Page 4 of Such a Feral Little Lamb
Never heard from again.
I shake myself out of my reverie when Dane and Blake exchange sharp grins. Pathetic, the pair of them, and my hand tightens on my bat, but bashing their little heads in won’t achieve a damn thing. Whether I like it or not—and I donot—the more manpower, the better.
“Come on,” Dane says with a derisive snort, not bothering to answer Autumn’s question. “Let’s check this place out.”
He takes point, our team leader for this job, and the rest of us fall in behind. I nod to Rae and take the rear. She should stayclose to Autumn, at least for now. Autumn will grasp the ropes in a day or two.
The rest of us did.
For now, we ignore those dark houses and take a slow pace down the lane, following a sign that directs us to the town centre. Cars are still parked haphazardly about. Some of these people didn’t make it out.
Should be a zombie or two lurking somewhere nearby.
But we see nothing on our short journey. Not a zombie. Not an animal. Nothing. I turn my bat in my grip, hands clammy the longer we go without a sign of movement. We’ve never been to a town completely emptied before. Even if the zombies take a while to be found in places, there’s evidence of their existence, signs that show us where they’ve gathered.
They do that after a while. Once their food runs out, which it inevitably does, they still, for some strange reason, keep moving. Another hunter once told me that it’s because the virus keeps their systems running. Keeps muscles and fibres twitching. Keeps them hungry.
But they’re rotting the whole while. It’s something I don’t understand. Something that seems dangerous to try to understand.
Sweat rolls down the back of my neck. It seems important here, too.
For a brief second, I allow myself to imagine a clean sweep with no need for hunting. Discovering that there are towns that can be inhabited again with no risk at all. Reporting that back—
Only a second. That’s too close to hope, and I need to be practical. We enter the town square—once, I assume, the still-beating heart of this town—and take in boarded-up shops and the empty, open space. Narrow roads snake to this place from all directions, shadowed on each side by buildings that seem threatening even in daylight.
It’s the perfect place for a trap; I just don’t know whether it’ll be better for the zombies or for us.
If we find any. And zombies aren’t smart enough to form an ambush, and we’ve seen no evidence of survivors so far, either.
That thought doesn’t stop the prickle of unease as I survey the space. I wander over to one of the shops—the sign declares it a butcher’s—and Dane’s head snaps in my direction.
“Don’t go far.”
I raise a hand in acknowledgement and keep walking. No evidence of riots or looting as far as I can see. I can’t find proof that zombies gorged here, battering down the doors and—
No, wait. I eye the door of the butcher’s shop once I’m up close. There’s something here. The windows are boarded, which I’d expect from a town that had any survivors after the initial wave, but this door is newer than the frame.
Alotnewer.
A boot scuffs the ground behind me. “Weird, isn’t it?” Otto says, and I pretend my heart didn’t just leap into my throat.
“Yeah,” I mutter and glance back at him. He’s wearing a cap to shield his pale eyes, but his face is still a little pink. Past him, Dane and Blake are standing in the centre of the square. Blake talks as Dane surveys the place. Rae is leading Autumn over to the old post office. “Seen signs of anything?”
Otto’s as good a tracker as anyone I’ve ever worked with. He’s got the patience for it, to wait and spot the signs others might miss. And I don’t like the way he frowns, then shakes his head.
“Nothing,” he replies. “It’s like it’s been cleared out, but there’s no evidence of anyone living, either.”
“Mm.” I cast my eyes back over the butcher’s shop door again. It looks solid. Secure. I can’t hear anything beyond it.
I don’t want to find survivors here. I’ve heard of teams who have, encounters that have inevitably turned violent, and people have been lost to them. Even if violence doesn’t dig its claws in,things never end well. How are we supposed to trust that they haven’t been bitten?
How are they supposed to trust us at all?
“Ever seen anything like this?” I ask Otto, still keeping my voice low. Dane and Blake shouldn’t be able to hear us at this distance, but I don’t trust either of them.
Sure, they’re not likely to let a zombie bite me, if only because having more of us around increases their odds of surviving later. But rat me out once we return to the Citadel? Blake wouldn’t even hesitate.
Otto shakes his head, and from the cautious dart of his eyes, his concern matches mine. “I was on a job about fifty miles from here last month. I mean, it wasn’t teeming, but…”
