Blood Moon by Gwendolyn Harper (best sales books of all time .TXT) 📗

if we found good hearted people who knew the area, we’d get a lead or two.”

Considering them, the man’s gaze bounced from each of their faces to the vastness behind them.

“Your names?”

“I’m Booker. This is my…” He faltered. “This is Caitlin. And Nicole.”

“Are you bit? Scratched?”

“No, sir,” Booker said.

After another moment of deliberation, the man opened the door a little wider and motioned for them to come up.

“I’m Jorge,” he said as they ascended the steps.

Booker extended his hand in greeting. “Good t’meet you.”

“You too,” Jorge said, gripping his palm firmly. “Not too many friendly faces left out there.”

“Ain’t that the truth.”

The inside of the church was dimly lit with lamps and candles, as all the windows had been boarded up. Behind them, the door shut with a loud clang, and the metal barricade replaced.

“We always keep it locked,” Jorge explained as he led them deeper into the room. “Can’t be too careful.”

“No, you can’t,” Caitlin agreed.

Pews had been dismantled and piled up near the entrance, clearly for building materials and firewood. Neat rows of sleeping bags and mats were in the center of what was once the worship space. She counted three rows of five, which left another twelve people to be accounted for.

“It’s okay,” Jorge called. “They aren’t scavengers.”

Glancing to Booker, Caitlin furrowed her brow. She wondered if they’d had their own run in with these scavengers back in Mississippi.

From the back, through a small hallway, people began filing out.

Suddenly, Travis’ story made sense.

A little over a dozen adolescents cautiously made their way into the room. None of them looked older than fourteen, and the youngest was about nine.

Behind them, several adult women closer to Caitlin and Nicole’s age helped a smaller group of geriatric folks as they shuffled with walkers and canes.

As they all gathered, Caitlin counted.

Twenty-seven people, just like Travis said.

One boy—the youngest of the children—coughed into his fist as a woman guided him to a sleeping bag by the pulpit. It had more pillows and blankets than the other sleeping areas.

Kyle, Caitlin guessed. He looked flushed and worn down, in desperate need of some relief.

“I didn’t think y’all were a school,” Booker said, confusion knitting his brows together.

Jorge shook his head. “The church was hosting a youth camp when the outbreak hit us.”

Caitlin turned. “And the elderly?”

“There’s a nursing home just down the road. We got as many out as we could using the church van. Most were too frail to survive for long, but… We tried.”

Nodding, she looked him over. “You’re the pastor?”

Jorge chuckled. “No, a science teacher,” he said. “That’s my daughter, Lily, over there.”

He gestured to a young girl of about eleven with dark hair in braids.

“We’re lucky,” he continued. “Most of these kids lost their parents to the virus.”

“It happened that fast?” Nicole asked.

“That’s the thing about small farming towns,” Jorge said. “Not a lot of people to begin with, nearest hospital is twenty miles away, and most folks weren’t close enough for us to track down. We started doing survivor runs, just to see if there were others hunkered down somewhere but… Most places were deserted or crawling with zombies.”

“I’m sorry,” Caitlin murmured.

Jorge tucked his chin. “We’re making do. Here, I’ll introduce you to the group.”

As he walked ahead, it was then Caitlin noticed his limp and glanced down.

A prosthetic leg.

It explained why he couldn’t make the trek with Travis.

“Everyone,” Jorge called. “We have visitors. This is Booker, Caitlin, and Nicole.”

A chorus of hellos greeted them.

One woman in pastel scrubs strode over, gaze darting from Jorge to the three behind him.

“I’m worried about Kyle,” she whispered to Jorge. “His fever hasn’t broken and he’s having a hard time breathing.”

“Debbie, these people have medicine,” Jorge told her. “They’re offering to share.”

Eyes widening in surprise, she stared at them in silence for a moment.

“What do you want in return?”

Booker chuckled. “No offense, but I don’t think we have much use for Aspercreme.”

Caitlin nudged him in the side. “Booker, be nice.”

Debbie and Jorge both laughed, and the tension ebbed from their bodies.

“No, he’s right,” Debbie said, scratching above her eyebrow. “Most of what we have is either for the elderly or for teen acne. Not exactly a gold mine.”

“How have you all been surviving here?” Caitlin asked, looking around the church.

“The fellowship hall has a small kitchen,” Jorge explained. “We’re on well water, and there was a collection of canned goods originally meant for the food bank. We lived on that for the first few weeks until we got our bearings.”

“Lucky, indeed,” Booker commented.

Debbie looked them over, noting their filthy hands.

“How about we get you all cleaned up and we can talk,” she suggested, already motioning for them to follow her.

Caitlin scanned the room once more as she walked.

Something about this group reminded her of the ones who first took her in and helped her heal.

Jeremy, Hannah, Jessica, Carl…

One of the boys was even reading a comic book, just like Josh.

Sharp pain lanced through her chest, and all she could do was hold her breath and wait for it to pass.

“Y’alright, songbird?” Booker whispered, leaning close.

Caitlin nodded. “Yeah, I’m fine.”

It was a lie.

She felt like she was standing in another graveyard.

* * * * * * *

Metal folding chairs scraped the tile as they all sat in a semi-circle around the card table in the kitchen.

Debbie offered them all water in paper cups as they talked.

Glancing around the room, Caitlin’s stomach trembled nervously.

But not because she felt in danger.

“You said you had questions for us?” Jorge asked, uncertainty and worry tugging at his features.

“You’ve been here since the outbreak?” Caitlin started. When