Rowan Steele

THE DYING LIGHT

CHAPTER ONE

“And our top story today. There are reports from all around the country about new cases of the flu.”

Jackson Thorne looked at the screen but only half listened to the report. It was the same crap the news been saying for days. A flu had swept the nation and spread across the world. It had killed thousands, but the government said the worst had passed.

Jack didn’t buy it.

He knew far too well what harm came when people took anything at face value, and he never made that mistake. He stood and finished packing his duffel with the belongings he had.

No, the worst of this flu definitely wasn’t over, and if Jack had his way, he’d be on his ranch alone and away from whatever was around the corner, not stuck in Atlanta. That flu that the government said was over had killed one of the few men he’d call a friend, which was why he was here.

The trip was only supposed to be long enough to pay his respects and be on his way. Just his luck that he’d had a front-row seat to an airline stewardess losing her shit and biting off another passenger’s nose.

Jack had helped subdue the woman and earned himself a place as star witness for the prosecution at the preliminary hearing.

It had been three weeks now, and his patience had been running thin. It was only a stubborn and stupid sense of civic duty that kept him here. The stewardess had overreacted, but the asshole she’d bitten had had it coming. Jack didn’t plan on saying that in court, but as annoyed as he was, he couldn’t guarantee that he wouldn’t.

After he tucked his pants in and tied his boots, he pulled on his leather jacket and headed for the door.

Not the most presentable outfit for court, but he wasn’t here to make friends or make a good impression. If the DA wanted him there so badly, she’d take him as he came. Two minutes later, he cranked the engine of his rented SUV and headed off.

He didn’t like the noise and close quarters of any city, and to his mind, Atlanta’s booming population and unfettered sprawl was the worst of all worlds. Still, though he wasn’t especially fond of them, he’d gotten familiar with the city’s streets in the past weeks.

It didn’t escape his notice that the streets that were so often clogged were eerily empty today.

Jack was alert and aware of his surroundings like always, but he was hit with an eerie feeling. It was almost like anticipation, though that wasn’t quite the right word. Whatever name he put to it didn’t matter. What mattered was that Jack knew that feeling and knew it meant something bad was about to happen.

He wasn’t a big believer in things he couldn’t see or shoot, but he trusted that feeling. It had been with him in more dark places than he cared to remember and had never been wrong.

Jack wouldn’t count on it being wrong now.

He’d brought his duffel with him and decided that he was headed to the airport as soon as he left court. He wanted to be as far away from Atlanta as he could as soon as he could. He had half a mind to skip court. They didn’t need him, and the passenger and stewardess probably deserved each other. There was no reason for him to be here, and the sooner he left, the sooner the anvil that seemed to be sitting on his chest would be gone.

He made it to the courthouse in less than fifteen minutes, which was practically a miracle with Atlanta’s congested traffic. The courthouse steps, which were usually teeming with people waiting to get in, were almost empty with no more than ten people waiting outside when Thorne knew there was usually more than a hundred.

Even the line at the metal detectors, which sometimes added another fifteen minutes to a court visit, was short. After he passed through security, he walked through the courthouse, still taking in everything he passed, though after so many visits it was all memorized.

He noticed that the security station that usually had at least five deputy sheriffs was down to two. That the courtrooms were almost barren. Even in the traffic division, which usually overflowed with people, was nearly empty.

Maybe there was an issue at the jail.

The courthouse had a fourteen-story county jail attached to it, and Jack suspected it took a fair amount of personnel to manage.

If the courts were this sparse, it would make sense to station people at the prison. Perfectly logical, but he was still on high alert.

When he reached the courtroom, he noticed that the guard usually posted outside the door wasn’t there. There was no window in the door, so after glancing at his watch and seeing that he was a few minutes early, Jack opened the door and walked into the court. He slipped in back, trying to go unnoticed.

And for the most part he did.

The court was just as sparsely populated as all the other places he had seen thus far, and what people were there were riveted by what was taking place.

“So how do you explain that?” the woman in the center of the courtroom asked.

She stood at the lectern, tall, her posture ramrod straight, her eyes lasered on the older portly gentleman on the stand.

“I-I told her up front that was the deal. She took it,” he said.

“You told her up front?” the woman replied.

Her expression had taken on a softness and seemed almost like she was extending and olive branch. The portly man took it, something Jack knew he would regret.

