Chapter 27
Nick propped his feet up on the coffee table, listening to the storm batter the flimsy farmhouse.
The thought of Evie lost in the rain and the fact he was sitting in the dry home made his chest tight.
He decided to keep himself busy by looting the home.
Carrying a candle in one hand, Nick searched drawers and cabinets, collecting batteries, medical supplies, and canned goods.
A final gust of wind assaulted the house, and the rain settled into a gentle drizzle. Nick shoved the newfound items into his pack, set the candle on the coffee table, and fished through his belongings until he found his flashlight.
With the light in hand, Nick donned a raincoat from the closet near the door and set out into the rain. He scoured the field with the light, illuminating every inch of the dried-out grass.
“Evie!” Nick called out. His voice bounced off of the treeline, reverberating back to him. The rain fizzled out further until only gentle drops misted his face.
“Evie!” Nick shouted again. An Infected hobbled across the field at the sound of his voice.
Nick watched it cautiously, continuing his gait toward the treeline.
The creature eyed him, then passed by with little interest. The fact that the horrific creatures plaguing the earth were no threat to Nick felt bizarre.
Anyone else’s reaction would be to flee while utter terror gripped their hearts.
Yet, Nick and a plagued monster could simply spot each other in passing, and go on about their days.
Nick searched the area where he saw Kate yelling to him. There was nothing but wet grass and slick mud.
“Evie!” Nick walked the edge of the forest, aiming his flashlight into the woods.
He looked for any sign of Evie. As he approached the corner of the field, where the trees met to form an almost perfect square around the area, he noticed a creek leading into the woods.
The water rushed through the thin canal, muddied with rain and debris.
When he shone his light along the bank of the creek, something caught his eye.
A broken tree branch sat half in the water, leaning against one side of the creek. Hung up on its tip, something pink and sopping wet waved in the water as the flow moved it back and forth. Nick stepped into the woods to get a closer look.
He kept his light fixed on the pink fabric as he walked along the creek, careful not to slip into it. Once Nick was close enough, he crouched down and reached across the water. His fingers were mere inches away, yet he was still too far to grab the pink item.
Nick searched the ground around him until he found a suitable stick. Reaching it across the stream, he hooked the fabric with the end of the stick and pulled it toward him. The pink material dripped onto his knees as he held it out in front of him. Evie’s nightgown. It was stained with blood.
Nick stared at the gown for a long while before digging a hole with the stick and burying it. If Kate or Tatum found this…
He continued his search along the bank and deep into the woods, occasionally coming across more Infected, which paid no attention to Nick’s presence. He called out Evie’s name over and over again. Though Nick knew in his heart he would not hear a response, he kept trying.
Devious movies played over in his mind—all the scenarios that could have led to Evie’s nightgown, soaked in crimson, hanging off the tree branch. As much as he tried to conjure a situation that left Evie alive, he fell short.
When Nick returned to the farmhouse hours later, he was weighed down with rainwater and covered in mud.
He removed his boots at the door and slung the raincoat across the back of a dining room chair to dry.
He moved up the stairs, heading to a bedroom in search of more dry clothes, when a dark figure standing in the hall stopped him short.
“Were you looking for Evie?” Tatum’s voice cut through the blackness. Nick took a deep breath.
“Yes,” he answered.
“Is she dead?” Tatum asked, her tone flat and expectant. As if to convey Evie’s typical nature. Getting herself killed, well, that is just like Evie to get herself into irrevocable trouble.
“Probably,” Nick admitted. He opened his mouth to tell her about the nightgown, then closed it. “I searched all over. There was no sign of her. She’s little. It’s unlikely to think she’s holed up somewhere, waiting out the rain.”
“Yeah, probably not,” Tatum responded. Nick waited to hear a soft burst of cries or her body hitting the ground in grief. Instead, Tatum returned to the bedroom without another word. Without another emotion.
Nick found dry clothes to change into: a pair of jeans and a dark brown long-sleeve shirt. He made his way back to the couch and covered himself in the scratchy wool blanket he had discovered in a linen closet upstairs. Every time he closed his eyes, Evie’s face haunted his mind.
What resonated the most, though, was Tatum. Her lack of emotion and determination to defy what must be an imminent outpouring of her heart had Nick questioning her mental stability. Did he tuck Kate into bed with a psychopath?