That can’t be it. I scan the area, at a loss for words. “I don’t know,” I admit.
Suddenly, walking for three miles on this well-used path doesn’t seem like a good idea. For the last forty-eight hours, we’ve been in the middle of nowhere. Hiding in the bear preserve, trudging through territory without marked trails. Without people. The AT feels, too…used. Too public. Too open.
And way too damned quiet.
“I’m not sure about this,” Ava whispers, sneaking a peek up the path where it disappears in a tunnel of pines.
“Same here,” I admit.
Snow falls thicker, speckling the ground, but it’s too windy to stick. Hard, brittle flakes sting my face, blurring my vision.
I
must
take this trail. If I don’t, I might regret it the rest of my life. But Ava does have a choice. And something tells me, if I bring her with me, I’ll be leading her into danger.
My mouth goes dry. “Listen, I ain’t gonna ask you to go with me. You can cut back to the river now. I’ll give you directions to Glenview.”
“Nah,” she says in an offhand tone. “I’m not much of a woodsman. I’d probably get lost five feet from the trail. I’ll just stay with you.”
I laugh, but it sounds false. “I’m serious, Ava. Something about this feels dangerous. And I won’t be responsible for leading you to your death. Or your undeath.”
“And I think we’ve established the fact I don’t follow your orders very well.”
I stare into her deep brown eyes, a strange mixture of protectiveness and selfishness welling up in me. Yesterday, I wanted nothing more than to get rid of her, now…now I ain’t sure what I want.
Her voice grows quiet, intimate. “We went over this last night, Cole. We gotta stick together. No matter what. There’s so many infected. The Beavers. And the crowd from the country club. And worse than that—Bethany’s out there. Wanting to infect everyone on the planet and be president of the zombie world or whatever. We’re stronger when we stick together.”
She reaches over to give my arm a squeeze. A casual gesture, meant to be reassuring. But the sudden touch sends sparks along my arm.
Is she serious? She’s going to stay with me? No matter what?
I’m almost paralyzed with relief. Once again, I realize that the idea of being alone out here scares the bejeebers out of me.
Ava moves her hand away, hiking her purse higher on her shoulder. “We need to stop being such wimps.” She shrugs. “So it’s quiet here. Big freaking deal. Let’s get a move on.”
“Can I make a suggestion?”
“Go ahead.”
“Make your purse strap longer.” Gently, I remove the bag from her shoulder and fiddle with the clasp. “Now wear it across your chest. Like this.” I position the bag by her hip. It crosses my mind that I might just want an excuse to touch her, to stand close to her. “Sturdier this way. Now you won’t lose it.”
Ava raises an eyebrow. “I thought you hated my stupid pocketbook.”
“Only old people say pocketbook,” I tease back. “And this here’s a magic purse.”
She smiles.
“You need to keep a tight hold of it, right? In case you need your medicine.” I turn to face the ominous-looking trail ahead of us. “And I’m worried we might have to run soon.”
Chapter Twelve
Weaver Bald is a few acres of bare rock at the absolute peak of the mountain. Around us, the view expands in every direction, range after range of mountaintops, finally disappearing into the murky snow-haze of the horizon. Cole doesn’t risk yelling out, and he doesn’t have to. There isn’t anywhere to hide on the bald: just an open ticket hut, a covered vending area and the pewter-gray fire tower, padlocked from the outside. The prolonged quiet is gone, replaced by wind screaming across the exposed mountaintop. Snow bites my face and hands.
It’s obvious Cole’s family isn’t here.
“I’ll check around,” Cole says in my ear. “And search for signs of them.”
I nod and hug my jacket tighter. The whistle of the wind is almost welcome, but it doesn’t dispel the sense of restless waiting. If I didn’t know better, I’d think even the trees were watching us.
“I’ll keep lookout,” I say to Cole, but he’s already too far to hear me, his concentration fixed on finding his dad and brother.
I move to the far side of the bald and step onto the stone observation deck. The gorge opens wide before me, and in the distance, ridge upon ridge of mountains fold against each other. A panoramic map borders the deck railing, detailing the names of every mountain on the horizon. And there it is—wedged between two distant peaks—an arrow and the word “Glenview.”
I lift my eyes to the horizon, finding the snow-blurry landscape that matches the map. My heart sinks. It appears impossibly far away.
“Get over it,” I whisper to myself. “Because that’s where you’re going. No matter how far.”
I tear my eyes from the map. If I’m gonna keep lookout, this is a great place to do it—I scan the surrounding mountains, searching for signs of the Beavers or Bethany or the country club zombies.
Nothing. At least, as far as I can tell.
With sunlight, I could probably pick out details in the landscape, but the snow makes everything fuzzy. Causes movement where there isn’t any. On a normal day, this would be beautiful, but now, the landscape continues to hold its breath, like it’s waiting for the next awful thing to happen.
My sweep completed, I join Cole on the bare rock beside the fire tower. A metal staircase twists up, eventually reaching a small room with banks of windows on each side. Like the rest of the buildings, the tower appears deserted. I watch the windows for several minutes, but nothing moves behind the glass.