“Yes,” he said, nodding emphatically.

“And you think telling her upfront supersedes federal law?” the woman asked, looking at the older man sharply.

He’d started to sweat, and Jack sensed the woman was going in for the kill.

“I— We—”

“Thank you, Mr. Smithson. You’ve said more than enough,” she said.

The man looked frustrated but also relieved as he stood and left the stand.

Jack had only seen about two minutes, but he could imagine that much of the other testimony had played out in much the same way.

In those two minutes he’d been sitting there, the woman had carved Mr. Smithson like a Christmas turkey. He looked at the woman as she faced the judge.

“Your honor—”

The court reporter’s incessant hacking cough was loud enough to distract everyone. The judge lifted his hand and looked down at the court reporter.

“You all right, Bridget?” he asked, looking concerned.

“Yes—”

The rest of the woman’s sentence was cut off by a stream of harsh, chest-racking coughs.

Great. Now we’ll all get the fucking flu.

The judge looked at the court reporter and then shook his head.

“Bridget, we’ll wrap up for the day so you can get home.”

“Your honor?”

The judge looked at the woman lawyer and then waved her away impatiently.

“This can wait, counselor. Court is adjourned.”

As the few people in the courtroom stood, the judge called out, “And I’m rescheduling my docket for the rest of the day.”

Jack could have punched the wall.

Yet another day this had been extended. He didn’t care. He’d done more than enough.

It was time to leave.

He waited until everyone had shuffled out of the courtroom, leaving just him and the lawyer.

She didn’t seem in any hurry to leave, and Thorne wondered what was wrong with her. Everyone else was rushing out, but she was sitting there, carefully arranging her files.

Jack imagined he knew her type. Competitive, dedicated, interested in nothing but the victory.

Whatever.

He filed out, but rather than going toward the main elevators, he followed a long hallway to the opposite side of the building.

The main elevators were usually crowded and smelled like piss, and they also led directly to the security desk. But since Jack had already checked in, he would take this alternate route and avoid the crowd, thin as it may be, and the stench, on his way out.

How ridiculous that he had been here so often that he had come up with alternate routes.

He walked down the hallway at his usual brisk pace, knowing that if anyone were to encounter him, he would look detached, if a little irritated, but he was anything but.

Those old habits that made him pay attention to everything, take in every aspect of every room, like the marble floors that once had been and still were a thing of beauty even though they hadn’t been cleaned like usual.

Then there was the slight change in temperature that told him he had crossed into the older wing of the building. That wing wasn’t quite connected to the main HVAC system, so it was always a touch colder or warmer than the rest of the building depending on the weather.

Jack saw and heard it all.

When he reached the elevator, he was surprised to see the lawyer from earlier standing there.

He looked in the opposite direction, trying to figure out where she had come from.

It must have been the judge’s chambers. Jack had memorized every inch of the courtroom, and there was no exit that would have allowed her to get there without him seeing.

Shut that shit down, Thorne.

He had left the military on purpose, but his mind hadn’t quite cottoned on to the whole retirement idea yet. So, his attention and mind never rested, even when he wanted them to.

Jack returned his attention to the lawyer. She hadn’t even looked up from her phone and didn’t when the elevator doors opened.

She stepped on, and he followed. He continued to watch as she pushed the button for her floor without even looking up.

“What floor?” she asked, still clearly distracted.

“Lobby,” he said.

Without acknowledging him, the woman pushed the button and then continued to stare into her phone.

“Do they have special elevators for you?” he asked, though he couldn’t say why he bothered.

The woman froze, then turned to look at him.

“For who?” she asked, the question soft.

Jack realized the implication of what he’d said and went quickly to do damage control.

“The officers of the court.”

“No,” she responded.

Then, without a breath or even anything more than a stray glance, she went back to her phone.

It seemed to take her second to realize the elevator wasn’t moving so she pushed the button again.

An instant later, the elevator car plunged into darkness.

CHAPTER TWO

When the lights went out, a stab of panic pierced Cassandra Rutgers’s gut. It was silly, really, a grown woman, a respected professional, being afraid of the dark.

But silly as it might be, that didn’t change the truth of it.

And in those first few seconds, a panic so intense that it made Cassandra’s lungs squeeze filled her. But like she always did whenever confronted with something that scared her, Cassandra gritted her teeth and pushed the panic back.

