Chapter 3
Three
Rhett
“Blair, wake up, I found a place.”
The little one-story house, with filthy windows and a partially caved-in porch, is nestled in the middle of nowhere, but it’ll have to do for now.
I’d caught sight of it off the highway just by happenstance.
The tiny tin smokestack, tarnished and partially covered in vines, had glinted just right in the afternoon light.
From the highway, I didn’t even know what I saw.
It didn’t matter. The risk paid off. This place is abandoned, so it’s perfect for us to bunker down for a bit.
With a heavy sigh of relief, I park the car as far off the small dirt road as possible. I glance over at Blair, who’s curled up in the passenger seat. Her blood is dripping from the sleeve of her shirt. My stomach twists with worry. She’s been in and out of consciousness since being shot.
When she’s awake, she’s alert. But when she’s out, she’s as still and as quiet as the dead.
“Blair?” I call out, louder this time.
When she doesn’t respond, I reach over and place my hand on her leg. One minute she’s limp, and the next she’s sitting straight up and her right hand has a tight grip around my wrist.
Our eyes lock and the cold, depthless void in hers recedes. It’s eerie how detached she can become. Stumbling upon her, after finding all those dead men in the road, she’d been the same way.
It was as if she didn’t have a soul then, and it’s like that now.
I know that’s not the case, though. I felt it the night she saved my life and held me in her arms in her bed. Ever since, I’ve felt its caress in small moments that we’ve shared.
Like during our banter over who was the winner of The Hunt.
When the three of us were crouching down and giving Abby a proper memorial.
And when she lowered her guard enough to give me control while we both played with Santi. Blair’s soul’s touch might be featherlight but undeniably there.
But, damn, Blair must bury it deep when she gets like this.
“...he put her through vigorous training not even grown men tend to make it through.”
Ledger’s words, spoken during an interrogation in the basement, come back to haunt me as I watch the tension in Blair’s body recede. What the fuck has Blair gone through to be able to turn off the part of her that makes her human?
“Oh.” She breathes in relief and sags back in her seat. “Sorry.”
She doesn’t let me go, but her grip loosens so that I can pull away if I want to.
I don’t.
“I found a place we can bunker down for a bit. You ready to go inside and check it out?”
Blair’s head lifts and she studies the outside of the house. She hums, with what I assume is her approval, and reaches for the car door. When her hand finally lets me go, my heart sinks. Pushing the feeling away, I follow her lead and climb out of the car.
The smell of something rotting reaches my nose as we walk up the two steps onto the porch and then carefully balance on the moldy, rickety wooden boards. My nose wrinkles as the stench grows stronger. I start to reach forward to push open the door, but Blair holds up a hand to stop me.
“What’s wrong?” I ask.
She nudges her head toward the window closest to the door. “Notice the nails on the interior of the frame and the blackout sheet covering it? That’s not normal.”
Before I can even turn my head, she nudges her head down.
“There’s a mangled body of a fox, stuck in a bear trap just over the railing.
Weird spot to put something like that if you ask me,” she mutters.
Tilting her head up she points out, “There’s a thin wire just above your head that’s attached to a hook slightly behind you.
Its stretched taunt and goes through a small hole drilled in the door.
My bet—it’s attached to something like a gun on the other side. ”
My eyes find the wire and when they do, my mouth pops open in surprise.
“How’d you even see that?”
Blair shrugs. “I grew up being taught how to spot abnormalities. Step aside real quick for me, will you?”
I do as I’m told, curious to see what she’ll do next.
When it’s her turn to step out of the way of the door, she steps in front of me.
I don’t clock why until she leans back, using her body to push me a little further out of the way at the same time she pushes the door open with her hand.
The explosion of a shotgun and the spray of bullets that fly by us harmlessly causes me to flinch.
“SHIT!” I yelp in surprise. In nearly the same breath, I shout, “What the fuck? Did you just try to use your body to shield me?”
She turns to look up at me, her expression perplexed. “Well, yeah, I was—”
“An idiot?” I offer, cutting her off. “Yeah, I know. Don’t do it again, got it?”
My heart is hammering in my chest as adrenaline courses through me. To my surprise, Blair giggles.
“What’s so funny? We could’ve been killed! What psycho sets up a trap on a house that’s falling apart?”
