Still Breathing

Chapter 7

Sanctuary for a Night

The suburbs were a study in eerie desertion, the neat rows of houses standing silent and dark beneath the sinking sun. The group moved cautiously down the center of the street, keeping low and quiet, eyes straining for any flicker of movement behind the blank windows.

Rose's nerves felt flayed raw, exposed, every innocuous noise setting her heart to wild galloping in her chest. A dog barked mournfully in the distance and she nearly leapt out of her skin, biting down hard on a yelp. Beside her, Castillo laid a steadying hand on the small of her back, the heat of him bleeding through her shirt.

"There," Margot hissed, pointing with her improvised flail to a sturdy-looking colonial with a manicured lawn and quaint covered porch. The windows were dark, the doors shut tight. "I don't see any movement. Could be a good place to catch our breath."

They approached warily, weapons at the ready, senses straining for any hint of danger lurking beyond the cheery yellow siding. The front door was locked, but Tobias shot them a cheeky grin and knelt before it, tongue poking out as he probed the keyhole with a bit of twisted metal.

"Knew that stint in juvie would come in handy some day," he muttered, and with a muted click and a twist of his wrist, the door swung open on well-oiled hinges.

They piled through, Castillo taking point as Max and James moved to secure the door behind them. "We check every room, every closet, every crawlspace," he instructed tersely. "Leave no stone unturned. We can't afford any surprises."

They swept the house methodically, a tense and silent operation. Rose's hands were clammy on the hilt of her knife, muscles tensed to strike at any sudden movement. But the rooms proved mercifully free of shambling horrors, the worst sights rotting food in the kitchen and a few questionable stains on the living room carpet.

The group gathered back in the foyer, some of the rigidity easing from their postures in the face of this tentative respite. Nina sagged against the bannister with a shaky exhale, pushing sweaty hair off her forehead.

"I never thought I'd be so glad to be in a creepy murder house," she joked weakly.

"Let's not get ahead of ourselves," Castillo cautioned, but there was a hint of relief in the set of his broad shoulders. "We still need to fortify the entrances, scavenge for supplies. This is shelter for a night, not a long-term solution."

They set about their tasks with grim efficiency. Margot and James upended a heavy oak bookcase in front of the door, creating a makeshift barricade. Max raided the kitchen, crowing in triumph when the taps sputtered to life and the fridge hummed to cool wakefulness.

"Never thought I'd be so psyched about canned beans and stale Doritos," he called, tossing Tobias a slightly mealy apple. "Doomsday dinner is served!"

They gathered around the granite-topped island to feast, a strange parody of domesticity amid the apocalyptic ruin. Rose found herself pressed close to Castillo in the cramped kitchen, acutely aware of the solid heat of him, the musk of sweat and adrenaline rising from his skin.

Every accidental brush of hands as they reached for the same can sent sparks skittering down her spine, heat pooling treacherously in her belly. It was madness, to be so consumed by base desire in the midst of such horror...and yet she couldn't seem to quell the slow simmer building under her skin, the aching pulse between her thighs.

From the dark intensity of Castillo's gaze when it met hers across the countertop, she wasn't alone in her forbidden craving.

After their meager meal, the group drifted off in twos and threes, some animal instinct compelling them to touch base, reaffirm their fragile bonds in this shattered world. Rose watched Margot pull Max aside with a significant tilt of her head, something unspoken but charged passing between them. Good for them, she thought distantly. Snatching strange comfort where they could.