chipped paint fading to a dull gray. A large pot stood beside the steps, a withered plant hanging over the brown ceramic. The window to the left of the front door had been smashed, a red curtain obscuring the interior of the house.
He peered over the row of bushes and spotted Rachel as she ducked behind the tree he’d stopped at. He waited until she looked and waved his hand forward. He counted silently to three and moved forward, creeping up the steps, his focus on the shattered window. He paused at the top of the stairs and waited until he heard Rachel’s footsteps, then he hurried to the wall beside the front door. He leaned with his back against the grimy paneling and took a deep, low breath, his heart pounding in his chest.
So far so good .
Rachel quickly moved up the porch, and stopped on the other side of the door, kneeling on one knee. She put her hand up to her ear, and looked at Brad. He shook his head. Outside of their own noise, he hadn’t heard a peep.
Brad peeked over the open window frame and glanced inside the darkened house. A table leaned against the wall, books scattered on top. He pushed back the curtain, squinting as he caught details in the shadows of the room. A couch had been pushed up against the far corner, and on the far side he saw what looked like a woodburner. A living room, he guessed, but beyond that he couldn’t decipher much of—
Wait. Something moved in a corner of the room and darted deeper into the house through a doorway. He wasn’t positive, but he could’ve sworn he noticed a shock of blonde hair. A human survivor?
He glanced back at Rachel, and motioned towards the door with a sweep of his hand. He put up three fingers and Rachel nodded sharply. She clutched her pendant in one hand and reached for the door handle.
3, 2, 1 . Brad slipped a leg over the window sill and ducked through the opening. He crouched there and blinked until his eyes adjusted to the darkness. He heard Rachel’s soft footsteps on carpet as she swung the door open and closed behind her, her gaze focused on the adjacent room.
He glanced past her, the tiles on the floor glinting. A kitchen. Rachel pointed ahead, and Brad nodded. She slipped out of his sight as she stepped quietly into the kitchen.
Brad stepped deeper into the disheveled living room, sweat crawling down his back. The couch leaned against the opposite wall, the striped cushions ripped, like an animal had shredded the cloth and yanked out torn bits of yellowed foam. Above the couch, small picture frames and ceramic pieces sat on wooden shelves mounted to the wall.
There . He saw it again, that quick flash of movement, something ducking past the doorway across from him. He crept silently past the wood burner, pausing beside the doorway. He clutched the pendant and spoke the weapon’s name softly, closing his eyes as the sickle formed in his hand. He felt the soft warmth of the Blessed weapon, the grooves of the hilt gripping his fingers.
“We’re not gonna hurt you,” he said, his voice echoing into the dim room beyond. “Why don’t you come out where I can see you?”
He sucked in his breath, hesitating before he pushed into the other room, the sickle held out in front of him.
This room was tiny. An old TV sat on a stand to his left, covered in a fine layer of dust. Bookshelves lined the opposite wall, the wood blackened, charred books on the stained carpet.
A loud creak sounded to his right, and he swiveled on his feet. Rachel .
He hurried through the small room and paused as he looked through the adjoining hall. A washer and dryer sat tucked against the wall, and beyond them a screen door had been swung open.
Someone stood there, holding the door open. At first Brad thought Rachel had come out of the kitchen, so of course it must have been her.
Only it wasn’t.
The woman just stood there, wearing a loose-fitting white tee-shirt and dark shorts. Blonde hair, long and curly, and her eyes—
Brad’s heart lurched in his
He peered over the row of bushes and spotted Rachel as she ducked behind the tree he’d stopped at. He waited until she looked and waved his hand forward. He counted silently to three and moved forward, creeping up the steps, his focus on the shattered window. He paused at the top of the stairs and waited until he heard Rachel’s footsteps, then he hurried to the wall beside the front door. He leaned with his back against the grimy paneling and took a deep, low breath, his heart pounding in his chest.
So far so good .
Rachel quickly moved up the porch, and stopped on the other side of the door, kneeling on one knee. She put her hand up to her ear, and looked at Brad. He shook his head. Outside of their own noise, he hadn’t heard a peep.
Brad peeked over the open window frame and glanced inside the darkened house. A table leaned against the wall, books scattered on top. He pushed back the curtain, squinting as he caught details in the shadows of the room. A couch had been pushed up against the far corner, and on the far side he saw what looked like a woodburner. A living room, he guessed, but beyond that he couldn’t decipher much of—
Wait. Something moved in a corner of the room and darted deeper into the house through a doorway. He wasn’t positive, but he could’ve sworn he noticed a shock of blonde hair. A human survivor?
He glanced back at Rachel, and motioned towards the door with a sweep of his hand. He put up three fingers and Rachel nodded sharply. She clutched her pendant in one hand and reached for the door handle.
3, 2, 1 . Brad slipped a leg over the window sill and ducked through the opening. He crouched there and blinked until his eyes adjusted to the darkness. He heard Rachel’s soft footsteps on carpet as she swung the door open and closed behind her, her gaze focused on the adjacent room.
He glanced past her, the tiles on the floor glinting. A kitchen. Rachel pointed ahead, and Brad nodded. She slipped out of his sight as she stepped quietly into the kitchen.
Brad stepped deeper into the disheveled living room, sweat crawling down his back. The couch leaned against the opposite wall, the striped cushions ripped, like an animal had shredded the cloth and yanked out torn bits of yellowed foam. Above the couch, small picture frames and ceramic pieces sat on wooden shelves mounted to the wall.
There . He saw it again, that quick flash of movement, something ducking past the doorway across from him. He crept silently past the wood burner, pausing beside the doorway. He clutched the pendant and spoke the weapon’s name softly, closing his eyes as the sickle formed in his hand. He felt the soft warmth of the Blessed weapon, the grooves of the hilt gripping his fingers.
“We’re not gonna hurt you,” he said, his voice echoing into the dim room beyond. “Why don’t you come out where I can see you?”
He sucked in his breath, hesitating before he pushed into the other room, the sickle held out in front of him.
This room was tiny. An old TV sat on a stand to his left, covered in a fine layer of dust. Bookshelves lined the opposite wall, the wood blackened, charred books on the stained carpet.
A loud creak sounded to his right, and he swiveled on his feet. Rachel .
He hurried through the small room and paused as he looked through the adjoining hall. A washer and dryer sat tucked against the wall, and beyond them a screen door had been swung open.
Someone stood there, holding the door open. At first Brad thought Rachel had come out of the kitchen, so of course it must have been her.
Only it wasn’t.
The woman just stood there, wearing a loose-fitting white tee-shirt and dark shorts. Blonde hair, long and curly, and her eyes—
Brad’s heart lurched in his
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