The Break Free Trilogy (Book 3): Through The Frozen Dawn by E.M. Fitch Page A

moment, but the sounds were coming from deeper in the house.
    She stepped into a small living room next, saw a gingham couch and matching curtains that were faded badly and now hung limp in the dirty windows. The smell of rot was intensifying, growing with each step she took and she gagged, not willing to throw up the food she just ate. She took a shallow breath through her mouth and moved forward.
    She didn't need to open the next door, it already hung ajar, the body inside moving in restless agitation.
    It had been a boy's room and he had been young. Younger than she when the infection hit. He had liked astronomy, one wall was painted a dark blue and had constellations stenciled in neat lines, faded glow-in-the-dark stars glued between them. In one corner, a busted solar system model made of painted styrofoam balls hung limply from the ceiling. Mars had fallen off and had rolled towards the bed.
    He was strapped down, his arms pinned to his sides with leather straps, his torso and feet secured to the bed frame. He snarled at her when she drew closer. She could still see the pattern of the Buzz Lightyear pajamas someone had put him in. Next to his bed, on a nightstand; a glass, a plate with food left to disintegrate, a bottle of children's Tylenol all sat covered in dust.
    "Who left you here?" she found herself whispering, staring down at the yellow-eyed boy. At her voice, he thrashed on the bed, snarling and snapping his teeth in her direction. His guttural moans were feverish with hunger, desire. And yet pity stirred her. Her eyes cast around the room, landing on a baseball bat. Kaylee's gut clenched. She grit her teeth.
    No.
    She backed out, moving quickly towards the kitchen. She pulled the drawers out so forcefully that they flung out from the cabinets, landing with a crash on the linoleum floor. A long, metal skewer landed at her feet. She bent over and picked it out of the scattered utensils.
    It was quick and easy. He was thrashing and keeling one moment, still and gone the next. She pulled the skewer from his eye socket and let it fall to the dusty carpet at her feet.
    For the first time, she was thankful that Jack had shot her mother.
    ~
    The Squatters stayed camped in the impound lot for the next week. Kaylee spent her days in the surrounding area. Most of the other people didn't leave the encampment. A few ventured out in groups, scouting along the roadways for anything useful. There had been a celebration the night someone brought home a case of whiskey and offered to share, everyone cheering.
    The fire roared loudly that night, built up to bonfire height. Everyone sat around it, passing a bottle through the circle. When it got to Kaylee, she sipped at it. The liquor curled in her gut and she passed on the next go around. Andrew didn't shy away.
    His side was much better. Anna had taken the tubing out of him after three days. She spent every morning and evening listening to his chest, pushing him to hydrate. Kaylee could see how much the mothering was annoying him. He was restless and agitated, wanting to be on the move.
    "It'd be safer if we had a base camp," Kaylee had said to him one night. His face was healing, a smattering of purple and yellow painted his skin, like a bizarre stage actor. Anna had drifted off to sit with Rebecca. She had made it during the last escape and had sought them out after that first night. She camped near them, sharing cooking utensils with their group.
    Andrew had nodded, his eyes casting about the small space. The thirty or so people seemed less of a group and more of a wandering side show, each with their own agenda and none with a plan. They all came together at night, slept in the relative safety of numbers, but during the day they scavenged. Not collectively, but for their own selves. While Kaylee had been outside the compound she had come across men from the Circle twice, watching her guardedly, waiting for her to move on so they could access their hiding spots.
    To their