Survival (13 page)

One of the flashlights swung up the stairs.

Noah pitched backward just in time. The ladder landed next to him, cushioned by the soft insulation of the attic. In the darkness, he saw Caddy’s silhouette as she scrambled to replace the cover. The room quieted.

Though the attic contained no windows, Noah could see the outline of several air vents on either side of the room. The ceiling was low and tapered on each end.

He remained in a crouch, gun aimed at the hatchway.

The two of them held their breath, listening to the muffled sounds of the men beneath them. Noah heard footsteps on the stairs, the creak of furniture. The men had gone silent. They were in stealth mode, focused on finding their targets. It was only a matter of time before they noticed the attic entrance.

Noah glanced around them. From what he could tell, both the ceiling and the floor were made of unfinished plywood, the floor stuffed with insulation. Would the men fire through the ceiling at them? How far would the bullets go? He had little knowledge of weaponry and could only guess at the results. In any case, he didn’t think their predicament was a good one. He surveyed the room, looking for something they could use, but saw only a few small cardboard boxes.

He couldn’t imagine what their next move could be. With only one exit in sight, escape was impossible. He glanced at his companion. His eyes had adjusted to the darkness, but he could only make out her silhouette. Was she praying? Waiting for the end?

Had he come this far to die in an attic? He’d traveled hundreds of miles, escaped swarms of the infected, and outmaneuvered the agents, and now his life would be snuffed out. He’d never make it to his family; they’d never know what had happened to him.

His hands quivered on the rifle. There were only two bullets left in the gun. Two bullets left to take down God knew how many men. Were there two down there? Three? There was no way to know.

He glanced at Caddy, then at himself. Two bullets…

The thought struck him out of nowhere, and his heart stammered. In all the time he’d spent running, the thought had never crossed his mind, and now here it was all the same. Could he turn the gun on himself? On Caddy? Would that be preferable to what these men would put them through?

He could only assume the men would make him suffer. Noah had killed their companions, after all, and that would carry a steep price. Caddy’s fate would be an unfortunate by-product of the company she kept.

He clenched his teeth, considering the option. But there was no time to discuss it with his companion. A single whisper could lead the men to them.

The thud of footfalls broke his train of thought.

Noah tensed up, ready to shoot. He kept his aim on the entrance, waiting for the entrance to open and a head to emerge. But Noah had the ladder. The ceiling was about seven feet above the hallway floor; it would take two of the men to get inside, one to boost the other.

That didn’t mean they couldn’t open fire.

The footsteps slowed. Someone was on the landing. Noah heard the rustle of clothing, the hiss of breath. What was the man doing? Had he discovered their hiding place? Noah envisioned the assailant’s eyes as he gazed from room to room. It was only a matter of time before he looked up…

The floorboards creaked.

Noah winced, waiting for the gunfire. He felt his body tense; his legs cramped from maintaining the same pose.

Two bullets…

Once Noah made his decision, there’d be no going back. The men would know their position. He kept his aim at the attic entrance, waiting for a sign of movement. He hoped he didn’t fire by accident. One slip of the finger could lead to the end. He had to wait for the precise moment. If he fired too early…

The footsteps resumed.

The man below them continued down the hallway, heading in the direction of Caddy’s room. Noah expelled the breath he’d been holding.

Whether it was fate or luck, he wasn’t sure, but one of those had bought him time.

Minutes passed. Every so often, Noah and Caddy heard the scuff of a boot, the wrinkle of fabric. The men moved through the house like shadows, eliminating each potential hiding place, one at a time.

Every footfall was a step closer to discovery; every second brought them closer to death. Noah had to think of something. Without talking to his companion, concocting a plan would be impossible. He needed to get closer to her. He needed to speak. At the same time, he needed to avoid being heard.

It was a risk he had to take.

Noah inched over to his companion, his legs grazing the insulation. The fiberglass irritated his skin. He kept one hand on the rifle, the other on the nearest beam, hoping he wouldn’t fall. To his relief, he reached Caddy without a sound. He gripped her shoulder and pulled her close.

“Open the hatch. Slowly.”

He pointed to the attic entrance, hoping she’d heard him. Caddy nodded that she understood. Noah backed away to give her room.

He bit his lip, watching her slide the entrance open an inch. Somewhere below them, a closet door slid on its tracks.

When Caddy was finished, Noah waved her away, beckoning for her to get clear. He shimmied over to the entrance and looked through the small opening.

He saw two shadows in the living room, two figures that resembled specters in the dark. There was no one on the stairwell. He switched his focus to Caddy’s room, where he’d last heard noise. A third shadow was coming toward them.

Noah pointed his rifle through the crack, taking aim at the hallway below. He prayed the man hadn’t seen him. If the man had noticed the gap, they were done.

He waited.

Caddy had retreated to the shadows. He could only hope she was far enough away to avoid the fallout from what he was about to do. Once he fired, their hiding place would be exposed.

He swallowed and willed time to pass, willed the whole thing to be over.

Regardless of what Noah did next, confrontation was inevitable. If the men didn’t find them now, they’d find them eventually. They knew Caddy and Noah were in the house. Was it better to wait for discovery or to use the small advantage they had?

Noah felt like he was standing on a cliff, looking over the edge into a dark abyss. He could either jump or wait to be pushed.

If he was going jump, he might as well do it now.

The shadow walked underneath him.

Noah fired.