At the base of the staircase, four zip lines stretch from a platform across a rocky canyon to a lower, neighboring mountain peak. The cables snap in the vicious wind. I can’t imagine someone paying good money to strap on a safety harness and hurtle across a deep chasm. Why would anyone think that’s fun?
Cole gestures at the ticket hut. “This is where we camp in the fall. Especially when it’s this cold.” He pokes at a piece of charred wood with his boot toe. “But they ain’t been here.”
“How can you tell for sure?”
“This wood’s old. No sign of a recent fire. No tamped down grass or leaves. No footprints.”
“Maybe they hid all the signs so the zombies couldn’t track them?”
Frustration clouds his face. “Nah. They ain’t been here.”
“I’m sorry.”
“S’okay.” He drags in a deep breath. “Ninety percent of my brain is disappointed. But the other ten percent is so damn relieved they’re not.” He wipes a hand across his face, dislodging snowflakes from his eyelashes. “We didn’t find ’em infected. There’s still hope.”
Wind tries to push away the hood of my jacket, and I clutch to keep it from blowing off my head. “Let’s buy some vending-machine food and get out of here.”
Cole nods. “Yeah. This place is giving me the creeps.”
The covered shed contains a Coke machine and glass-fronted snack dispenser. I stare through the Plexiglas at the almost empty food slots. A few Reese’s peanut-butter cups, two bags of Fritos, and some trail mix. A red light glows beside each selection on the Coke machine. Drat. Completely empty.
“Was there an end-of-the-world vending-machine rush?” I ask.
Cole shakes his head. “No. It’s off-season. Gate’s closed down on the main road. Vending machines ain’t restocked until the park reopens in May. We’re lucky there’s anything at all.”
Despite the blinding cold, Cole takes off his jacket and wraps it around his hand. For a few seconds, I’m mesmerized, staring at the toned arms no longer hidden by his jacket. I suddenly understand why he’s able to break ladder rungs with one snap. Muscles rope his forearms, lean but solid. Probably a result of all that outdoor work.
“What are you doing?” I ask as he picks a rock. He answers by slamming it against the Plexiglas front of the vending machine.
Bam! Whammammama.
The glass reverberates, but doesn’t shatter.
“Son of a—” Cole brings his jacket-wrapped hand back farther.
Bam! Whammmammama.
“Wait,” I place a hand on his forearm. “I got this.”
Breathing hard, his eyebrows furrow into a disbelieving line. “What, you got a sledgehammer in that magic pocketbook of yours?”
“No.” I pluck my wallet from the bottom of the purse. “But I have money. Watch me work my magic.”
Cole drops the rock and swears again, but this time he’s laughing. His eyes follow me as I feed the bills in the machine. Two minutes and six dollars later, we’re huddled in the ticket hut, sheltered from the wind, stuffing our faces with junk food.
I can’t decide if my fingers are shaking from the cold or from my desperation to get more calories in my body.
“Mmmm,” I mumble, devouring a mouthful of Fritos. “Nothing has ever tasted this good.”
“Nothing,” he agrees, smacking his lips. “Hey, let’s save the trail mix and the other two Reese’s cups for later.”
I nod, knowing it’s the smart thing to do, but still wishing I could shove all the food straight down my throat and lick the paper.
My fingers brush Cole’s as I take the packages. Did I do that on purpose?
Must stop thinking about the boy. Must keep mind on dangerous zombies.
I crane my neck to scan the horizon. Still empty.
Cole bends to reach a dropped Frito, and I swear, when he straightens back up, he’s sitting two inches closer to me.
I’m sure it was just an accident. I shouldn’t read too much into it.
Without meaning to, my mind conjures up an image of him without his jacket, how good he looked in his T-shirt. Pretending to check my purse snap, I let my arm slide along his for a moment.
What am I doing? Flirting with a boy in the middle of a zombie apocalypse? This is stupid.
I glance over, but he’s busy checking both sides of the bald, making sure zombies don’t appear over the ridge.
Damn. I’m doing a crappy job of keeping lookout.
That’s it. New rule: no more flirting during the zombie apocalypse.
At that instant, the wind dies completely, almost like someone flipped a switch.
A sudden wave of unease rushes over me, chasing away every last thought of cozying up to Cole. “Weird,” I say aloud.
“What?” he tries a smile, but I can’t miss the apprehension creasing his forehead. “You miss the wind?”
“No, that’s not it.” But I can’t come up with the words to voice what’s bothering me.
The bald feels too open and exposed. I find myself missing the cover of the forest. We’d talked about checking the fire tower, but I’m ready to bolt.
Like, now.
“So what do you think?” I ask choking down my last mouthful of Fritos.
“The Fritos are good, but the trail mix probably has more calories.”
“No, weirdo, I mean about the fire tower. It’s obviously vacant. Let’s just skip it.”
He lifts his eyes to study the structure towering above us. “How many flights of stairs is that?”
We’re silent for a moment, both counting.
“Twelve,” we say in unison.
“It’d take a long time to go up and a long time to come back down,” I remind him.
Cole immediately gets what I’m saying. “So if our zombie friends make an appearance while we’re up there, at least we’ll spot ’em first.”
