Infected Life: Outbreak

Chapter 26

Chapter 26

I slammed my body against the front door to a brick and beige house. Raising my gun as I walked in, my eyes darted around the room. I was making sure it was safe, before Logan and I walked into another clusterfuck. This house seemed okay. Disorganized furniture, but nothing apparently dangerous.

"We're clear for now. You can come on in." I called through the door.

A set of melancholy footfalls entered the house, closing the door softly behind them. Logan was carrying a backpack over his jacket, my knife gripped loosely in his hand. He eyed a couch, immediately walking over and pushing it in front of the door. After it was pressed firmly against the door, he sat down and curled up against the armrest.

I wanted to help him, but I wasn't sure what to say. How do you even respond after hearing everything that happened? Didn't help that we heard screams coming from somewhere in the neighborhood and we were forced to just keep walking. I felt so useless. "Logan, I'm-" I sighed, biting my tongue. That's when he turned to me. Those large, sad hazel eyes said it all. " . . . I-I should check the rest of the house. I'll be right back, just stay here."

He nodded, dropping his head into his arms. I wanted to stab his father for what he did. I need to. All in good time, I guess. Can't get revenge for Logan if we die cause I'm a dumbass. After checking on Logan, I eyed the kitchen through a small doorway, and a hallway with four rooms. With my gun held high, I made my way into the kitchen.

The small kitchen was pretty normal, nothing seemed special or out of the ordinary. Drawers and cupboards were left ajar or completely open. Whoever lived here definitely left quickly. The metal chandelier hung dimly above a blue rug. Flicking the switch, nothing changed. Next to a small circular table were a few chairs, one of them tipped over onto the rug. A quick check of the fridge rewarded me with some veggie varieties, bottles of broth and cooking condiments, and about one-and-a-half pounds of raw ground beef. Other than that, it was just a bunch of spilled food or empty trays. The inside was still a bit cool, but the light was off.

I closed the fridge, then checked the pantry next to the fridge. Every shelf had something special on them, labels explaining what was stored on each. Dry Goods on the top shelves, Snacks on the third shelf down, then Baking Goods on the bottom shelf. Taped to the second shelf was a note written in bold sharpie marker.

"Alex, we were forced to go with the military to a place called Dalton, I'm leaving whatever I can to help you stay safe until we get home. Don't leave unless you need to, we love you! - Mom"

Behind the note was a couple bags of white rice, an opened box of crackers, and a bottle of ketchup. On the shelf above I saw a couple cans of food. It felt wrong, but I took the note off the shelf and pocketed it, then moved on through the kitchen. Passing a spice rack that had fallen to the floor, I walked down a couple steps to a landing. To the left, a metal door leading out back, and a set of stairs leading down. I locked the side door, then went back to the kitchen. After rolling the table in front of the short steps, I returned to the living room.

Logan was still sitting curled up on the couch, head head now leaning against the backrest. It killed me to see him this way. I just want to pull him close and tell him everything will be okay. But I know better. I don't wanna lie to him if I don't know what to expect. Last thing I want to do is hurt him.

Leaving him, I went down the hallway. Three of the four doors were left open, leading me to two bedrooms and a bathroom. I crept up to the closed room, creeping open the door. It was a boy's bedroom, and no one was hiding in there. No one . . . the top floor was clear; all that was left was the basement. Holstering my gun, I walked back up the hallway to the other boy.