The blast was ear-piercing. Noah clung to the rifle, deafened by the sound. Below him, he watched the shadow fall to the ground with a
thud
. The figures in the living room ducked from view. Instead of retreating, Noah cast aside the attic entrance and plummeted into the hallway below. He landed on top of the fallen man, his feet stumbling on clothes and flesh.

The next few seconds were a blur.

He took aim down the stairwell, firing off the remaining round. Then he fell to his knees and scoured the carpet for the other man’s weapon.

His ears were screaming from the gunshot, like twin fighter jets soaring behind his eardrums. His hands came across the other rifle and he switched it out for his own. Before he could aim, a burst of light flashed from the landing below, and something hit the wall above him.

Noah scampered across the hall and into Caddy’s bedroom, flinging the door shut behind him. He dove over the bed and hit the floor with a thump. His lungs were heaving; his hands shook on the rifle. The men were going to pursue him.

There was no question in his mind.

He’d killed another one of them, and there would be payback.

The shot had been from close range; there was no way the man had survived.

A part of him hoped—
prayed
—that the men would retreat, but he knew that wouldn’t be the case. If anything, he’d only intensified their rage.

He peered over the top of the bed, expecting to see the door fly open, to see shadows in the hallway, but the door remained closed.

He pictured Caddy in the attic. He hoped to God she’d stay there. He hadn’t shared the details of his plan with her, because there hadn’t been time. In the heat of the moment, he’d made the decision to leave the attic, to engage their attackers, and it was one he’d live or die with.

Noah was using himself as bait.

This was his mess, and he was going to get them out of it.

C
harles watched as the young man fled from the shadowed hallway above him. He clenched his teeth. The smell of cordite wafted by his nose, remnants of gunfire indoors. Somewhere upstairs, a door slammed.

His senses were overloaded, his entire body on edge, but it was Charles’ anger that hit him the hardest.

Gary, one of his only remaining companions, was dead.

Even without looking, he knew it. He knew it as instinctively as he knew the young man was hiding in the bedroom, as surely as he knew the girl was still hiding in the attic. The three of them had stormed into the house with the intention of taking the young man alive, of letting William have his revenge, but now Charles wanted the young man’s blood for himself.

He’d known Gary only a few days, but the two had quickly bonded. They’d served time together, though they’d been in different wings. And over the past few days, they’d hunted down several survivors, killed handfuls of the infected, and passed time together discussing weapons and ammunition.

Gary was the brother he’d never had. And now Gary was gone.

He’d send William after the girl. He wanted the young man for himself.

He was sure the kid would understand. If he didn’t, he’d make him.

Charles flicked on his flashlight, illuminating the carpeted stairs and the body on the landing. Gary’s corpse lay motionless, his head splattered against the wall. In the ceiling above him was the entrance to the attic.

If Charles had been the first to go upstairs, he’d have seen the attic entrance right away. He was surprised Gary hadn’t. It had been a fatal oversight.

But none of that mattered now.

His friend was dead, and the piece of shit responsible was within reach. They could’ve killed him on the road, but they’d made the mistake of letting him run.

Charles wouldn’t make that mistake again.

He glanced back at William and gestured to the attic door. He grabbed the kid’s head and pulled him close, hissed in his ear.

“The girl’s the one who made him do it. She’s the one responsible for your father’s death. Go get her. She’s in the attic.”

Before the kid could protest, Charles dug his nails into the kid’s shoulder. There was no time for arguments.

He heard William swallow as they mounted the stairs.

C
addy’s ears were still ringing from the gunshot. She’d covered them before the blast, but it’d been even louder than she anticipated.

Now she sat alone and in the dark, staring at the empty space her companion had once occupied. Although she’d expected Noah to shoot, she hadn’t expected him to leave. A string of commotion had followed his exit, indicating he’d made it to the bedroom.

She just hoped to God he was OK.

The house returned to silence.

Caddy clutched the paring knife in her hand, feeling unprepared and unprotected. With Noah gone, she found herself torn between self-preservation and the need to assist him. But what could she do? Even if she wanted to help, she was, for the most part, unarmed.

Heart thumping, she crawled for cover.

Caddy backed away from the hole in the floor, finding her way along the beams, doing her best to gain distance. If her goal was to hide, she’d need to act quickly. She needed to get out of sight and out of the line of fire. Before she knew it, she’d navigated to the end of the room and wedged herself into a corner.

The attic was relatively empty. Because it was hard to access, she and her mother barely used it for storage. A few boxes of her childhood belongings lined the crawlspace, but nothing inside could help her. The insulation scratched her skin. Caddy kept still. She’d done enough moving already; it was time to lie low.

With the attic door uncovered, the sounds of the house were more noticeable, wafting into the attic. The ringing in her ears had started to subside, allowing her to hear.

Someone was coming.

Caddy gripped the knife in her hand, knowing it would be useless if they found her. The image of her mother being killed replayed in her mind. She could still see her mother’s face as she’d pitched over in the seat, eyes glazed, blood oozing from the wound.

Would she be next?

For the past few weeks, she’d been so focused on survival that she’d hardly considered her death. Her main goal had been to take care of her mother, and that instinct had overridden everything else. She’d refused to face the possibility of dying, because dying would mean leaving her only relative stranded.

Now that she was alone, death felt closer than ever.

The sound of a voice broke her from her trance. Someone was speaking in the hallway, or maybe in the bedroom. That meant Noah was in danger. Caddy’s chest grew tight at the thought of losing her companion.

Even though she’d been angry with him, had blamed him for her mother’s death, she knew it wasn’t his fault. He’d only been trying to help. She understood that now as clearly as she understood what was happening below.