Zombie Road | Book 8 | Crossroads of Chaos Simpson, A. (new books to read .txt) 📖

pantry his eyes only saw the great wealth of canned goods and his mind was on how he would be able to carry them all. The child leapt from the darkness and sank teeth into the hand holding the flashlight.

After he made it home, after she’d done as he wished and he joined her mother in the garden she had all but given up. She tended the plants as her parents snarled and lunged for her, she rationed the remaining canned goods and learned to live with the hunger. She’d went to the houses nearest hers first but there was nothing left to eat, her father had already cleaned them out. He’d told her the little town was dangerous, filled with the undead, hundreds of them. She thought she could sneak in to the grocery store. If she was quiet, they wouldn’t notice her.

She had been wrong.

“There!” she said and pointed at a driveway snaking off into the woods.

He slowed, turned in and cut the engine as soon as they saw the house around a bend. It was a huge, sprawling place typical of the area. It was out in the country but close enough to the city to commute and people with money had lived here. Windows down, they listened as he coasted to a stop.

“Show me what you’ve learned.” Jessie said then sat with his hands on the wheel and waited on her to take the lead.

This was her final test although she didn’t know it. He’d be leaving her soon and there was a chance he wouldn’t be coming back. That was always a possibility, even when you were just stepping behind a tree to relieve yourself. If she was ready, he could quit delaying and go. Mona Lisa’s smile was calling him.

Her eyes scanned for telltale signs of the undead, especially in the wood line where they could come out from anywhere. The yard was overgrown and she pointed out the large wooden playset that could be glimpsed in the back yard. He nodded. Good. She knew there might be children inside.

“Front door is intact, no windows broken and I can’t see any stains on them.” She said quietly.

The undead always left their greasy, decaying juices on any surface they touched until they rotted away enough to quit leaking. He watched her while pretending not to as she press checked her pistols, a pair of lady Smith and Wesson’s liberated from a gun shop in Maryland. They didn’t hold as many rounds as his Glocks but the frames were a better fit for her small hands. She felt for her backup blades, made sure they were in place and chambered a round in her M4. Jessie gave her an approving half smile. She had learned much the past few months. She checked the driveway behind them, made sure they hadn’t picked up any followers, but that was rare now. The ones wandering around outside were slow and shambling. He fell in behind as she circled the house and checked for any signs of danger. She was thorough and almost fearless. She might make a good retriever he mused.

The back door had been forced open and Jessie stopped her, nudged her to one side as he took up a position on the other.

“How old is the damage?” he asked under his breath. “Could there be someone waiting for us inside? Someone with a shotgun aimed at the door?”

Her eyes grew wide for a second before she checked the door jamb closely. The damage had been done a long time ago, the wood was already weathered and there weren’t any splinters on the porch.

“I think it’s safe.” She said and he concurred. It was hard to say how old the breach was but it wasn’t recent.

She kicked the door open, it bounced off its hinges and they both had guns up waiting for anything to come out of the gloom chasing the sound. When nothing did, she rapped on the jamb and called out.

“Anybody home?”

They listened.

Nothing. No keens. No flurry of movement coming for them. She cleared the house room by room like he’d shown her and they went to the kitchen to see what was going to be for lunch.

The cupboards were bare.

The house hadn’t been raided in a haphazard way, nothing was broken, cabinet doors weren’t left open, spilled bags weren’t littering the floor. The food was gone. All of it including the spices and bags of flour and cans of asparagus sprouts which no one ever took.

“What does this mean?” Jessie asked as she stood in the kitchen frowning at the empty pantry. Even the paper plates and garbage bags had been taken.

She thought for a moment before replying.

“Survivors.” She said. “A large group. Organized and methodical.”

“Where are they?”

“Close. Within a few miles.” She said after some consideration. “People on the move only take what they need, not everything but the kitchen sink.”

“Do they know we’re here?” Jessie asked and she thought a little longer before answering.

“Hard to say. Sound carries and your car is loud. This house was cleaned out months ago but they may still have patrols or teams out.”

“What should you do?” Jessie asked “Are they friendly or cannibals? Will they rape and kill us or invite us into their community.”

“I don’t know.” She said. “By myself, I would assume the worst. I would leave. With you I think I would try to find them, maybe spy on them to see if they are friendly.”

Jessie nodded. She was right and the old part of him that was supposed to be a Lakota ambassador nagged at him to establish contact but a bigger part of him didn’t care. If they were decent people they were probably doing fine on their own, they didn’t need his help. If they were a bunch of slavers or raiders, he didn’t feel like going to war again. He just wanted to be left alone.

“Let’s check some of the neighboring houses.” He said and had her put