Declan said with a mock salute.
“And lose the attitude,” Anat said, jabbing a finger into his chest. “I am not appreciating it.”
“Thank you, Anat.” Sophie smiled at her, then started walking again. Declan fell in step behind her. Anat followed, trying to ignore the pricks and jabs of rough gravel through her thick socks. She’d suffered worse before.
Nico and Yosh had stopped, but Anat waved for them to continue. They stretched out in a ragged line, weaving from one side of the road to the other to avoid obstacles. She frowned. They shouldn’t be so spread out, better to keep a tight formation in case a threat materialized. Her field commander would never have stood for such sloppiness. She had to bite her lip to keep from castigating them. After all, they were just a group of frightened kids; and they
were
moving, albeit slowly. Plus, so far they hadn’t seen any sign of bears or anything else.
Suddenly, Nico stopped and pointed. Anat trotted to catch up. Her heart skipped a beat when she followed his gaze.
It was a house, set back from the road. The grass in front was tall and overgrown, and weeds choked the driveway. Still, it was the first they’d come across. Maybe someonewould be home. Or if not, at least there might be a functioning telephone.
“No car in the driveway,” Declan noted. “Maybe no one’s there.”
“Let’s find out,” Anat said, marching toward the front door.
They followed her down a flagstone path. It was bumpier than it should have been, with rocks protruding at ankle-twisting angles, but still navigable.
Anat climbed the stairs to a wraparound veranda and knocked on the front door. The porch floorboards were weathered, long strips of gray paint peeling off like shedding skin. The house appeared just as forsaken as everything else.
“No answer,” Nico muttered.
She knocked again, more loudly. They waited another minute, then Declan said, “Step aside.”
“What are you going to do?” Sophie asked.
“I’m getting us in.” Fumbling in his left pocket, he drew out a set of narrow metal tools and went down on one knee to examine the deadbolt. “Easy.”
“You’re going to pick the lock?” Sophie asked dubiously. “How the hell do you know how to do that?”
Declan didn’t answer. He’d already set to work, inserting the pins with his eyes half closed.
“But—” Sophie protested.
“We need to find a telephone,” Anat interrupted. “A landline. There might be one inside.”
They all watched in silence. Declan was impressively adept, a minute after he started there was a click. He rose to his feet and turned the knob with a flourish, opening the door.
Sophie frowned at him. The others offered muted congratulations.
“Don’t all thank me at once,” Declan said peevishly.
“Nice job,” Anat said, squeezing his arm as she walked past.
He gave her a curt nod.
Her nose wrinkled at the stale air inside. It had apparently been a long time since anyone cracked a window. The door opened onto a dark, narrow hallway, empty save for a coat rack and small table where a vase held fake flowers. There was a staircase on her left, and farther down the hall a wide entryway. She strode toward it, figuring that was a good place to start looking for a landline. The living room was crammed with chairs, end tables, lamps, and an upright piano.
An elderly person’s home
, Anat guessed; all the furniture was worn and dated, the wall-to-wall carpeting cheap but functional. She swallowed. Everything was covered in a thick film of dust, much like the insides of the cars they’d encountered.
There was a messy stack of old newspapers on the coffee table, the edges brown and curling. Framed photos lined the mantelpiece above the fireplace, many in black and white. Anat examined them: most were typical family photos where everyone posed self-consciously, special occasions like birthdays and holidays recorded for posterity. Seeing them gave her a pang—a similar
“And lose the attitude,” Anat said, jabbing a finger into his chest. “I am not appreciating it.”
“Thank you, Anat.” Sophie smiled at her, then started walking again. Declan fell in step behind her. Anat followed, trying to ignore the pricks and jabs of rough gravel through her thick socks. She’d suffered worse before.
Nico and Yosh had stopped, but Anat waved for them to continue. They stretched out in a ragged line, weaving from one side of the road to the other to avoid obstacles. She frowned. They shouldn’t be so spread out, better to keep a tight formation in case a threat materialized. Her field commander would never have stood for such sloppiness. She had to bite her lip to keep from castigating them. After all, they were just a group of frightened kids; and they
were
moving, albeit slowly. Plus, so far they hadn’t seen any sign of bears or anything else.
Suddenly, Nico stopped and pointed. Anat trotted to catch up. Her heart skipped a beat when she followed his gaze.
It was a house, set back from the road. The grass in front was tall and overgrown, and weeds choked the driveway. Still, it was the first they’d come across. Maybe someonewould be home. Or if not, at least there might be a functioning telephone.
“No car in the driveway,” Declan noted. “Maybe no one’s there.”
“Let’s find out,” Anat said, marching toward the front door.
They followed her down a flagstone path. It was bumpier than it should have been, with rocks protruding at ankle-twisting angles, but still navigable.
Anat climbed the stairs to a wraparound veranda and knocked on the front door. The porch floorboards were weathered, long strips of gray paint peeling off like shedding skin. The house appeared just as forsaken as everything else.
“No answer,” Nico muttered.
She knocked again, more loudly. They waited another minute, then Declan said, “Step aside.”
“What are you going to do?” Sophie asked.
“I’m getting us in.” Fumbling in his left pocket, he drew out a set of narrow metal tools and went down on one knee to examine the deadbolt. “Easy.”
“You’re going to pick the lock?” Sophie asked dubiously. “How the hell do you know how to do that?”
Declan didn’t answer. He’d already set to work, inserting the pins with his eyes half closed.
“But—” Sophie protested.
“We need to find a telephone,” Anat interrupted. “A landline. There might be one inside.”
They all watched in silence. Declan was impressively adept, a minute after he started there was a click. He rose to his feet and turned the knob with a flourish, opening the door.
Sophie frowned at him. The others offered muted congratulations.
“Don’t all thank me at once,” Declan said peevishly.
“Nice job,” Anat said, squeezing his arm as she walked past.
He gave her a curt nod.
Her nose wrinkled at the stale air inside. It had apparently been a long time since anyone cracked a window. The door opened onto a dark, narrow hallway, empty save for a coat rack and small table where a vase held fake flowers. There was a staircase on her left, and farther down the hall a wide entryway. She strode toward it, figuring that was a good place to start looking for a landline. The living room was crammed with chairs, end tables, lamps, and an upright piano.
An elderly person’s home
, Anat guessed; all the furniture was worn and dated, the wall-to-wall carpeting cheap but functional. She swallowed. Everything was covered in a thick film of dust, much like the insides of the cars they’d encountered.
There was a messy stack of old newspapers on the coffee table, the edges brown and curling. Framed photos lined the mantelpiece above the fireplace, many in black and white. Anat examined them: most were typical family photos where everyone posed self-consciously, special occasions like birthdays and holidays recorded for posterity. Seeing them gave her a pang—a similar
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