A World Alone (Dead World Series Book 1) (17 page)

CHAPTER
TWENTY-FOUR

Stella

They can open locked doors. . .

Have they always been able to do that? All those times I thought I had
forgotten to lock the door . . . that must be how they’ve been getting in. It
seems strange that I’ve never noticed, but I want to believe that it’s
something they’ve always been capable of, because the alternative is too
terrifying to even consider. They’re evolving. . . The idea strikes fear in me,
and fear is already in the air, infecting all of us. It clouds in our eyes and
suffocates our skin. There’s nothing I want more than to think of something
else. As the infected walks away, I think about all the things that have led me
up to this point. All the choices. All
my
choices.

I chose to come back, when they gave me a car.
Stupid
. For what?
Because I thought I was safer in numbers?
If we had left in the car, we
would be there by now!
Now we're here.
Stupid.

Stupid, stupid, stupid.

I shake the voice away. It doesn't matter now. We're here, that's what
matters. I look over to Logan. He's scared too. He doesn't show it the way the
rest of us do, but I can tell. I can tell he's afraid. Just one look in his
eyes and I can tell.

Everybody in the room seems to be under a trance of stasis. Not a single
knee shaking or finger twitching. But it isn't long before Aaron finally moves.
He's hesitant to leave the door, so he remains with it and reaches a hand out
towards us.

"Weapon."

Logan bends and picks up a bloody golf club. Stepping deftly, he moves to
hand it to him. Like a mouse cautious of a cat, Aaron peeks his head out the
door, twisting his neck in all directions. It's now that I wish I took one of
those baseball bats from the car, but I left them all behind in our haste.
Aaron opens the door all the way and steps out, holding the club up and
shutting the door quietly behind him. A tense heat takes his absence, gripping
at all of us.

It's a few moments before the front door swings open again and Aaron steps
back inside, the club lowered.

"It looks clear," he nods, turning to find Rocket. "Now is
probably the best time to check out the bus."

If she's exhausted, she doesn't show it. Her eyes are as light and convicted
as they usually are. The only sign of visible deterioration are the black
roots, creeping from her scalp and leeching at the orange of her hair. With a
curt nod, she moves away from the dining room table and towards the front door.
An emotion flits past Logan's face, his brows pulling together as he watches
her leave. Only when she is out of sight does he scowl, his gaze dropping to
his wrist.

I move towards him. "What's wrong?"

His eyes bounce to mine before skipping to Joey, who's hovering awkwardly
behind me. He sticks to me like glue now, as if I'm his shield, protecting him
from everyone's hard glares.

Logan shakes his head. "It's nothing." He speaks gruffly from a
parched throat. I reach a hand up and press my palm against his forehead. He
flinches at the touch.

"You're burning up," I say, only to have him move my hand away.

"It's nothing," he repeats, beginning to angle his body away from
me.

"Your wrist," I point, "it's infected isn't it?" He
doesn't speak, but holds the bandage up in front of his face, closely
inspecting the yellow shade starting to seep through. I remember back at the
gas station; the rubbing alcohol I had splashed on him. Obviously that didn't
work very well as a disinfectant. "You need antibiotics," I conclude,
turning away from him and towards everyone else in the living room.

"Does anyone have any antibiotics?" I ask, only to receive a
bouquet of frowns and head shakes. I frown back at them. My eyes glance at the
red bag on Joey’s back and I briefly wonder if he might have something useful
in there. But I quickly think against the idea, if he has anything, he would
have said so. That means someone's going to have to go out and find some. I
glance around the room.

The fat lady's a no go. Gale, like usual, is an obvious no. The skinny
Chinese man looks like he's having a breakdown. The middle-eastern couple look
a little too old. Rocket and Aaron are working on the bus. I could ask the
teenage girl and two boys, but everyone would probably oppose to them going,
arguing that they're too young. Even though they don't look much younger than
me. That just leaves –
oh brother
.

Joey and I.

I scowl at the thought. Once again I find myself the protagonist of a story
I don't want to be in. His wrist will only get worse if he doesn't get medicine
soon. And I'm the only one here that can get it for him. I sigh.