Though she held her phone tight like it was her only lifeline, she forced herself to relax and then shifted to look at the man who stood next to her.

She couldn’t really see him, not with her phone the only dim light in the elevator. But when she had seen him before they’d stepped on the elevator, he’d looked calm, perturbed that court had been so abruptly dismissed, but not panicked like so many other people she had seen.

The stories of flu and unrest that were going around had everyone tense and on edge, but though the man seemed uptight, he didn’t have quite the same vibe as the other people.

“This happen sometimes. These elevators are old,” she said.

She wasn’t sure whether she was explaining this for his benefit or for hers, but whatever the reason, the words calmed her. This had happened to her a year ago, and when she’d finally gotten out, which had taken ten minutes—ten minutes too long in her opinion—she’d a good laugh about it.

Today would be no different.

She looked her phone and shined the light toward the elevator panel. She pushed the call button, waiting for the expected dial tone and then the gruff bark from the security desk.

She didn’t get either.

She pushed the button again, a little more impatient this time, the panic a little more intense, though she tried her hardest to keep it at bay.

“Ugh,” she said.

Then she looked at the man again, noticed that his expression hadn’t changed, and for moment felt embarrassed. She should be more like him, stoic, and she would try.

“Half of the security guards have been relocated. There’s probably no one manning the desk. I’ll just push the bell, and maybe one of the guards will hear it.”

She looked at the man again, his face eerie and somewhat terrifying in the artificial light of her phone.

He was tall, obviously in good shape, but the light of the phone gave his face a hollowed look, a harshness that she had seen before but was even more intense in the dim light.

She looked away quickly, her nerves beginning to rise again. She wasn’t sure why she was talking to him anyway. And since he didn’t seem inclined to say anything, she moved forward with her plan.

She pushed the button and listened to the sound of the ringing bell. The sound was loud yet hollow, and Cassandra could visualize the tiny clapper striking the metal, the sound created by the resulting vibration. She held the button far longer than she should have, something in her almost afraid to let it go.

She couldn’t put her finger on what was happening, but some instinct kept her finger on the button, some irrational fear wanting her to believe that her finger on the bell was the only thing keeping her from something awful.

The sheer madness of the thought was what made her lift her finger. And when she did, the sound stopped immediately, the echoes fading into the darkness and silence.

That silence was terrifying.

Almost instantly, Cassandra realized why.

Her practice brought her to this courthouse several times a week, and in the earliest morning or in the dead of night, there was always noise—inmates yelling, arguments over traffic tickets, joyous outbursts at a wedding or adoption.

Something.

But now, there was only silence.

Cassandra looked back at the man, laughed, but then quickly swallowed the sound. She knew that her chuckle sounded nervous, giving her a slightly panicked air, which she wouldn’t allow. So, she refocused, took note of how his expression hadn’t changed at all.

“You don’t mind confined spaces, huh?” she said.

“Not my favorite,” he responded.

His words were clipped, short, and Cassandra found herself taking offense.

“Oh-kay,” she said, dragging out the word as she turned away from him.

She always tried to build bridges with people, and she was damn good at it. But her companion on this little unexpected detour didn’t seem too interested in that.

Fine by her. She had bigger fish to fry. The most important being getting the hell out of this elevator.

She pushed the bell again, listened to it ring. For some reason her mind imagined the sound going out into the piercing black darkness and landing on nothing.

That was a terrible feeling, one that Cassandra tried to ignore.

Instead, she set her briefcase against the wall of the elevator and took one step then another. The elevator moved slightly, and though it was still sturdy, that shift reminded her that she wasn’t on solid ground.

No, she was suspended in an elevator car, somewhere between the eighth and ground floors. Probably best not to pace.

But she needed to do something.

She was trying to fight back the panic, trying to maintain her calm, but as the seconds ticked by, she struggled more and more.

It had been cool this morning when she’d left home, but like was so often the case with Atlanta, at this time of evening, the morning coolness had given away to a warmth that was verging on heat. Being inside this elevator only made things worse.

She tucked her phone in her pocket, careful to turn the screen off.

She’d had hopes of getting out of this elevator quickly, but that didn’t seem to be happening, so it was best to preserve the battery.

Calm down, Cassandra. Don’t be stupid, she whispered in her head, hoping that her silent pep talk would center her.

She took off her trench coat, carefully folded it, and lay it atop her briefcase. Then she reached for her phone, and the screen again lit up the elevator car.

