Page 11 of Such a Feral Little Lamb
Otto pokes around the counters, sighing when he comes up empty. Dane squints through the boards that cover where the window used to be, though he can’t see much beyond. I wander around the whole place, using my torch to investigate the back room and the walk-in freezer. There’s a door back here, entirely boarded up, and of course the freezer is off. It’s a cold, eerie space all the same. I remain in there for as long as I can stand it, which is not that long at all.
Hours tick by slowly. We’re careful to keep our voices low, but to my surprise, Dane hardly speaks at all, and he doesn’t come near me. He’s entirely focused on the darkness outside. We don’t hear so much as a stray animal for all the hours we wait.
“I don’t like this,” Otto says through a yawn. It’s almost one. Our watch is nearly done. I lean against the wall near the bottom of the stairs. I’ll wake the others soon, give them time to get themselves together before they come down here.
“What about it?” Dane asks absently.
“Not sure. It’s just weird.”
Dane nods. “I was expecting more zombies, too.”
“Exactly.” Otto huffs a laugh.
“You think we’ll find any tomorrow?” I ask.
“We’ll go hunting,” Dane replies. “Properly hunting. There’s got to be something somewhere.”
I remember the man I saw today. No one’s mentioned him since we left the church. Do they all think I saw nothing at all? That my mind is playing tricks on me? I stare up at the bedroom, frowning into the darkness. That’s no way to start a job. It’s one thing if members of the team don’t like me, but if they think they can’t rely on me—
I shake the feeling off. I know he was there. I know I wasn’t wrong.
I push off from the wall, slapping dust from my trousers. “I’ll wake them.” I shrug in response to Otto’s frown. “It’ll take Autumn a minute, maybe.”
“Never had an orphan on a hunt before,” Otto says. “It’ll be interesting to see her in action.”
Dane adds nothing. I nod, because it will, and turn towards the stairs.
As my foot hits the first step, someone knocks on the door to the shop.
I freeze. Every muscle tenses as my heart leaps into my throat. For a moment, all I hear is blood rushing in my ears.
Otto pushes off from the counter he’s been leaning against. Dane adjusts his position. I realise then that from where he’s standing, he can’t see whoever’s on the other side of the door.
They knock again. One-two-three, a sharp staccato. My breathing goes shallow, saliva flooding my mouth, but I breathe deep through my nose, trying to fight off the instinctive fear response.
It’s probably not a zombie. Why would a zombie knock? They don’t knock.
Another knock sounds. I step off the stair and Dane shakes his head sharply. I frown. Obviously, I’m not going to just open the door, but we should see…
I frown. What if this is a distraction? I jerk my chin and Otto nods, heading on silent feet into the back. Dane stays by the window, hatchet at the ready.
The knock sounds again. Faster this time. Heavier. No voice. No greeting or demands. I can’t hear the grunts and groans of a zombie. I take another step towards the door.
Blake appears at the top of the stairs, Rae just behind him. They make their way down slowly, Autumn too, and Otto comes back into the shop itself, shaking his head.
No sign at the back, then. Maybe it’s just one person.
Maybe it’s the man I saw today.
One-two-three. I move towards the door. Dane pushes off from the wall, still shaking his head, but I twist my hands, shrugging—what do you want me to do? One-two-three. He doesn’t know, either. None of us do. Seems even Autumn’s curriculum didn’t cover what to do when a survivor comes knocking on your door.
One-two-three. There’s no peephole. No way to see what waits beyond. I reach for the first bolt and see that my hand is steady. One-two-three. Left hand to the bolt. Bat in my right. Short of them having a gun pointed right at my head, and the odds of that are low, then I’ll have enough time to get in one good hit.
One-two-three. The others fan out, bodies low.
My fingers find the bolt. One-two—
I slide it free. The knocking stops. The loss of rhythm makes me jolt, my hand falling away.