Maybe I can say no?

With a shake of my head, the thought is thrown away. Who am I kidding? Of
course I can't say no. I direct my scowl towards Logan. His stupid morals have
rubbed off on me. I shouldn't consider him a friend. I don't want to consider
him a friend. But I do, I do consider him a friend. Which just makes everything
harder.

I should be stronger than this. I've abandoned and betrayed people that I've
known for longer. I should be able to abandon him too, in a heartbeat if I have
to. But a single thought, straying from the flock tells me I can't.

This scares me. Almost as much as the infected outside scare me. I know
better than to make emotional ties with people, yet I've let myself fall into
the trap of caring for this group.
Well
, some of them. I crush the
thought before it has a chance to further manifest. I may as well get it over
with.

"I'll get you some antibiotics," I tell him. He shakes his head,
his lips pressed into a thin line.

"No, Stella, you don't have to."

But I know that I do. Things will only get worse if left untreated. I've
seen it happen before. Besides, he's useless off his feet. The sooner I get him
the antibiotics, the sooner I'll have my bodyguard back. This is the lie I tell
myself. That the only reason I am helping him is so that he can protect me in
the future. I won't dare admit that I care. Not when I know that caring is a
sure-fire way of getting yourself killed.

So I turn from him before he has a chance to object further and move across
the living room and into the small bathroom. I ignore my reflection in the
mirror, sliding it away so that I can inspect its compartment. I'm not
surprised when I find nothing. First thing people did when the outbreak started
was clear out their medicine cabinets. This home is no different. I don't
bother searching the bedrooms.

Instead I walk outside, Joey following closely behind me. Aaron and Rocket
lift themselves away from the bus, their attention turning towards me as I pry
the front door open. Deep scratches, like trenches, run down the length of the
door with splinters and dents scattered across its surface. I try to ignore
them, glancing around the street before speaking.

"Logan has a fever," I say, stepping out across the lawn, "we
need antibiotics."

Aaron's brow is the first to crease. "Was he bitten?"

"No, the cut on his wrist is just infected." I rush the words out,
quick to eliminate that thought. People turn against each other when they think
that someone has been bitten. He nods, his brow ironing out.

"I don't think anyone had time to grab the medicine from the school,
you'll have to look somewhere else for it." I nod, already having accepted
this as my fate. "Maybe wander around, look for a pharmacy," he
shrugs, ready to dive back into the bus when Rocket steps forward. She's about
to speak but stops when the door of the house creaks open again. We all turn to
see Logan, walking with a slight limp towards us.

"I came here once for a holiday with my fiancé, there's a small
hospital just down the road and to the left," she speaks plainly, staring
at Joey and I with cold eyes. It's obvious she still isn't happy. I begin to
respond when Logan interrupts.

"Stella, I'm fine," he growls, "forget about the
antibiotics." I roll my eyes, deciding that it's useless to respond. He's
going to remain stubborn no matter what I say, so I ignore him completely and
turn to Aaron.

"Do you have a knife?" I ask, glancing at the blood stained golf
club resting against the wheel of the bus. I prefer blades over blunt objects,
finding it easier and less tiring to impale than repeatedly bash. He shakes his
head.

"Someone inside might."

I begin to walk back towards the house when Logan calls out my name, trying
to get my attention. I continue to ignore him when he grabs my arm.

"What the hell are you doing?" he asks. I turn to him, a little
surprised.

"What?"

He shakes his head, his grip falling from my arm. "Back at the school
you'd rather leave than risk your life to help everyone! Now you want to run
off on your own to risk your life for antibiotics that I don't even need?"
He's about to say more when Joey interjects.

"She isn't alone." Logan's glare falls slack as he pauses to look
at Joey. "I'll go with her."

"You will, will you?" Logan snorts, raising a brow. Joey nods, a
quick movement. Logan stares at him for a moment before huffing out a laugh.
"She's better off on her own."

Joey steps forward and for a second I think he is going to retaliate. But he
bites his tongue and frowns, tilting his gaze to the ground.

