14. Chapter 14
Chapter fourteen
Shelby
I’m exhausted. My ribs ache and my feet hurt, so it’s with relief that I approach the old house with visions of collapsing into a warm bed dancing before my eyes.
While I appreciate Cason’s concern, I’m also not interested. He can shove it and his bad attitude up his tight ass.
Ha!
Still, I’m beyond the point of arguing. I just want to sit the fuck down.
In the darkness, it’s more of a shadow than a home but I admire the long wraparound porch and large bay windows. There’s an old wrought iron fence surrounding the property which we find is locked when we stop at the entrance.
Resigned to climbing over again, I eye the pointy edges with a frown. It was bad enough when I had wood crushing my va-jay-jay. I’m pretty sure a spike isn’t going to improve the situation.
“Over here,” Amanda whispers and we follow her lead through a side entrance into an overgrown garden.
Trailing my fingers over the rose buds, I breathe in the sweet scent and envision a stern looking woman wearing a fancy hat presiding over a tea party.
Unfortunately, the thorns catch at my hair and arms, and I look back when Cason grunts behind me just as he brushes a particularly thorny branch from his face. As if sensing my stare, he looks up and we lock eyes before I turn quickly away, hiding my amusement.
He deserves a little pain. Not too much but a thorny branch to the face does the trick.
There’s a side door leading into the house and when Larry pushes on the decaying wood, an ominous creaking sound sends a shiver through me.
It’s dark inside. So much so that as soon as I enter, I pause. All the hair on my nape stands on end but I ignore it when the warmth of Cason’s chest brushes my back and I scramble away.
Of course, my knee slams into something hard and with an oomph I hop away, rolling my eyes. Is nothing ever fucking easy?
Once the door is closed, Cason snaps on a flashlight and I eye it wondering if he’s had that with him the whole time?
He shines it around the space, and I discover what blocked my path, an old, heavy wood table with a bench sitting in front of a stone fireplace. Beyond that the kitchen is barren with dusty shelves and countertops, confirming no one has lived in this house for a very long time.
Cason leads the way across old wood floors into the next room which turns out to be a hall and we follow the wavering light as it bounces off the walls and floor.
With every step, the ancient home creaks and groans and I know the horror currently stalking us on the street is a much greater threat but that doesn’t stop me from sucking in a breath that I hold until Cason turns a corner.
Nora, who’s behind me, speeds up, brushing against my back. When her fingers clutch my shirt, I suppress a hysterical chuckle. Under any other circumstances you couldn’t pay me to do this and yet here I am entering a creepy old house to evade the dead people trying to eat me. What a mindfuck.
After passing by three closed doors which revealed empty rooms save for dust bunnies gathered in the corners, we find a living room or parlor I guess depending on what century you live in.
To my dismay, there’s nothing in the way of furniture, not even a damn chair to sit in. Resigned to sleeping on the floor, I lean against the wall and slide to my ass.
Nora joins me, coughing into her hand while the girls approach the cold fireplace before sitting on the floor with the dogs beside them.
Nate stands at the threshold to a new room with Lance, his petulant frown firmly in place while Larry glances around with wide eyes.
Cason, no doubt taking in our tired faces, says, “I’ll take first watch.”
No one argues and my eyes slide closed while he continues, “And look for supplies.”
Cason
I’ll deny it to my dying breath, but the house is really fucking creepy. It doesn’t hold a candle to flesh eating monsters though.
Of course, there’s not a single crumb left to be had in the kitchen because I suspect the previous occupants died a hundred years ago. Every surface contains a thick layer of dust that coats my throat and sends a tickle through my nose.
After searching the first floor, I pause at the stairwell and consider my options. It’s really dark. The likelihood of finding anything of use is slim. However, I have nothing better to do and if I stop now, I might just pass the fuck out.
Instead, I ease up the stairs and pause at the landing to look out the window above.
The moon shines brightly on the road we just left, and I lock my knees at sight of the sheer amount of undead we couldn’t see from down below.
It’s probably for the best that we stopped here because I’m not sure any of us would have survived if we hadn’t.
With a shake of my head, I wander down the hall, opening doors as I go.
Here is where it seems the old furniture was stored and dark shadows creep across the floor over heavy canvas covering antiques, making it all the more eerie.
The high ceilings create an echo, the beams of the flashlight revealing intricate moldings and stained-glass windows.
At the last room, I eye the door, slightly ajar before slowly pushing it open.
Immediately I freeze and raise my weapon before reality catches up with my paranoia and I grimace at my reflection in the ancient mirror.
It’s just a damn house. Calm the fuck down, Monroe. Now is not the time to freak out.
As with the other rooms, this one contains furniture covered in canvas, although I do find a few items of clothing hanging from a hook in the corner. Once I’m satisfied that the floor is clear, I make my way back down the stairs.
Back in the kitchen, I test the water but nothing beyond a loud groan comes through. We’re going to need to replace the supplies we lost at the gas station. Although we do have a few bottles of water from Amanda and Zoey’s house, it’s not going to last, especially with a group of this size.
I could never leave them behind, despite my thoughts before but having two additional people in our group, especially Zoey makes our flight south more complicated.