“Yeah, but by the time we hear them and make it back to the bottom, they’ll be coming up the stairs. We’ll be trapped.”
“We could hide in the room at the top,” he suggests.
“Maybe. Or we could get trapped in the room at the top. Or worse yet, the door will be bolted and we won’t be able to get in at all.”
“I reckon it’s a bad idea,” he says, still staring at the tower.
I stand and brush Frito crumbs off my lap. “I’m really sorry your dad and brother aren’t here. But I’m worried we’ve lingered too long. Let’s get a move on.”
Cole remains seated, his eyes fixed on the tower. “You know, there might be a radio in there. This is one of the few towers staffed in the summer. We could find out what’s going on in the world.”
“That’s tempting,” I say honestly. “I would like to know if the whole entire world’s gone to hell, or just this corner of the forest.”
“And there could be food or supplies.”
“Yeah, or there could be nothing,” I try not to let exasperation creep into my tone. “The rangers might pack everything away for winter.”
“True.” His voice drops a notch. “But I’m also wondering if there’s a phone.”
A phone.
I could call my parents. Cole could call his house.
“Hmmm.” I raise my eyes to the metal structure, sharp against the November sky. “I’ve suddenly changed my mind. I think we should go up.”
…
If I thought the hike up the bald was bad, it was nothing compared to the steps up the fire tower. Steps. Steps. Steps. One hundred six of them, to be precise. Cold air chills me in spite of the exercise. My eyelids flutter against each other and it takes a few seconds to realize my eyelashes are freezing together.
Below us, the stone bald remains empty, and the three-hundred-sixty-degree panoramic view reveals nary a monster in sight. The view should be breathtaking. But I don’t like the way our footsteps echo on the metal slats of the staircase. It plays tricks on my mind, making me think I’m hearing voices. For the millionth time, I scan the surrounding forest, but there’s no sign of movement.
The cab on top of the tower is small, ten by ten maybe, and this time, Cole has better luck with his rock against the padlock on the door. It snaps open on the third try, conjuring up distracting mental images of the muscles hiding beneath his jacket.
He puts a finger to his lips, then eases the knife from his pocket.
Sqeeeaaak.
The door swings open to reveal a small room, lined with windows.
Empty. We both exhale in relief.
The room smells of cold and metal.
“There it is!” A beige, old-fashioned phone is bolted against the far wall. I rush to grab the receiver. Completely dead.
Disappointment slams my brain like a physical blow.
“Let’s go,” I say, replacing the handset. I fight to keep tears from spilling.
Cole gives the cabinets a greedy look. “Two minutes.”
I peek nervously through the glass window and push back my anxiety. Two minutes. We can wait two minutes. Especially if it means more food or supplies.
Cole grabs a pair of binoculars from a peg on the wall and loops them around my neck. His fingers skim my shoulder and his eyes lock with mine. I wish there wasn’t an inch of down between his fingers and my skin.
“Two minutes,” he repeats, obviously trying to reassure me.
He’s standing so close, his hand still resting on the binoculars. Instantly, I’m trapped by the odd frost-blue of his eyes, reminding me of the cold sky just above the frozen mountain. I drag in a deep breath.
No flirting during the apocalypse.
I yank the binoculars away, but I can’t manage to do the same with my eyes. “Two minutes. That’s it.”
Cole grins crookedly and moves toward the shelves. Something in my brain registers that he knows he’s having an effect on me.
Ugh, am I that obvious?
I raise the binoculars to squint out the windows, but the silent snow messes with my long-range vision.
Behind me, Cole flicks the switch on the radio. Static fills the room.
“Awesome. We got power up here, too. Scan the stations while I hunt through these cabinets.”
“Check for a cell charger,” I tell him. “And if there’s a space heater, forget Glenview, we’re moving in here.”
Cole laughs, knowing I’m kidding, and starts opening drawers and doors, methodically checking each metal cabinet. I try to focus on the radio dial but can’t stop peeking out the windows. I strain to listen over the static.
I turn to check Cole’s progress. “Find anything yet?”
“Nah, mostly empty.” Cole throws a few random pencils and a calculator on the counter. The next drawer contains stacks of maps and brochures. “Might be good for a fire.” Cole shifts toward me, stuffing the papers in my purse.
I can’t concentrate on the radio dial. I raise my binoculars again, but the snow blows harder with each passing second. It’s near impossible to see anything out the window. I bounce on the balls of my feet. My antsiness is reaching epic levels.
“It’s been two minutes, Cole, let’s go.”
He ignores me and pulls a few large garbage bags from a lower cabinet. “Ah! Jackpot!”
“Uh, trash bags?” I’m confused by his excitement.
“Also known as redneck suitcases and sleeping bags.” He stuffs these into my purse, too.
“I thought it was politically incorrect to use redneck,” I joke, trying to cover my rising panic.
“Only if
you
use it. When I use it—”
Bong, bong, bong!
The sound from the speaker startles me so badly I almost knock over the radio.
“Emergency Alert System, go back!” Cole grabs the dial. When he finds the station, a robotic male voice is already speaking. The message is obviously prerecorded.