Dove: A Zombie Tale (Byron: A Zombie Tale Book 2) by Scott Wieczorek Page A

away.
    “What’s back here?”
    “The dining room, then the kitchen.”
    “Is there a bathroom on this floor?”
    I nodded, pointing to a door off to his left. “Under the stairs, right there.”
    He stepped over to it and sniffed at it, wrinkling his nose. Concern filled his eyes as he turned back toward me. Without warning, he thrust both swords through the closed bathroom door, one high and one low. They scraped as he drew them back out, the blades clean. He nodded at the door handle.
    Standing to one side, I flicked the handle and shoved the door open.
    Empty.
    He stepped inside, gazed into the toilet, and made a strange face. He exited, calling over his shoulder, “You gotta clean that thing! I could almost smell it from the street.”
    Dirty dishes covered the dining room table—the ones I had left there this morning before heading off to the church. The stench of old milk stung my nose.
    “Couldn’t put your dishes in the sink?” he asked in a teasing tone.
    “Hey, I left in a bit of a rush this morning. At four-thirty.”
    “How did you not notice everything falling to pieces around you?”
    I gave him a hard glare. “Really? Did you see the neighborhood I live in? Everything is in pieces? We don’t watch the news. I spend my days glued to the computer because that’s how I make my money. A nuclear bomb could have detonated and it wouldn’t look much different around here.”
    He shrugged. “True. It is a bit of a hole. But not even a Yahoo article about zombies invading?” He put strong emphasis on the last two words.
    “Who has time for Yahoo articles? Last thing I need is clickbait. You know how exhausting it is to edit hours of digital footage into a cohesive film? And as for this neighborhood—we’re a half-step above the projects here. You know how often we hear gunfire? Nightly. Gang shootings. Armed robberies. Drugs. You name it, we got it in our ‘hood.”
    Byron sniffed hard at the air. “You have rats. I can smell them—I hear them in your cabinets.”
    “I know. Don’t remind me.” The warmth of embarrassment returned to my face.
    He looked at me with a broad, goofy grin. “Got a toolbox? I could use a road snack.”
    My stomach turned and I wanted to retch. We stepped into the kitchen. The sink overflowed with dishes and dirty pots littered the stove. “Yeah. My aunt is a bit of a hoarder.” Roaches scurried about the counter. “I can’t wait to get my own place.”
    Byron stopped in his tracks.
    “What? What’s wrong?”
    He brushed the vertical blinds away from the rear sliding door. The half-rotted bodies of Goners shuffled about in the yards. A wave of relief washed over me as I recognized that none of them resembled my aunt.
    “Seriously, how did you not notice?” His eyes pleaded for an answer.
    “Can we focus, here. I’m oblivious, okay. It’s by sheer, dumb luck that I have survived life this far. So, let’s not tempt fate any more than it already has been. Let’s find my aunt and get the hell out of here.”
    He nodded and let the blinds flop back into place. Soft moans resonated through the double-pane glass.
    “Let’s check upstairs.” He walked much faster toward the front, back to the main stairway, stopping to peek out the front window as he went. “Coast is clear so far.”
    When I turned, Byron stood a few steps up the stairs already, scanning the doorways.
    “I don’t see any movement in the rooms up here,” he called back. “Are you sure you got the right house?”
    “Jerk.” I called back to him. “Yes. I am sure this is where I live. This is my squalor and filth.”
    He hopped up the rest of the steps two at a time, slipping one of the swords back into its sheath. “Well, she ain’t here.”
    He opened all the doors along the corridor as I crested the top of the stairway. The two bedrooms stood empty, as did the bathroom. I made my way to my aunt’s bedroom. There were no notes, or any indications of a struggle anywhere. It didn’t