The girls are more vulnerable than the rest and while I will do my best to help any of the adults in need, ultimately their survival is not my responsibility.
This isn’t the case with Amanda and Zoey and once again the familiar tightness in my chest twinges, reminding me of what’s at stake.
I’m reluctant to sit down but I need to rest before we move on in the daylight and since I believe the house to be secure, I straddle the bench by the cold fireplace before propping my head on the table.
Thankfully the wrought iron gates create another buffer, and this is the only reason that I succumb to my fatigue.
I’m just nodding off though when the whisper soft sound of footsteps brings me around.
Before I can do something stupid, like reach for my gun, Zoey’s sweet soft voice says, “It’s cold in there. ”
“I know, sweetie,” I say and to my surprise, she proceeds to climb into my lap.
With her thumb tucked firmly in her mouth, she looks up at me and my heart clenches at the infantile behavior from a girl who’s easily six or seven years old.
What has she seen these last few days? It can’t be anything good but maybe, if she’s lucky, she’s blocked it all out. I wish I could be so lucky.
The thought brings a twinge of shame because Zoey no doubt will lose some of her memories due to her age while I can cling to mine in the future.
By the tiny slice of moon shining through the window, I study her shadowed face and whisper, “What is it?”
“My mom and daddy, they’re gone.”
Shit.
There’s nothing I can possibly say that will ease her sorrow, especially when it’s only going to get worse as time goes on. Instead, I smooth her hair back from her face and say, “I’m sorry.”
“Mandy’s real mad.”
“I know but sometimes,” I say, swallowing past the lump that rises in my throat, “people don’t know how to feel when they lose someone, and they get angry instead.”
I know that feeling all too well. I lost both my parents at a young age. However, the circumstances under which mine died are vastly different.
Amanda and Zoey were forced to see a version of their mom and dad that if they don't block out will haunt them forever. In comparison, losing my parents to a drunk driver means at the least, I get to keep my memories of who they were before.
Zoey’s deep blue eyes assess me with a glint that I don’t understand before she shakes her head and says, “No, she hates him.”
“Who? Nate?”
When she nods, her thumb firmly back in her mouth, I gently tug it free and ask, “What did he do?”
Cocking her head, she screws her nose up and says, “He hurt her.”
“Shelby?”
“Yeah.”
“Hurt her how?” I ask through my clenched teeth. I knew something happened, but I didn’t realize it was so fucking egregious.
“She couldn’t breathe,” Zoey says before jamming her thumb back into her mouth and burrowing into my chest.
What the hell does that mean? My skin itches to find the little fucker and shake the truth out of him, but I know it’s a bad idea.
Zoey’s already upset and everyone is finally, hopefully, recuperating.
It doesn’t make sense to rile them up again, but soon .
. . fucking soon, I’m going to ensure that the asshole understands just how precarious his world is.
Despite the tension vibrating through my limbs, Zoey still manages to fall asleep and I cradle her in my lap, trying to envision doing this with my own child.
A good five years ago, we found out we were going to be parents.
At the time, it felt like a gift after struggling for so long, especially because we had finally come back together, vowing to work on the worst parts of our relationship.
So, with a renewed sense of hope, we planned for a future that would never come. Rosanne miscarried four weeks later. It’s common, the doctors said and while it may have been for them, I think it took a piece of Rosanne’s soul as a result.
She lost a bit of her brightness and while I mourned too, I knew what I felt couldn’t possibly compare to her feelings.
For me, there was always next time and maybe that’s when things started to erode once more in our relationship.
All I know is one day I woke up next to my wife of ten years and realized that there was a world of distance between us and no matter how hard I tried to bridge the gap, Rosanne just kept floating further away.
I met Rosanne at the lowest time in my life, and I loved her, more than I could possibly put into words. She was the girl who slowly put me back together and although we started as high school sweethearts, it never occurred to me we wouldn’t be together until the end.
However, while she was healing me, part of her was dying and I was too fucking stupid or self-absorbed to see it happening in front of my own eyes. If I’m honest with myself, I think by the end, all Rosanne felt for me was hate.
Meanwhile, I fought to stay on the lonely road, knowing I was the only passenger on the ride. This is why it’s so important to me to get to her parents. She wasn’t the only one who made me whole, and they deserve to know what happened to their daughter, even if I leave out some of the particulars.
All of which depends on how quickly I can get our makeshift group to Sweet Home, including Zoey who tears me from my thoughts when she shifts in my arms again.
My back aches due to the awkward position in which we’re sitting on the hard bench, and I finally rise, intent on taking her back to her sister. It’s only been a few hours but if I don’t get some sleep, I’ll be useless.
I pause though when Zoey snuggles against my chest. She feels so light in my arms and I worry for this delicate girl.
Unfortunately, I can’t see shit and I fumble with the flashlight, so I don’t end up crashing into a wall. When the beam of light hits the floor, my skin prickles and I raise it to see down the hall, only to drop it to the floor once more.
I most definitely did not walk that direction and I’m pretty sure no one else did.
So, whose footsteps outlined in the dust lead to that door?