I woke up quickly, sure that my eyes were open before the rest of me was even aware that I was up. I felt a warm, hard body against my back, heard Brick's slight snore. I didn't even have to wonder where I was now, because I could remember. I was at Brick's house, in his room, in his bed. I looked at his old digital alarm clock. It was five in the morning.
What had woken me up?
I rolled over onto my back and sat up slowly, rubbing my eyes. The room was still dark, so it was hard to see anything really well. I could make out the outline of Brick's small dresser on the opposite wall, the door not ten feet to my right. He had a small room, but he was okay with that. He said that he had what he needed. He had sports, he didn't need a big room. He was hardly ever in it unless I was over, anyway.
I heard it, then. A thud downstairs. Someone was in the house, and I knew it wasn't Brick's grandma. I grabbed my pistol off the floor and the flashlight off Brick's bedside table. I crept out of bed and started walking to the stairs.
A crash. Something had shattered. The floorboards creaked as I walked slowly, looking for a better step than the old creaky boards, but most of them were.
See, I hated where Brick lived. It was like an old farm house, narrow and small. But not because of the actual house. I liked the cozy feel of it. He and his grandma pretty much lived on the border of our safe zone, and it was horrible. We knew infected people could show up at any time with only a fence to stop them. Granted, it was a high-ass fence, but nonetheless, any time one of them could break in and infect my best friend or his grandma.
I was downstairs then, creeping into the living room, pistol raised, flashlight on. I heard noises in the kitchen, stalked toward there very slowly. The dim light for the kitchen was on, shining light into the living room in a large rectangle. There were cupboards opening, and I was sure I heard a fridge open and close.
My back was to the wall right next to the kitchen door. I spun, my pistol pointed in the middle of the kitchen.
"WHOA! Alanna! What the hell?" Bethany stood in the middle of the room, her dark brown hair pulled back into a tight french braid, her big brown eyes wide.
"Oh, Jesus H, Bethany, you scared me half to death!"
She had a piece of last night's pizza in her hand. Smiling, she raised it to her mouth and took a bite. "Well, sorry. Shouldn't be so tense."
"Shouldn't be so tense? We're pretty much at war here-"
"Oh, shut up. You should've known I'm not whatever roams the Earth out there, Alanna. Seriously, they don't use lights. They don't have to."
"You don't know that." I set the pistol on the counter, flicking the safety on. I held onto the flashlight, though.
"Anyway, good morning, beautiful. You have amazing bed hair."
"I was woken up by you apparently getting in the house." Alanna snapped. "Why aren't you home? Or with that pig you call a boyfriend?"
Bethany rolled her eyes. "You should be over this. You were eleven. He's younger than you, anyway."
Bethany and her boyfriend, Josh, were sixteen. I was eighteen, in my senior year of high school. When I was eleven, I convinced myself that I was in love with Josh, and we dated for a whole month. Until he broke my heart one day because I wouldn't share my gummy bears. But that was hardly relevant anymore.
"So, how was your sleepover?" Bethany smiled, taking another bite of the pizza.
I huffed. "You know, you shouldn't be here. This isn't your house."
