clutched at his leg.
“I see him.”
The boy from the storage locker held my gaze, his eyes nearly swollen shut. “I’m sorry,” he mouthed.
They’d beat him. Probably didn’t believe whatever story he came up with to explain the other man not returning. My stomach soured at the thought. What would they do to him later when they found out justice hadn’t been served? Would he be a scapegoat for their anger? The throaty rumble of the truck engine drew most of the attention of the undead pack, groups of them clumsily correcting their course to follow the vibrations. I watched the boy for as long as I could, a tear sliding down my cheek as Addams turned onto the highway and picked up speed. Standing down, Wilder pulled me against him, tucking my head beneath his chin as I cried. Deep sadness filled my soul. For the boy. For the loss of the apartment that had given us sanctuary. For the unknown future we were barrelling towards.
“Where we heading?” asked Addams, the tension in his stubbled jaw illuminated by the dash.
“Home,” sighed Wilder. “A better home.”