Blair shakes her head. “Nothing’s funny, I guess. Maybe it’s your reaction, I don’t know. I figured as much would happen, but I forget that’s not common knowledge. I’m kind of surprised the trap stayed in place given how the door’s off kilter.”
She steps away from me, but I mirror her move, following in case I need to yank her away from danger.
Blair studies the line. “Judging by the ‘no trespassing’ signs posted on the trees over there, the multiple rain barrels that are way too big to be needed for this little house, the little car covered in deteriorating camo netting, and the exposed cameras peering up at us from between the remaining floorboards of this porch, I think we’re dealing with a paranoid individual having once lived here. ”
“How are you so sure they’re not living here anymore?” My eyes jump from each item Blair is ticking off. “Maybe this was a bad idea…”
“No, this was a good call, Rhett,” Blair objects, her voice soft but certain. “As for how I know we’re in the clear… Do you smell that?”
“That stench? Yeah, it’s hard to miss.”
“That’s not the smell of a dead fox. That’s human.”
Before I can ask her how she’d know this, she steps into the house. My heart leaps up into my chest. Panic has me following after her.
“Wait, Blair! What if there’s more traps?”
Blair stops just inside, causing me to run into her.
She stumbles forward and I catch her, grunting as her elbow gets me in the gut.
When we’ve steadied ourselves, I let her go to look around.
Immediately, my eyes snag on the item hanging from the ceiling.
The way the shotgun is rigged looks precarious at best and is still smoking from its attempt to keep intruders out.
Fuck…
“Yup, just what I suspected,” Blair announces. “We won’t be bothered.”
My head turns to follow Blair’s line of sight. “What are you talking ab—”
My question dies on my lips.
There, in the recliner—situated in the center of the room—is the bloated body of an older man.
Judging by the state of decay, he hasn’t been gone for long.
His chin is resting against his chest. The old baseball cap he’s wearing is covering his face but there’s no mistaking the grey flesh that can be seen.
On his lap is a half-eaten, moldy television dinner.
Blair steps further into the room. “I don’t see any more trip wires and the wear on the floorboards tells me he felt comfortable walking everywhere so there’s no traps hiding beneath them. We should be safe.”
I eye the dead man. “Given your bad arm, I have a feeling it’s going to be me cleaning up Mr. Dead Guy over there.”
“If you need any moral support, I can offer it from a distance.”
I stomp over to the body. “Geez, thanks.”
It takes me about twenty minutes to roll the guy up in his throw blanket and toss him out back. I feel kind of bad just throwing him out like trash but I sure as shit don’t have the time, or the energy, to bury him.
He can feed the wildlife.
By the time I get back inside, Blair has opened two windows and is rummaging through all the strange canned items on the bookshelves that line the walls.
The fresh air makes the depressing, musty space a little more bearable.
I don’t know what Blair’s looking for and I don’t ask.
Now that Mr. Dead Guy is gone, there’s something more pressing to deal with.
There are only two other doors in the small house. I push open the first one and sigh in relief that it’s a bathroom. When I flip on the switch, a light flickers on.
“Huh, must be solar powered,” Blair mutters from behind me before she wanders off in another direction.
I check the medicine cabinet first. Inside is only a bottle of heart medication and an old razor. Under the sink, I have better luck.
“Found the first aid kit!” I call, pulling out the large red case.
When I open it, I’m pleasantly surprised to find it fully stocked. I place it on the counter and peer my head out of the bathroom to find Blair opening the kitchen cupboards.
“Come here,” I order.
“This guy was a prepper, look at this stuff. Canned food and water, rice and beans in separated containers packaged perfectly to be stored for years, boxes and boxes of ammo, seasonings…” Her voice trails off as she continues poking through things. “My dad would’ve loved him.”
Given what little I know of her dad, he sounds like a fucking dick. I don’t care what he would love about this place.
“Are you going to let me patch you up or what?” I demand when she continues opening cupboard doors.
“Unless you have any idea how to pull out a bullet, I’ll have to do it.”
Fuck, it’s still inside of her? Why didn’t she said anything? I should’ve asked. Not that it would’ve done any good knowing earlier but… damn. I’m not great at this shit at all. Santi or Wes would’ve been all over her, figuring out what exactly it is she needed.
Clearing my throat, I tell her, "Actually, I do.”
Blair pauses to look at me, a brow rising in curiosity.
“If you get your ass over here and let me help you, I’ll tell you about it,” I offer, gruffly.