3. Chapter 3
Chapter three
Shelby
He doesn’t wait for my reply, and I watch as he stalks to the door where he pauses, staring at the wood before finally, he enters the code and steps inside.
I’m still struggling to understand what’s going on but I’m not about to trust a cop who stole my vehicle and forced me across town against my will.
As soon as he’s out of sight, I slide across the seat and put the vehicle in reverse but with my foot hovering over the gas, I roll backwards before stopping. I can’t do this alone because I’m not sure what I’m facing. I do know that this city is under attack but from what?
The news reported a virus but that doesn’t explain the man we passed who should’ve been dead based on his injuries alone. Or the woman and child with matching bites, clawing at the window of their car.
How dangerous are they? Is this a product of the virus?
Maybe I should wait? Maybe this cop can get me out of here alive. Then what though?
“Five minutes,” I whisper, slouching against the seat.
This is more than likely a mistake, but I know it’s the defeated bend to the cops head that made me initially pause. I recognize that feeling all too well and it’s foolhardy, but the emotion is pushing me to be sentimental when what I should do is get the fuck out of here.
While I wait, I find a napkin in the console and dab at my lip. The sting reminds me to focus, and I turn my gaze back to the closed door.
What did he find inside? Does it matter?
A flash of something from the corner of my eyes inspires me to turn and I press my finger to my lip as the neighbor next door steps onto her porch.
She looks my way before shuffling to the mailbox at the curb, her housecoat flapping in the breeze.
After patting her head of curlers, she opens the mailbox to peer inside.
Spellbound, I can’t turn away while she assesses the contents before grabbing a couple of letters and shoving them in her pocket.
Once done, she looks both ways as she digs in her other pocket before producing a cigarette which she shoves between her teeth.
The first inhale makes her cough and once more she looks around guiltily before taking another deep drag.
It would be amusing under other circumstances but when I gaze beyond her shoulder to the house at the end of the cul-de-sac, a two-story home sporting another minivan, I shudder.
The vehicle rocks on its hinges and it’s too far to see the culprit but when the woman turns to eye it, my stomach sinks.
While she tosses her cigarette to the ground, I press the button for the window, except it won’t fucking budge. I guess Ben never got around to fixing it.
“Shit,” I mumble, when she makes it a few feet down the road. Her short legs carry her surprisingly fast and I’m still shoving the door open as I croak, “Ma’am?”
The rusty sound doesn’t carry far though and licking my lips, I say, louder, “Ma’am?”
She finally turns but I rear back when her brows slam over her eyes and she says, “I’m telling that nice young man. He doesn’t deserve whatever you’re getting up to in there. You hear me?”
I have no idea what she’s talking about but it’s hardly my concern and stepping from the vehicle, I say, “You should go inside. It’s not—”
“Are you threatening me?” she hisses, and I hold up my hands.
“No. Please. It’s not safe out here. Go inside.”
“Not safe? What are you all doing in there? That’s it. I’m calling the police, right now,” she barks, marching toward the door of her home.
With a groan, I sag against the metal before her words penetrate. Nope. No police.
Jumping back into the truck, I grab the gear shift before once again I pause. Just do it. Put the damn truck in reverse and go.
Go.
Shit.
Tapping my forehead against the wheel, I wince before leaning back. That was monumentally stupid and so is this but apparently, I’m going to do it anyway.
With a sigh, I exit and shut the door before approaching the cop’s house cautiously. The front door is firmly closed, and I hesitate before it.
I should go. I really should but I can’t. I just . . . can’t.
Instead, I tap my fingers against the wood and wait. When nothing stirs, I glance around, noting the old woman hasn’t emerged.
Thank God.
The van down the street continues to rock. From between the houses, a man appears. Clutching his arm, he limps across the grass before stumbling onto the pavement.
Absently, I note the sweat gathering in my pits as I contemplate what to do. Maybe the man needs help? But what can I do?
I’m not a nurse and at this point, I could probably use medical treatment myself. I shouldn’t even be here, yet here I stand, paralyzed with indecision.
To my relief, he’s not alone and I turn back to the door and my dilemma until the ear-piercing wail that follows cascades through me in a painful wave.
When I spin to the newest threat, I realize, to my dismay, that the group trailing behind the man were not his friends. He’s now on the ground while the others kneel before him and I move from face to face, trying to comprehend what I’m seeing.