She looked back at her mostly silent companion and saw that while he wasn’t speaking, he was carefully following her every move with his eyes.

Given her line of work, that sort of thing would ordinarily make her uncomfortable.

She was no stranger to the criminal element, and her frequent trips to county jails or the state prison meant that a certain kind of attention wasn’t uncommon. She had no illusions about her looks, but in those environments, being female was enough to get leered at.

But she didn’t get that sense from this man. He obviously wasn’t a conversationalist, but he didn’t seem threatening either. He was just freakishly observant.

“Cop?” she asked.

In the dim, artificial cell phone light, Cassandra could see the man surprise at her question. But he recovered quickly. “No.”

Cassandra waited, certain that any moment he would say something else.

He didn’t. And the silence that had become a tangible thing in the elevator only thickened.

“All right then,” Cassandra said.

She turned her attention to her phone, suppressing that natural desire to push her questions. This was uncommon for her, someone completely stonewalling her, especially in this circumstance. But rather than focus on that, Cassandra turned her attention to the most important thing.

Which was still getting the hell out of this elevator.

“I can sometimes get a signal…”

She knew that the man wouldn’t respond and clearly had no interest in talking to her, but speaking was more for her benefit than his.

She looked down at the screen, counting the little dots that told her the cell phone’s signal. There was one, that single circle enough to give her a tiny sliver of hope.

She doubted the signal was strong enough, but she dialed the main courthouse switchboard, her heart stuck in her throat, her emotions wavering somewhere between hope and fear. She waited for the phone to ring, then waited, continued to wait.

There was nothing.

“Dammit!” she said.

Her voice was loud, harsh in the silent elevator car, and she looked back at the man quickly. “Sorry.”

He gave her a curt nod, and she appreciated at least that marginal acknowledgment.

“I don’t have a signal,” she said, sounding forlorn.

“Yeah, I’d expect not,” he said.

“What about you?” she said, overlooking his statement.

“What about me?” he responded.

“Your phone. Try yours,” she said.

He shook his head. “Don’t have one.”

“You don’t have cell phone?” Cassandra said, looking at him disbelieving.

“No,” he said.

And just that quickly, the few tendrils of connection were gone. The man shut down completely. Cassandra didn’t think she’d ever enjoyed being stuck in an elevator, but she figured the company had to make a huge difference.

For lack of anything else to do, she pushed the button again, again listened to that tinny ring of the bell, which sounded so small, so ineffectual in the deep silence and deeper darkness of the elevator.

Nothing happened, and she lowered her hand in frustration, listened again, hoping to hear some sign of activity. When she was again greeted with silence, she pressed the bell again, held it even longer.

Each second that passed with no response made the bell seem louder, the darkness deeper, and sent her fear skyrocketing.

One moment Cassandra had been pushing the bell. The next, her hand was pulled to her side so tight that she couldn’t lift it. A second after, a strong, heavy hand closed over her mouth, and Cassandra found herself caged, trapped against the man, knowing instantly that there was no way she could free herself.

“What are you—”

The scream that grew in her throat came out but was silenced by his hand over her mouth.

He squeezed her even tighter and then whispered in her ear.

“Quiet.”

The word was barely audible, so quiet that Cassandra was surprised she could hear it over her own pounding heart.

But hear it she did. She also heard something else in his voice. Something she never would have expected.

It wasn’t exactly fear. In fact, Cassandra wouldn’t call it fear at all. Maybe alertness was the word she was thinking of.

That was it she decided.

The man, who had seemed so nonchalant, so completely unconcerned with their circumstances, was fully alert now.

That scared the shit out of her.

Her heart started pounding even harder, the jackhammering beats rattling her chest, making taking a deep breath impossible.

Though the elevator was completely dark, Cassandra couldn’t stop herself from blinking rapidly, trying to see into the darkness.

It was completely futile, but she tried, seeing nothing but darkness deeper than any she’d seen before.

And while she looked, she listened, the sound of her hammering heart drowning out almost everything else.

The man was tense, his hand still tight against her mouth, the other holding her arm at her side. But his body felt coiled as if ready to spring.

That put Cassandra on even higher alert.

She felt herself tensing too, tensing more if that was even possible.

And she listened.

She hoped that in a moment she’d hear something—the jangle of one of the security guard’s keys as he approached or a straggler, one of her equally workaholic colleagues who had stayed at the courthouse after court was adjourned.

