Live Another Day by Baileigh Higgins (reading in the dark .txt) 📗

With her torch lighting the way, she explored the kitchen and pantry. Here she found signs of flight. A discarded cooler box sat on the floor, and bottled spices lined one counter. An empty wrapper crinkled beneath her foot. Someone had packed a few things in preparation for a trip and left the rest behind in haste. That’s why the security gate was open.

She cleared the area before moving deeper inside. The house was as silent as the grave. Not even the ticking of a clock could be heard. The deeper she moved, the more confident Lisa became that it was empty.

A thick layer of dust coated everything. There was no blood. No smell of decay either. More than that, the curtains were open, and a few things lay strewn about. Remotes, scatter cushions. Whoever used to stay there, had packed in a rush and left the house in a hurry.

She kept her guard up until she cleared the bedrooms, though. Here she found more evidence to support her theory. Cupboard and drawers yawned, devoid of clothes and personal knick-knacks. The inhabitants were gone. “Good luck to whoever you are. Hope you got away.”

Lisa sighed and slumped onto the corner of a chair. For the first time in hours, she allowed herself to relax. Exhaustion quickly set in, and she forced herself to her feet to secure the house before she passed out.

With quick movements, she closed all the doors, windows, and curtains. She picked through the kitchen and found a carton of mango juice, water, a few cans of food, and a box of dry cereal.

With these items in hand, she barricaded herself in the master bedroom. After a frugal supper, she washed and dressed in clean clothes courtesy of the previous lady of the house. A fresh shirt, jacket, and jeans comprised the simple ensemble.

Only then did she curl up on the bed to sleep, clutching her knife in one hand and a claw hammer she’d found in a toolbox in the other. Sleep overcame her.

***

The next morning, Lisa was jerked awake by the sound of screams. They were long and loud, harsh to the ears and soul. She scrambled to her feet, eyes wide and heart pumping. “What the hell?”

She whirled around on the bed, scrambling for her shoes and weapons while wiping the hair off her face. The screams continued, full of agony and pain. It sounded like a man or a boy. It was hard to tell, though. It had an inhuman quality to it.

It took a few seconds for her to realize the screams weren’t coming from anywhere nearby. It came from outside the house, outside the yard. This knowledge didn’t make her feel any better, and she rushed about to gather her things. “I’d better get out of here fast.”

She pulled her hair into a ponytail and tucked in her shirt before tossing her meager stash into an old backpack she’d found. With her gun holstered, and the pack in place, she snuck out of the house.

The zombies clamoring at the gates were gone, drawn away by the awful sounds of human suffering. Lisa climbed over the barriers and used a thick hedge as cover while she surveyed the street. It was empty except for the odd shambling figure, and her route of escape lay open.

Now and then, the screams let up only to resume seconds later. It was painful to hear, and Lisa hesitated while she pinpointed the direction. There!

The racket issued from a house further up the street. Its gates were closed, but a truck was parked in the driveway, and a man sat on the bonnet. She edged closer to get a better look.

Smoke curled from the man’s lips as he smoked. He ignored the crowd of infected banging on the gates as if he didn’t even know they were there. His every move spoke of supreme confidence. Or arrogance. Who is he? What’s happening?

Either way, it was none of her business, and she prepared to leave. Until she spotted another man loitering by the front door. She recognized the bull shoulders and short, stocky build in an instant. Michael!

Despite the danger to herself, Lisa crossed the distance between them in a hunched run. She kept close to the ground and used parked cars as camouflage until she hid right across the street.

While the other man still had his back turned, she risked waving at Michael. On the third try, he spotted her. His eyes widened, and he took a step forward but stopped. With one hand clenched by his side, he shoed her away, careful not to let the guy on the bonnet see.

She stayed put, not moving a muscle. The screams stopped, and silence descended on the neighborhood, broken only by the zombies rasping at the gate. Someone inside called to Michael. “Michael, time to show us what you can do.”

Michael froze. His eyes cast around for an escape route. He looked at her once more and shook his head. His mouth opened, but no sound came out. He looked lost.

“Michael! Are you one of us or not?” The strange voice did not sound happy with Michael’s hesitance.

“I’m coming,” he answered in a gruff voice.

The man sitting on the bonnet chuckled as Michael stepped inside. With casual movements, he drew a knife from his boot. It was at least a foot long, the blade as deadly as a shark’s gaping maw. The man stood up and sauntered into the house.

Michael’s in trouble, Lisa realized. This knowledge brought its own set of problems with. If he was in trouble, what did she do about it? Help him? Or run back to camp?

She hovered for a second before another drawn-out scream decided her. This time, the voice belonged to a girl. It shook Lisa to the core and touched on the raw, quivering mass of memories she harbored inside. No, not that.

With this single denial, aimed at she knew not what, Lisa shot to her feet and ran