The Last Seventeen: (Book 1) An Apocalypse Story

Chapter 27: Day 6

Chapter 27: Day 6

As I ran through the woods, feeling every branch and limb hit me in every spot in my body, I thought of how I didn't have a plan. I was running through the woods blindly hoping that somehow I would find where the house was and then what? Rush into the house chopping through anything that got in my way and pray that I wasn't killed in the process? As much as I wished for that to be a possibly, I knew that wouldn't be an option. I wasn't a fighter. The only time I could kill someone is when the gas was affecting me and I didn't want to put Joanna in any danger. No, this mission wasn't going to be a fighting one. I had to be sneaky if I even wanted a slight chance of saving Joanna.

I squinted my eyes for any sign of the house and, about a mile out in the middle of the woods, I saw a tiny circle of light. It wasn't bright. It was just barely visible through the denseness of the trees. I didn't know for sure if it was the same house the psychos spoke about, but it was the only beacon that beckoned me towards it. I was like a moth to a flame. A fly to a bug-zapper. Whichever way you thought about it. I altered my course and headed straight for it. I dashed as quickly as I could, falling on the ground several times from a low hanging limb or a random tree root, and it was right in front of me.

The light came from a small square window on the side of the house. I looked into it to see if anyone was in there and a body came to the window. It stared out into the woods and I fell flat on my stomach to avoid the person's sight. The figure turned its head to the side then went out of sight. I slowly got into a crouching position and looked around for anyone or anything keeping lookout. I scanned the area for anything that moved. Nothing. I gripped my cleaver tightly to my chest and forced my legs to move at a slow cautious pace.

The grass around the house was cut. I could tell by the way it brushed up against my shoes instead on my ankles. It felt nice. It felt as if I was back at my own home. The lawn freshly cut by my father who was drenched head to toe in sweat and covered with green dust from the mower, myself listening to my music while I cut the side yard of the house so he wouldn't have to do all the work by himself, and my brother cutting the backyard on the riding mower while my mother watched us through the windows throughout the house. At one point, I even thought I saw my family doing those things. I wanted to run up to my figments of my imagination and hug them and cry into their shoulders and tell them how much I loved them.

I had to focus on my objective. I shook the thoughts of my family out of my head and walked to the side of the house. I placed my hand on it and felt the roughness of brick rub against my touch. I guided myself along the brick wall and followed it all the way into the back. When I reached the back, I found myself looking up at the screens of a porch. It hungover the yard, giving it more of an ominous look, and was made out of entirely wood. It was high off the ground as well, making the bottom of it easy to go under. I snuck underneath it not daring to stay in one spot for too long. I put my hand against the wall of the house and tried to find anything that could lead me inside of the house. As my hands pressed on the bricks, I realized that there was no entry. I cursed to myself and kept following the house around to the other side.

This side had more entries than the other. More windows were closer to the ground and there was even a side door. I made my way quietly to the door and placed my hand on the knob. I was about to turn it until I thought of how stupid it would be. What if Blue Eyes was on the other side? I went over a window near the door and peered inside, my eyes barely over the seal. I was looking into a dining room. One of those rooms you only used I you had guests over or it was the holidays. It was empty. In fact, it had looked untouched. I could see a thin line of dust lying on the wooden dinner table. Even the family pictures had small amounts of it lurking on the previous inhabitants' faces and bodies. I pulled myself away from the sight and crept towards the window on the other side of the door. I peeked in it the same way I did the last one and found that I was looking in a kitchen. The kitchen, completely opposite of the dining room, was a mess. Pots and pans piled up high in the sink and all over the granite counter tops. Dirt, food, and red stained bones laid on the white tiled floor, making it impossible to ever get fully cleaned again. I looked in every corner of what I could see and found that it was empty. No psychos ate or hung out in there.