A young woman with gorgeous curly red hair raises her head from where she was bent towards his stomach, red strings stretching between her mouth and the man. Next to her, a child lays with his head against the man’s chest, his shoulders heaving.
A matching blonde head bobs beside him and when the man raises his arms, I follow the movement, eyeing his fingers, curled into claws.
The elastic pop that follows makes my gorge rise and I fumble with the doorknob before pushing it open, visions of the meat and viscera coming away from the bone dancing over my vision.
In my haste I trip over my own feet and land on my hands and knees on the hardwood floor before shoving the door closed and leaning against it.
Oh god. Oh my god. What did I just see?
It’s all I can do to swallow back the bile and only the faint creaking sound further in the house brings me out of my terror induced daze.
Shit. Are there more inside?
After pushing to my feet, I step into the living room, bypassing a wall of black and white photos hung side by side depicting beautiful people with glittering smiles. I recognize the man as the cop who stopped me and beside him, a woman who can only be described as breathtaking.
Her dark glossy hair hangs around her shoulders with matching dark eyes sparkling into the camera. Between the two, if I had seen this in a magazine I wouldn’t have been surprised.
They’re the pretty people that you admire from afar, convinced their lives are perfect, although I know that can be a facade.
Another thump makes me jump and I glance out the window, my stomach sinking to find the monsters hovering in the street far too close for comfort. The poor man they attacked lies immobile, eviscerated and I thank God, I can’t see him up close as I drop the blind.
“What are you doing?” The low growl brings me around and I gasp, as I grab my chest, and say, “Fuck!”
“I thought I told you to wait out there?” the cop snaps, and I shrink away from his icy eyes.
“I’m sorry,” I whisper.
“Whatever,” he grunts. “You shouldn’t be in here. Just fucking go.”
Ben’s godawful sneer when he railed at me for every-fucking-thing passes over my vision and I bow my head, the position I’ve grown so used to assuming. An awkward moment descends between us before I say once more, “I’m sorry.”
Of course, as soon as he raises his hand, I flinch away and the silence that follows is deafening. When I finally look up, he runs his fingers through his hair before saying, “You should go.”
Ignoring the humiliation painting my cheeks, I grab the doorknob. Although I’d rather not face what’s out there, alone at that, this man doesn’t want me here and I'm nothing if not good at obeying.
Once outside, I shut the door. Thankfully the tiny mob is still in the street, and I have time to get to the truck, which is what I do on trembling legs. I’m clutching the door handle though when the old woman appears, stepping onto her stoop to say, “I’ve called the police. You don’t belong here.”
Ha! She has no idea.
With a tiny nod, I wrench the door open and wince as fire shoots up my ribs. The pain and the tears building behind my eyes fade though when I look up and find the older woman leaning over her front porch railing.
“You!” she cries. “Get off my street. I’ve called the cops.”
As a unit, the group loitering in the street turns and I moan. The front runner is a man, maybe my age. His once burnished dark hair is matted by blood and if I’m not mistaken brain matter, bulging from his skull.
His black eyes circle the sockets as he staggers forward, and goosebumps pebble my skin at the horrible sound of his moans.
Behind him, the redhead fumbles with her purse, wrapped around her leg.
She drags it behind her, immune while her greedy eyes bore into the old woman.
I see no obvious injury, but the gaping mouth and dark eyes are a dead giveaway.
Taking up the rear is a teenage boy, still wearing his letterman jacket. From this distance he reminds me of Cory Reynolds, the boy who took me to prom. Although a kind soul with killer blue eyes, Cory had perpetual bad breath and a habit of repeating himself, ad nauseum.
Even so, he was the only boy to ask after Lacey, my supposed best friend, convinced half the student body that I was pregnant and about to drop out. I don’t remember why now which makes me laugh, albeit hysterically because back then, I thought my world was over.
Not so. Apparently, I survived what I thought was the ultimate betrayal to be eaten by the mercurial cop’s neighbors.
When the old woman marches down the steps, I groan, moving to intercept her. Unfortunately, my ribs protest and I falter, leaning over with a gasp.
Shit. Maybe they’re not just bruised.
“Here now,” she says, and I limp forward. When I grab her arm though, she shrieks, “Let go of me!”
“No!” I bark. “Go back inside. Now!”