Glenview.”
He recovers quickly. “And I’m going up this creek,” he grinds out, between his teeth. “And staying the hell away from Bethany and her zombie soldiers.”
“Fine.”
“Fine.”
“Bye.”
“See ya.”
He spins on his heel and marches away, his open jacket flapping behind him like a bird taking flight.
I tear my eyes away and stalk in the opposite direction, surprised by the sudden, painful tightening in my chest.
Chapter Ten
I will not look back. I don’t care where Cole goes, what he does. He could march straight back to Bethany—together they can be king and queen of the zombie redneck forest. I don’t give a flying fart.
Jaw set, I approach the weathered skeleton of the cabin. The place is a horror show. Corrugated metal walls rusted beyond recognition. A tiny window caked with grime. Paint peeling off the door in long, puckered strips. I barely touch the latch and it falls into the dirt.
Ever so gently, I ease the door open a few inches.
Scritch-scritch-scritch. Inside the cabin, something scurries. I leap back, startled, but the noise stops just as quickly.
Get a grip, Ava. Probably a mouse.
I can’t help myself—I glance back at the creek. Cole obviously meant what he said. He’s gone. Nowhere to be seen. On his way up the mountain without me.
Fine. I turn back to the half-open door. He can keep walking in that cold-ass water. I’ll hide out in this nice, warm cabin. With the mice. And maybe some lethal chemicals.
With a squeak, the door swings fully open. My eyes fight to adjust to the dimness. Cobwebs and dust coat everything. And by everything, I mean a bunch of random equipment. Propane tank. Portable stove. An old tub, green with mold, plastic hoses dangling over the edge. Containers, some labeled with chemical names, like “ethyl ether” and “chloroform.”
Yep. Definitely a meth lab.
So maybe this isn’t the best idea I’ve ever had. I probably won’t find a few cans of soup lying around. Or a comfy chair to doze in beside the fireplace.
I should leave now. Run and catch Cole.
The thought burns bile in the back of my throat. I’d have to apologize. And admit he was right. He’d give me one of his lectures. Call me “City-Girl” again in that condescending tone.
Suddenly, the cabin appears more promising. I’ll make the best of it. Even if I have to share with mice and four drums of ethyl ether.
Miraculously, there’s still glass in the tiny window. This is a good thing. It’ll keep the wind out tonight. I’ll haul a few of these containers outside, prop the door shut, and get a good night’s sleep. Tomorrow morning, I’ll head back to the river and follow it all the way to Glenview—on my own.
I don’t need Cole. Not one bit.
I take a few steps across the wood floor.
Scritch-scritch-scritch. On the far side of the room, hoses in the bathtub wriggle against the porcelain.
I freeze. Mice. Just mice in the bathtub.
At that moment, a hand grips the side of the tub. A gray hand, marbled with burns and rot.
I open my mouth, but no sound comes out.
There, rising from the bathtub, is a meth-head zombie—scabbed and gaunt, with deep hollows under his eyes. Greasy hair hangs in strings across his wild face, and it’s probably safe to say his clothes were dirty even before this whole zombie-apocalypse thing went down.
“Rawwwr!” he says, obviously upset about being awoken from his nap.
My heart tries to leap out of my still-open mouth.
“Rawwwr!” he repeats, heaving himself from the tub.
Slowly, carefully, my feet edge back toward the door—one step…two…
My toes find the threshold of the cabin. My eyes stay locked on the creature. He stumbles closer. Lifts his arms.
I should scream for Cole. But he’s too far away. Plus, my mouth still isn’t working. I close and open it, but no sound comes out.
Okay. My mouth might be broken, but my legs sure as hell aren’t.
Bam! I haul myself through the doorway, fling the door shut and
He recovers quickly. “And I’m going up this creek,” he grinds out, between his teeth. “And staying the hell away from Bethany and her zombie soldiers.”
“Fine.”
“Fine.”
“Bye.”
“See ya.”
He spins on his heel and marches away, his open jacket flapping behind him like a bird taking flight.
I tear my eyes away and stalk in the opposite direction, surprised by the sudden, painful tightening in my chest.
Chapter Ten
I will not look back. I don’t care where Cole goes, what he does. He could march straight back to Bethany—together they can be king and queen of the zombie redneck forest. I don’t give a flying fart.
Jaw set, I approach the weathered skeleton of the cabin. The place is a horror show. Corrugated metal walls rusted beyond recognition. A tiny window caked with grime. Paint peeling off the door in long, puckered strips. I barely touch the latch and it falls into the dirt.
Ever so gently, I ease the door open a few inches.
Scritch-scritch-scritch. Inside the cabin, something scurries. I leap back, startled, but the noise stops just as quickly.
Get a grip, Ava. Probably a mouse.
I can’t help myself—I glance back at the creek. Cole obviously meant what he said. He’s gone. Nowhere to be seen. On his way up the mountain without me.
Fine. I turn back to the half-open door. He can keep walking in that cold-ass water. I’ll hide out in this nice, warm cabin. With the mice. And maybe some lethal chemicals.
With a squeak, the door swings fully open. My eyes fight to adjust to the dimness. Cobwebs and dust coat everything. And by everything, I mean a bunch of random equipment. Propane tank. Portable stove. An old tub, green with mold, plastic hoses dangling over the edge. Containers, some labeled with chemical names, like “ethyl ether” and “chloroform.”
Yep. Definitely a meth lab.
So maybe this isn’t the best idea I’ve ever had. I probably won’t find a few cans of soup lying around. Or a comfy chair to doze in beside the fireplace.
I should leave now. Run and catch Cole.
The thought burns bile in the back of my throat. I’d have to apologize. And admit he was right. He’d give me one of his lectures. Call me “City-Girl” again in that condescending tone.
Suddenly, the cabin appears more promising. I’ll make the best of it. Even if I have to share with mice and four drums of ethyl ether.
Miraculously, there’s still glass in the tiny window. This is a good thing. It’ll keep the wind out tonight. I’ll haul a few of these containers outside, prop the door shut, and get a good night’s sleep. Tomorrow morning, I’ll head back to the river and follow it all the way to Glenview—on my own.
I don’t need Cole. Not one bit.
I take a few steps across the wood floor.
Scritch-scritch-scritch. On the far side of the room, hoses in the bathtub wriggle against the porcelain.
I freeze. Mice. Just mice in the bathtub.
At that moment, a hand grips the side of the tub. A gray hand, marbled with burns and rot.
I open my mouth, but no sound comes out.
There, rising from the bathtub, is a meth-head zombie—scabbed and gaunt, with deep hollows under his eyes. Greasy hair hangs in strings across his wild face, and it’s probably safe to say his clothes were dirty even before this whole zombie-apocalypse thing went down.
“Rawwwr!” he says, obviously upset about being awoken from his nap.
My heart tries to leap out of my still-open mouth.
“Rawwwr!” he repeats, heaving himself from the tub.
Slowly, carefully, my feet edge back toward the door—one step…two…
My toes find the threshold of the cabin. My eyes stay locked on the creature. He stumbles closer. Lifts his arms.
I should scream for Cole. But he’s too far away. Plus, my mouth still isn’t working. I close and open it, but no sound comes out.
Okay. My mouth might be broken, but my legs sure as hell aren’t.
Bam! I haul myself through the doorway, fling the door shut and
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