Resurgence: Green Fields book 5 (39 page)

As I kept looking around, I noticed another, smaller bridge spanning the river to my left. It looked somewhat rickety—likely the old bridge that the one I was lying under had replaced—but not fallen that much into disrepair yet. It reminded me too much of the railroad bridge close to that town with the school that we’d stayed in for a few hours last summer not to get my hopes up. Bridges spanning rivers you had everywhere. But alternate, old ones that were still maintained?

Scrambling up the river bank, I craned my neck, letting out a whoop that sounded more like a grunt when my eyes fell on the structure in the—rather near—distance. A house. Not just a barn or shed, but a real house where real people had been living. Something rustling in the grass reminded me to remain quiet, particularly this close to what might turn out to be more than just one single building, but still. Civilization. Which meant clothes, food, and all the other modern comforts that on the road I’d never fully appreciated until they’d been torn from me.

I still made sure to stay alert as I approached. I hadn’t yet crossed half of the distance to the first house when I saw a few more properties behind it, dusty roads connecting them. Stopping for a moment, I tried to decide what to do before I strode toward the next house, farther to the right. That first one would have had everything I needed, I was sure—but even armed to the teeth and with heavy backup I would have avoided it. It was several stories tall with easily ten rooms, and the boarded-up windows made it plain that someone in there had tried to hold out when the shit had hit the fan. That meant likely they’d died in there and were still around. A smaller, more accessible house had much lower chances of something trying to chew my face off as I drew closer.

The second property had some buildings at the other side of the grounds, hidden by trees. I skipped that for the third where I saw a bungalow-like structure, likely a trailer, sitting right next to the road, a good distance away from other obstacles. The door was open and I could see some debris littering the lawn—either something had come out of there or tried to get in. I hesitated before I rounded it slowly until I was back at the only entrance. Picking up a few stones, I threw one against the wall below the first window, but the “thunk” it made was the only sound I heard. Exhaling to steady my nerves, I sneaked up to the trailer before I peeked in through the door, expecting something to come at me any second now—but nothing. There were a few leaves that the wind must have blown in, and the interior smelled faintly of animal, but none of the decay that I dreaded. Raccoons, again, I told myself as I stepped inside, blinking rapidly to let my runny eyes adjust to the gloom.

One thorough look around, and I felt my shoulders sag with relief as much as disappointment. This was clearly an old lady’s home. There were bona fide lace doilies on the small table in the kitchenette. Except for the open door it had probably looked much like this before—slim pickings for everyone except the truly desperate.
 

Trying to remain as quiet as possible I started making my way through the trailer. The fridge I ignored—never a pleasant surprise in there—but there was a small shelf packed with cans and preserves. Not caring about heating anything, I rooted around for a can opener and spooned some beans and diced fruits right out of the containers, not giving a damn whether I tasted anything or not. It must have been just my imagination that the flutter I’d felt in my muscles receded—even if my metabolism was fast, it wasn’t that fast. But it felt good just to eat something that had the proper consistency, and while I didn’t smell much, it was definitely better than the cornflakes from hell.
 

With one need sated if not satisfied, I searched deeper into the building, looking into any nook and cranny I could find. The baseball bat I deposited on the table by the exit, ready to be grabbed should I have to make a quick exit. Much more suitable than the wrench, which I left in the kitchen. There was a small bathroom with a well-stocked first-aid kit that joined the bat, and a lot of meds that I ignored. None of it worked on me, and I didn’t have a pack to carry it in, anyway. I found an old suitcase and a bag but neither was made for easy carrying so I ignored them. Last I searched the closet in the bedroom, finding more evidence of the previous owner of this fine home. The shoes I discarded at a glance but I found a pair of gardening clogs that I could wedge my feet into until I got anything better. The underwear was hopeless unless I intended to wrap myself in it. After sorting through the meager selection of what remained twice, I gave up, and instead grabbed a roll of bandages from the first-aid kit. Starvation might have eaten away at my rack, but there was still enough left to bounce uncomfortably if left unsupported. Once my makeshift bra was as good as it got, I pulled on a hideous beige undershirt and a long-sleeved blouse—complete with delicate floral pattern in pastels—rolling up the sleeves and knotting the front parts over my chest. Nights could get mighty cold and I would need something for covering up. There were only two pairs of pants there next to an abundance of skirts, and I chose the one that I could better bunch up with a belt—that I had to knot rather than buckle—but it was better than nothing. Last but not least I picked up the straw hat by the door.