"Alright that's enough," I say, bringing Logan's glare back to me.
"Your wrist is infected, I can see the puss from here. You need
antibiotics. End of story."

His skin, usually a slight tan, is now red. Whether from anger or induced by
the fever, I can't tell. His eyes narrow into slits when he spits the word.

"Fine," he pauses. "Then I'm going with you."

Huffing out a breath, I turn from him, my hands curling into fists. I don't
exactly like the idea of having Joey come with me. Both of them would be a
disaster, one that I'm not willing to put up with. But his eyes look resolute
in their decision and I can think of only one way to change his mind.

I kick him in the leg, hard.

His hands fly to his mouth, muffling his shouts as he barks curses at me.

"Jesus Christ, Stella!" Aaron comments, pushing away from the bus
to offer Logan a hand. He grabs ahold of his shoulder, shifting the weight off
of his injured leg.

"What the hell was that for!" Logan seethes, his words stifled as
he speaks through a bitten lip.

"That was your bad leg, right?" I ask, pointing at the leg I
kicked.

"Yes that was my bed leg!" he growls, every line on his face fraught
with pain.

"What a shame," I sigh. "I guess now you can't come with
us." I offer him a shrug. His eyes stab at me as his face turns redder,
but this time I know it's not because of the fever.

"You little—"

"Alright!" Aaron interrupts, waving a hand in the air.
"Stella why don't you get a move on? Logan can stay here and help me and
Rocket with the bus."

I flash Logan a smile. "What a great idea!" Before he has a chance
to respond I grab Joey by the arm and steer the two of us back towards the
house. We make it halfway across the lawn when Aaron calls out again.

"Since you're heading out, do you think you could make a detour and
look for some food? People are getting hungry." My jaw clenches at the
request. As if I wasn't doing enough already. I'm about to refuse when my
stomach rumbles lightly.

"We passed a supermarket not too far back," Rocket suggests,
before digging herself back into the engine.

It still irritates me that they feel comfortable asking me to do all this,
making me feel obliged. But I give them a thumbs-up anyway, deciding that if I
do find any food I can keep the best for myself. Aaron nods in thanks.

"Bring back dog food before you bring back nothing."

I barely hear him over the expletives Logan continues to mutter, but I doubt
that I will be bringing back dog food. I would rather show up empty handed than
get everyone's hopes up with the promise of food, only to pull out dry kibble.
Walking back into the house I ask if anyone has a knife they would be willing
to lend. They ignore me, or at least most of them do. The couple on the sofa
begins to shift. The woman, clad in a hijab, gives her husband a look before
offering me a small, but sharp knife. I was hoping someone would have a hunting
knife, not something I could have pulled out from one of the drawers in the
kitchen. It isn't much, but it's better than nothing. I accept it with thanks
and quickly leave.

The supermarket is in the opposite direction of the hospital. This fact
annoys me, painting me as their errand girl. Running around and doing all the
jobs that no one else is willing to do. If I had any sense left in me I would
just leave altogether. Find a car and be on my way. Unfortunately, I know how
rare a working car is. Despite my irritation, I know that sticking with these
people is my best chance of survival.

At least for now. . .

"You ready to get going?" Joey asks quietly, conviction and humor
barren from his voice. I look up at him and nod, wondering how long he is going
to be like this. We start walking and I frown, realizing that he may never be
the same again. I try to remember the last joke he told, or the last time I
rolled my eyes at something he said. But with everything that has happened, I
can't.

Maybe it's for the best, I think. He can focus his mind on more important
things now, like how we are going to get to the supermarket and hospital and
back alive. I almost forget that a trip to the grocery store used to be a
routine habit, a simple trip every second day. Now it is a task of life and
death. I see the humor in it, the irony. But I fail to laugh, unable to find the
energy to do so.

My muscles are sore from sleeping on the floor, minor aches that I can
easily disregard. I've grown accustomed to waking with joints as stiff as an
unused dolls. Joey stretches his arms up above him and I can tell that he feels
the same way. The cut on Logan’s arm has distracted me, and it’s only now that
I remember my thoughts on the infected, on how they might be evolving.