𝐄𝐍𝐃𝐔𝐑𝐄, e.williams¹

prologue

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"If you don't hurry up, the clickers are gonna find us," I whispered, trying to urge my father to wrap up his admiration for the exhibit we were in. "We've already had multiple runners jump us because of your ignorance, Dad."

My old man scoffed, setting down the relic of an old elephant's tusk, and tapped the pistol saddled on his hip, then the rifle on his right shoulder. "Calm down, kiddo. There's nothing we can't handle."

I frowned at his assurance, growing more annoyed as he took his time gazing at the life-sized mammal skeletons from the Old World and remnants of what used to be. I understood that he liked this stuff and that it was nostalgic, but the way he strolled around like we had all the time in the world—when we sure as hell didn't—was irritating.

"Dad, come on," I protested, flipping my hand to view the old silver watch on my wrist. "It's almost dark and we haven't even found our way out yet."

According to a map of the museum, and my dad, we were still a good portion from the front entrance, and I really had no desire to be here any longer. Especially with all the creepy deteriorated stuffed animals and rickety floors that seemed like they would give out with one wrong step.

Luckily, my dad came to his senses and turned, his gray eyes finding mine. He let out a puff of air before walking away from the paragraph he had been reading, patting my shoulder as he passed. "Alright, Blake. Let's go find the entrance."

"About time," I muttered, following as he pushed past two half-broken doors and offered a hand to help me through. I took it absently, letting him pull me over the busted pieces of wood that led to yet another old exhibit.

The rest of the journey through the museum was, fortunately, a breeze. There were no more infected—to our knowledge—from the second floor down, which meant easy passage through the variety of dark exhibits and sections in the natural history museum.

"This should be it," I whispered as we walked into an open room. Two staircases led down to the main floor and lobby, murals lining the walls around us on the second floor. The dying sunlight shining through the glass roof did little to illuminate the dirtied art, but the flashlight strapped to my backpack made due, and I found myself lowering the gun in my hands to gaze up at the somewhat tattered paintings of animals and people. "Wow."

Dad's gaze followed where I was looking, his light joining mine on the wall. "Pretty cool, huh?"

"Mm-hm. Did you ever come here before the world turned?" I asked, craning my neck to look up at him. He had once said that my mom and him had visited a few museums in New York City, right after Mom found out she was pregnant with me.

"Yes. Your mom loved museums, specifically natural history museums, so I took her to this one," Dad said, his voice low. As if talking any louder would somehow shatter the memory of her.

I nodded, rubbing my thumb over the back of my pistol in thought. I had very limited memories of my mother, most of which weren't the best. Regardless though, and no matter how much I tried to deny it, I did miss her. Probably more than I would have liked.

Turning back to the murals, I opened my mouth to ask another question when my dad clamped a hand over my mouth, hauling me against the wall.

My eyes widened as I stared ahead, back pushed up against the art. Dad was watching the nearest staircase, and just when I tried to remove his hand, clicking came from somewhere in the dimly lit room. I stilled in his arms, my nostrils flaring as I breathed heavily. Fuck.

After a few long seconds of silence—minus the constant chittering of a clicker—my dad removed his hand from my mouth, pressing his index finger to his lips in a hushed motion before crouching and shuffling over to the stone railing. Goosebumps spread across my upper arms as I watched him locate the stage-two infected.

He holstered his pistol and slung the hunting rifle off his shoulder, aiming it at the clicker I couldn't see. After what seemed like a minute of holding my breath, the firearm went off with a bang! Smoke rose from my father's gun as a thick silence settled in the air.

"All good," Dad said tightly, sliding his arm through the strap and placing the weapon back where it had been previous of use. "Now, let's get the hell outta here."

I could only nod, my unused pistol heavy in my hand.