Grabbing the bat and kit, I left the trailer, happy that I didn’t have to see just how much of a fashion disaster I had going on. Outside, the yard was still quiet, but the birds had stopped chirping, making my hackles rise. I listened but couldn’t hear the sound of cars approaching, yet it was impossible to ignore the tension rising in the air. I thought about hiding out in the trailer, but being locked in there without a working door and walls flimsy enough that I could knock them down wasn’t a good idea. So it was either back to the road or deeper into the village, although I doubted that there could be more than twenty houses.

The road was the likeliest cause for concern, so I set out in the other direction, toward the next property. Behind the trailer, over in the next yard, I saw what used to be a small swimming pool next to a house and shed. There was something moving behind one of the windows, making me backtrack to the small road at the other side. Probably just a curtain, but I didn’t want to risk it.
 

I should probably have made a wide berth around the other houses, but I still didn’t have a pack or anything I could carry water in. Walking as silently as possible in my squeaky plastic clogs, I made it past the trees that kept that house set off from the back road, but decided to chance the front of it when beyond the next road crossing there were just more abandoned yards and weeds. From the front it looked even more inviting—and judging from what I could see further down that street it was one of very few somewhat respectable houses—but I still hesitated before I sneaked up to the front porch. Pressing myself against the wall next to a window I listened—nothing. Glancing inside, all I could see was the sky reflected in the dusty windows, the flimsy curtains only letting me see where the windows were on the other side of the room. Looking around, my gaze fell on the small plastic combine and train next to the door, bleached after being exposed to the sun and elements for an entire year now. Toys meant children, which also meant lots of bags and food—and as much as the aspect of being jumped by child-sized zombies always gave me the creeps, they were a lot easier to kill than the former bodybuilder ones, few and far between as they were. Not many had made it long enough to rise again.

I wasn’t exactly on a schedule—or so I hoped—so I took another couple of minutes to just stand there and listen, hoping that my senses would pick up something except for that underlying feeling of wrongness that, considering how my last few days had gone down, could be entirely in my mind. I couldn’t help but miss Nate and the guys—not just because I could have really used a hug, but to have someone to bounce my paranoia off of. And the physical backup would have been great, too. Even with my pulse galloping and my nerves on end it was hard to stomp down on the impulse to simply burst into the house and chance getting jumped. It had happened so many times—and each and every time we’d walked away, mostly unscathed. Strength in numbers wasn’t just a concept—it was a survival factor. One I was sorely lacking at the moment.

But to survive out there for more than the next few hours I needed more food, a pack, and lots of water.

In the end, it was less of a decision whether I should chance it, but the knowledge that I was dead if I didn’t that swayed my mind.

Enough time had passed that I felt like I wasn’t blindly running into my doom when I inched toward the door and tried it. It opened easily enough—a good sign. It was usually the barricaded homes that were infested. The hinges creaked awfully loud in the dry air, making me wince as I remained pressed against the wall, waiting for something to come bursting out of the house.

Nothing.

I counted to thirty in my head before I looked inside, trying to take in everything at once and get a good sense of the interior. There were shoes and more toys strewn across the small entryway, as if someone had rushed out in a hurry. Beyond I could see into part of the living room with the windows to the yard, and a sliver of the kitchen. Dust covered everything, but it wasn’t just stale air that greeted me. Something had died in there, and if I wasn’t completely wrong, it had had a lot of time to decay. Judging from the size of the town, it had likely generated too few zombies that they’d gone rampaging for the corpses—or so I told myself. The house remained silent as a crypt, and after a few more rapid heartbeats of delay I stepped inside, the squeak of my clogs annoyingly loud on the linoleum floor.
 

