got a feeling you’re the type of girl who could argue about anything.”
Ava reels back like I’ve slapped her. “Damn, Cole. You know what? I can totally understand why you and psycho-bitch Bethany are perfect for each other.”
I open my mouth to say something, then change my mind. I’m tired of trying to talk sense to this girl. In fact, I’m tired of talking to her at all. I turn to keep walking up the creek bed. I can almost feel her rolling her eyes behind my back.
…
I’ve been slogging through this shallow stream forever, climbing steadily the entire time, staring at Cole’s back. The clouds grow heavier—drooping low in the sky to turn late afternoon to early twilight.
My adrenaline rush wore off hours ago, sometime between our fight about rednecks and a stilted conversation where we decided to finish the last of the sunflower seeds. Now I’m just cold and miserable. And pissed . If it wasn’t for Bethany, we’d be a day and a half away from my parents. Now we’re going in the wrong freaking direction .
Cole was incorrect when he said city people don’t know east from west. Maybe some don’t, but I do. I’ve always had a good sense of direction, and I’ve accompanied my parents to the home-improvement store enough times to get a general feel of the terrain between our house and town. The highway—which is probably the most direct route to Glenview—would probably be choked with infected people and desperate survivors. I can understand why Cole didn’t steer us that way after we veered off course in the truck. But I can’t understand this sudden, sharp turn to the east. Why are we veering so far off course? My best guess is that Cole is genuinely afraid of Bethany and is taking severe measures to throw her off our trail.
“How much longer do we have to stay in this damn water?” I call out to him.
“Quit being such a baby,” he answers back tartly.
Cole’s been acting ill ever since our redneck debate.
I wasn’t trying to insult him when I used the word. I don’t know—he called me “Floridiot,” said he’d never date someone like me. That was too much, and the whole redneck thing just sorta popped out.
A strong breeze kicks in, knifing through my down jacket. I bury my face in my shoulder, hoping to warm my nose, even just for a second. God. Could this whole situation suck any worse?
Right then, Cole starts singing . It might be the most annoying sound ever. The same song over and over and about a “shady grove” and how he’s “bound to go away.” His words make the woods darker. I don’t want to imagine what might be lurking in this shady grove.
“Quit singing,” I snap. “You’re gonna draw Bethany to us. Or the zombies.”
“No,” he says over his shoulder, “what I’m gonna do is keep the bears away from us. We’re in the deepest part of the preserve.”
Cole’s voice grows stronger, filling the broadening shadows. The wind muffles half the words, but there seem to be a million different verses with outdated words like “tarry.”
“Don’t you know any Ke$ha?” I hiss.
“I don’t take requests.”
“That’s too bad,” I mutter to myself. “I’d like to make a request that you shut the—”
I stop in my tracks. About fifty feet away, a steel shed hides among the trees, streaks of brown rust camouflaging it against the November landscape. It’s small, prefab, and totally run-down. But to me, it’s like a mirage.
“Cole! Over there! A shack. A shed. We can hide in there. Get out of the wind!”
Cole doesn’t even glance at the building. It’s obvious he’d already noticed it. “That ain’t no shack. That’s a meth lab.”
He resumes singing and sloshing through the creek.
I snort once, and give Cole a disbelieving glare. “Dude, I don’t care if it’s a meth factory . It’s got four walls and a roof. We can get out of this cold. Maybe even find food.”
Cole stops his song and faces me, giving me a hard look. “All
Ava reels back like I’ve slapped her. “Damn, Cole. You know what? I can totally understand why you and psycho-bitch Bethany are perfect for each other.”
I open my mouth to say something, then change my mind. I’m tired of trying to talk sense to this girl. In fact, I’m tired of talking to her at all. I turn to keep walking up the creek bed. I can almost feel her rolling her eyes behind my back.
…
I’ve been slogging through this shallow stream forever, climbing steadily the entire time, staring at Cole’s back. The clouds grow heavier—drooping low in the sky to turn late afternoon to early twilight.
My adrenaline rush wore off hours ago, sometime between our fight about rednecks and a stilted conversation where we decided to finish the last of the sunflower seeds. Now I’m just cold and miserable. And pissed . If it wasn’t for Bethany, we’d be a day and a half away from my parents. Now we’re going in the wrong freaking direction .
Cole was incorrect when he said city people don’t know east from west. Maybe some don’t, but I do. I’ve always had a good sense of direction, and I’ve accompanied my parents to the home-improvement store enough times to get a general feel of the terrain between our house and town. The highway—which is probably the most direct route to Glenview—would probably be choked with infected people and desperate survivors. I can understand why Cole didn’t steer us that way after we veered off course in the truck. But I can’t understand this sudden, sharp turn to the east. Why are we veering so far off course? My best guess is that Cole is genuinely afraid of Bethany and is taking severe measures to throw her off our trail.
“How much longer do we have to stay in this damn water?” I call out to him.
“Quit being such a baby,” he answers back tartly.
Cole’s been acting ill ever since our redneck debate.
I wasn’t trying to insult him when I used the word. I don’t know—he called me “Floridiot,” said he’d never date someone like me. That was too much, and the whole redneck thing just sorta popped out.
A strong breeze kicks in, knifing through my down jacket. I bury my face in my shoulder, hoping to warm my nose, even just for a second. God. Could this whole situation suck any worse?
Right then, Cole starts singing . It might be the most annoying sound ever. The same song over and over and about a “shady grove” and how he’s “bound to go away.” His words make the woods darker. I don’t want to imagine what might be lurking in this shady grove.
“Quit singing,” I snap. “You’re gonna draw Bethany to us. Or the zombies.”
“No,” he says over his shoulder, “what I’m gonna do is keep the bears away from us. We’re in the deepest part of the preserve.”
Cole’s voice grows stronger, filling the broadening shadows. The wind muffles half the words, but there seem to be a million different verses with outdated words like “tarry.”
“Don’t you know any Ke$ha?” I hiss.
“I don’t take requests.”
“That’s too bad,” I mutter to myself. “I’d like to make a request that you shut the—”
I stop in my tracks. About fifty feet away, a steel shed hides among the trees, streaks of brown rust camouflaging it against the November landscape. It’s small, prefab, and totally run-down. But to me, it’s like a mirage.
“Cole! Over there! A shack. A shed. We can hide in there. Get out of the wind!”
Cole doesn’t even glance at the building. It’s obvious he’d already noticed it. “That ain’t no shack. That’s a meth lab.”
He resumes singing and sloshing through the creek.
I snort once, and give Cole a disbelieving glare. “Dude, I don’t care if it’s a meth factory . It’s got four walls and a roof. We can get out of this cold. Maybe even find food.”
Cole stops his song and faces me, giving me a hard look. “All
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