the way home ⠀ ོ

002

          

She was wheezing by the time she pulled herself up from the beach, each breath aching as she forced air in and out of her lungs. The wound on her shoulder as well as a few cuts had started to bleed again, ribbons of red carving trails through the dirt that encrusted her pale arms. She was exhausted, feeling like she had run a marathon as opposed to simply dragging herself up the side of a hill.

She hated it.

She hated feeling weak. Helpless.

And the Rattlers had been experts in making one feel helpless. Memories flashes by, rising like bile in the back of her throat and with a strangled groan she tried to push the thoughts away. Not right now, she could deal with that later but not right now.

Feeling like she had at least somewhat caught her breath, she picked herself up off of the ground, looking around at the quiet street that was overgrown with all manner of trees and brush. A soft wind rustled through the stalks of dried grass and a squirrel flitted across the section of burned wall. The birds still sung and she didn't hear the clicks or screams of any infected nearby. She allowed herself to feel at least some measure of relief. She wasn't in any condition to hold her own in a fight at the moment, and if anything happened to her she wouldn't be there to help Lev.

She made her way towards a modest looking house that looked untouched by the fire that must've come through years ago. Already nature was taking back over the ruins. There was a large mansion at the end of the block, stucco walls and a red tiled roof. A more modern take on classic Spanish Colonial architecture. It looked enticing, but she knew better. A place like that would be one of the first places a looter would pick through. Better to stick with the smaller places, the already run down and decrepit. The last place people would want to go poking around in.

The front door was locked, the windows shuttered closed save for one near the side of the house. She tried to open it, letting out a huff when it didn't budge. She turned, surveying the overgrown lawn. A small stone frog looked up at her with empty eyes, a long forgotten lawn ornament.

"Sorry about this," she told the little thing in a whisper, scooping him up and tossing him at the dirty glass.

It shattered, the ornament landing with a heavy thud on a faded red carpet. Abby waited a beat, and another, straining for any sound of shuffling footsteps or perhaps a shriek. There was nothing but the sound of birds and the soft hum of insects. She knocked out the shards of glass sticking up from the frame, climbing over and being careful not to step on any of the broken glass with her bare feet.

The room was seemingly untouched, picture frames hung from the walls, a layer of dust covering the smiling faces. She stepped around the glass, pausing briefly to look at all of the different families and babies and awkward group shots. She tried to ignore the antique dolls that stared at her from inside their cases, empty glass eyes watched her every move.

There was nothing in the living room save for a note written in an impossibly small cursive handwriting, telling someone named Kelly that they were heading to the hospital to visit a sick relative. Abby hoped that's where they stayed, not wanting to run into any "sick relatives" while she was searching the place.

The house turned up nothing else she could use, and she moved onto the next.

A clean shirt was the first thing she found. Black with a wolf on the front, white fur trailing off into a purple sea of stars. It was ugly as all hell, and she wasn't sure if she wanted to laugh or throw up at the image of the all too familiar image of the wolf. But it was better than what she had and she gratefully pulled it on.

The kitchen turned up some more things they could use, a carving knife, a lighter, a long-expired granola bar shoved at the very back of a cupboard. She looked around some more before moving onto the next room, scoring a backpack and some shoes that were far too small for her but might fit Lev. She was reveling in her good luck when the sound of an engine rumbled outside on the street.

Her blood ran cold.

Her grip tightened around the carving knife and she slipped the strap of the bag over her shoulder, heading to the nearest window. Carefully, she moved the yellowed shades aside just a bit.

The two trucks crawled slowly through the row of houses, stopping a few houses down. She knew exactly who they were before they even jumped out onto the pavement. His jeering voice was in her ear, his hot smelly breath on her skin. She grit her teeth as a shiver ran down her back.

So some of them had survived after all.

She had been here too long already. She had to get back to Lev. Maybe she could just row the boat for a while and...

Her thoughts drifted as she looked at the red gas can on the back of the rig. She watched them as they walked to the first house, McCarthy, or Mick as everyone called him, taking the lead. His beard and hair was half burnt half matted and a bright red burn was across his right cheek. They all looked especially pissed off and despite herself that brought a small smile to Abby's lips.

Mick stopped at the door, trying the handle before shouldering against the wooden frame. It broke on the third time and he kicked the door opened the rest of the way. A startled shriek came from inside and he fired once and it all went quiet.

Her hand was sweating, the plastic knife handle getting slick. Abby switched it to her other hand, wiping her palm against the fabric of her pants.

Two of them stood guard by the trucks while the rest went in. This was her chance. If she could get close enough she could take two of them, get a gun...

She let out a breath, letting the blind fall back in place as she moved back into the shadows of the house to find a way outside.

Her mind was made up. She was doing this.

It wasn't like they had much left to lose anyway.