Two more steps and I got a better look at the living room. The reek was stronger there, but except for an overturned plush chair nothing seemed that out of order. I decided to turn toward the kitchen first to check for stocks. Here, things were much less orderly. The door to the pantry stood ajar, and flour and rice were spilled on the floor, next to the dried-up remains of fresh produce. Someone had stacked up packaged food on the counter, but of the useless kind—dehydrated stuff like soups and ramen that would need at least lukewarm water to turn ingestible. The only useful thing I saw was a pack of nuts that I quickly tore open and started wolfing down. No sense in wasting so much precious fat.

Checking at the back of the kitchen door, I saw a few shopping bags, but no backpack or something more sturdy. There was a tray of plastic water bottles in the pantry, too, and for good measure I tore open the wrappings and ditched two of the bottles next to the entryway, taking a few long swallows from a third. Straightening, I gave the kitchen one last cursory look and stepped into the family room. Opposite the hallway by the kitchen I could see stairs leading into the upper floor where the bedrooms must be. Judging from the pictures on the walls, this had been the home of a family with three kids, the mom about my size. Bingo.

The stink of decay got worse the closer to the stairs I got, making me guess that the corpse must be up there somewhere. The first stair creaked as I put my full weight on it, making me stall, my fingers lightly touching the bannister as I listened. Still nothing, but I felt my throat close up as the vague sense of unease deepened. Maybe I should just take the water and beat it. The tote bags in the kitchen weren’t ideal, but enough to hold some water and the first-aid kit. There were other houses in this town. Other towns, too. I knew all that, but something still drew me up those stairs. Something invisible but at the same time strangely visceral, just like a siren song calling out to me…

I definitely needed to stay out of the sun more, I decided, if my thoughts took turns like that after just a few hours. Shaking myself to disband the stupidity, I pushed myself up step by step, as silent as possible but keeping in motion. So, what, there was a corpse up there. Maybe two, or five, and any of them might still be up and shambling about, but I had my bat, and my full body coordination that would let me vault down the stairs and out of the house before any starved, uncoordinated zombie could come after me. Or so I told myself.

Two thirds up the stairs and around the bend in the staircase I got a first, good glimpse of the upper floor. Several of the doors stood ajar but not wide open. There was a discarded suitcase on the floor, clothes strewn across the landing. Still no corpse, but the stench grew worse and worse with each step. No leaves or animal droppings, keeping up with my guess that this home had remained unbreached so far. I felt vaguely stupid for being so on edge but I still remembered that first house I’d searched, with the girl zombie that had almost been the end of me. I vowed to myself that this time around I wouldn’t open any bathroom doors that appeared to have been locked from the outside, likely for a very good reason.

Reaching the landing, I took a moment to orient myself before I turned toward the two most promising doors—the master bedroom and one of the smaller ones, likely one of the children’s rooms. Moving slowly, I managed to keep my clogs from squeaking. Hopefully that woman had had larger feet because I could really do with some good quality running shoes. My fingers touched down on the door handle just as I realized that shoes were likely stored downstairs, behind one of the doors that I hadn’t checked. I hesitated, but then decided that as I was already up here, I might as well get a pack and some clothes that actually fit first. And find out what exactly stank up a storm like that.

The door swung into the room at a light push, making me wince with another creak—only to reveal a room so stuffed full of zombies that they were constantly bumping into each other just standing more or less still, all facing something in the far corner of the room. Or had been facing, until I’d been stupid enough to open the fucking door, drawing their collective attention to me. I froze, staring transfixed at their dead eyes, faces slack but growing increasingly animated as their feeding instinct came alive. Their presence explained the stench, but nothing else made sense. Why were they even up here, just as if someone had stashed them there? And why did none of them look more decayed than, say, a couple of weeks?