The Consort (MalexMale) 《COMPLETE》

Chapter 33

Chapter 33

Fiona and I bundle up in various layers of mismatched shirts and sweaters. When she finally meets me on the front porch, my eyes act of their own accord and drop to her stomach, searching for a bump that's yet to show.

I still can't believe she's pregnant. In normal circumstances, it would be a big deal. But now? When we're stuck in hiding amongst a world of war and pandemonium? I can't imagine the stress and fear that must be weighing on her shoulders.

"I would ask you again why we're trekking through this forsaken town to play the role of researches," Fiona comments, bending down to tie her boot, "but I don't really care. Anything that gets me out of this house is a welcome adventure."

"Getting a little bored?"

"Out of my mind."

She stands and stretches, closing her eyes before letting out a grand exhale. The cold air hastily entangles with the sudden heat of her breath. It results in a misty puff of air forming in front of her lips before evaporating completely.

"Well then," I say, standing from the porch swing. "Let's get going."

The two of us walk down the walkway of the house, past the weeping willow, and towards the broken town. Bogdan's parting words echo in my mind, his warning to stay put while he's away. I know I should listen to him, but really – if there was any danger in this town, it wouldn't matter if we were at the library or in an abandoned house.

Would it?

The afternoon air becomes heavy with the scent of fear and death as we breach the edge of town. A few bodies lay strewn across the streets, all of them drained of blood. Fiona hooks her arm around mine as we walk past them.

"They don't even look real," she whispers.

I glance at a dead woman just a few feet away from us. She is completely drained of blood, and her skin has taken on a shiny, white hue. Her emerald eyes remain opened, staring towards the sky with disbelief.

Fiona's right. They don't look like corpses. Not really, anyway. They look like humans sculpted from porcelain, their untouched faces painted to match emotions ranging between fear and anger.

"How many do you think they have as prisoners?" she whispers again.

I shrug stiffly.

Even though there's no one around us, her question sounds loud enough to cause my stomach to knot with nerves. Whether she's whispering out of fear or respect, I can't shake the feeling that the drained bodies can hear us as we tiptoe past them.

We turn the corner and glance along the street. Broken glass is everywhere. Near the middle of the street, however, I notice a building that resembles our library back home. I nudge Fiona and nod towards it. Her eyes study the building briefly before she grunts in agreement.

With careful steps we continue our path forward, the broken glass crunching beneath our feet. The picture in my pocket seems to burn a hole through my pants. There has to be a reason I found it. And there has to be something, somewhere in the library with answers.

The walkway leading up to the library is littered with books and papers. Some of them appear charred, their pages nothing more than fragmented dust held together by the healing air surrounding it. Fiona whispers something under her breath about this being futile, but I keep pulling us forward.

Broken slabs of cement guide us through the entrance. When both of us have cleared the front doors, Fiona drops my arm and glances behind her. Her bright eyes dance around until she huffs out a breath of relief.