Page 27

“They were fixing this place up,” I said. “Making a life for themselves.”

Everything was so still, and when the end had come, they were holding each other. It was more than most people got through the pandemic.

“It’s sweet in a seriously sad kind of way.” Kirby shifted her weight from one foot to the other, uncomfortable but trying not to appear insensitive.

No one spoke as we absorbed the scene, the only sound the ticking of an analogue clock.

“We should go,” Luke said reluctantly.

With a sigh, I straightened my shoulders and turned away.

Their lives had been heading somewhere good before everything stopped. But we were still here, still breathing.

We’d stowed our weapons in the boot and climbed into the SUV. The engine started on the first try, and as I sat behind the wheel, relief rushed in so fast I almost laughed.

Luke’s mouth kicked up at one corner. “I was expecting a flat battery.”

Kirby let out a whoop from the back seat. “Best sound I’ve heard all day—and it started out with Luke’s snoring, so it had to get better.”

His smile widened for a moment, then he leaned toward me and checked the dashboard. “Fuel?”

He smelled of soap and mint, the ends of his hair still damp from washing up at the childcare centre. I looked down, my pulse fluttering. “About a third.”

“It’s something.” His attention shifted to the dashboard, then he moved back into his own space. “No navigation, though.”

Not trusting myself to speak, I shook my head. We’d have to follow the signs and hope we found enough of them to keep us heading in the right direction.

He looked over his shoulder. “If you want to reverse onto the street, I’ll jump out and grab the bags.”

The sun peeked through the heavy cloud cover as I backed out and parked in front of the house. A couple of days ago, people would have been in the fresh air exercising their dogs, but nobody passed by. The only moving bodies were the three or four dead in the rearview mirror.

My heart rate picked up as I killed the ignition. “It’s weird being able to do that now,” I said. “Just turn off the car and not have to worry about being stranded.”

“Better hope it starts again, or we’re breaking into another house,” Kirby said.

“Don’t remind me.” As I stepped out, the cold enveloped every part of me.

Shouting came from inside a nearby house, and a cat sat on the verandah of the home opposite, still as a statue as it tracked our movements. I stretched out the ache in my neck and waited for the yelling to spill outside, but the street itself remained quiet.

While Luke and Kirby went over to the bushes, I rounded the car and opened the boot.

Luke crouched and dragged the first duffle bag free, sweeping off dead leaves and wet grass before he handed it to Kirby.

He leaned in for the second bag, and Kirby brought the scent of damp earth with her as she approached. I nudged the nail gun and axe aside to make room, throwing another glance down the street as I went over to grab the two backpacks.

Most of the dead had moved farther in the opposite direction, while one had become trapped in a front garden, lured in there by a sound or movement.

At least they weren’t coming closer.

Luke and I deposited the last of the bags in the boot, then he reached for a bundle of material in the far corner and stepped aside.

He gave it a couple of shakes and held it up for examination. A fleece jacket, black and worn, thick enough to block out the icy air.

He held it out to me, and I blinked, thrown for a second. “What’s this for?”

“You’re cold.”

“I’m fine.”