Someone to rescue her from this.

At first there was nothing, but Cassandra listened, hoping for something.

And then she heard it.

Faint at first but growing ever louder.

Footsteps.

They were muffled, didn’t seem particularly hurried, but they were footsteps nonetheless.

She reached up, wrapped her fingers around the man’s strong forearm.

“Quiet.”

His voice was still almost silent, but that alertness she heard before was still there, more intense now.

Cassandra had been relieved to hear the footsteps.

It was clear this man was not.

“What are—”

Cassandra went quiet when he tightened his hold on her mouth and tilted her head to look back at him, though she could see nothing in the darkness.

Cassandra stilled herself. She could hear the footsteps getting closer, and it sounded like more than one person. She’d be out of here soon enough, and once she was, she looked forward to punching this asshole in the teeth.

Until then, she would go with the flow.

Any second now, she would be out of here.

She heard the footsteps…more, and then more.

Something about them seemed…off.

It was a weird thing to think, one she couldn’t quite explain. She could no longer count the number of times she’d heard footsteps coming down this very hall. The lower-pitched thud of polished loafers, the click-clack of high heels. The rhythmic pound of canes and walkers. The smooth, near silent roll of wheelchairs.

She’d heard them all.

But she had never heard anything like this.

There was a rhythm to the steps, but instead of the crisp strides of a lawyer, the more casual stroll of one of the guards, or the vaguely confused-sounding, tentative steps of a visitor who had lost their way, this was different. The approach was near silent, as was the muffled sound of the feet hitting the floor.

And even in the darkness, even though she could almost hear nothing, Cassandra couldn’t deny the feeling that hit her, the one that told her this was what it sounded like when a predator was stalking its prey.

As the seconds passed, the wrongness of that sound intensified.

Cassandra dropped her hand from the man’s forearm, and to her relief he loosened his hold ever so slightly.

She moved to lift her arm, and he released it too. She hit the button on her phone and lit up the elevator. She looked at his face and saw that it was set in a mask of focus, but one that had questions.

She wanted to speak, but he shook his head slowly.

She remembered his admonition.

Quiet.

Cassandra thought she would vomit.

She didn’t.

But she did take a step back. She bumped into the man, who still stood behind her, and for reasons she didn’t quite understand, she wanted to hide behind him.

But there was no hiding here. Nowhere to go.

All she could do was wait, each second, each stealth, menacing step making her that much more anxious.

Her heart was pounding wildly now, sweat that had nothing to do with the heat pouring down her back.

The steps got closer, closer, but when they were so loud Cassandra was certain the person stood outside the door, they went silent.

She looked around wildly, waiting, the tension of the moment making her knees feel weak. She stared toward where she knew the elevator doors were, though she couldn’t see them.

The light on her phone had gone out, and she was too terrified to move to turn back on. And even more, she didn’t want to risk whoever was on the other side of those doors seeing it.

So she stood frozen, waiting, the silence that had been so intense before intensifying the further.

The hard crash shook the entire elevator.

It also shattered anything that was left of Cassandra’s self-control.

The scream came out involuntarily, feeling as urgent as her next breath.

But much like her next breath, it was muffled in the man’s hand.

He must have anticipated her response, because he clamped his hand down tight, held her still as the scream poured out of her.

Her mind was racing, rocking just like the elevator car.

She couldn’t say why, but something about this was wrong.

Very, very wrong.

A few seconds ticked by, though to Cassandra they felt like an eternity. As the seconds passed, the car stopped rocking, but the lack of motion on the outside did nothing to calm the jangling nerves that made her breaths jagged and jerky.

At least she wasn’t screaming.

She waited, her breath almost refusing to leave her, and without her even realizing it, she had lifted her hand to the man’s forearm again.

She had no idea what she was going to do, but she held him tight, hoping that the next sound she heard was those same stalking steps leaving.

No such luck.

Another crash, this one more intense than the first, shook the car.

Strangely, this crash had the opposite effect of the first.

Rather than screaming, Cassandra’s response was a deep exhale.

And rather than sending her mind shifting, that crash gave her an intense clarity.

Whoever was out there wanted to be in here.

And that would be very, very bad for her.

And then there was the elevator itself to consider.

It was old, having been added to the courthouse in the forties and, as far as Cassandra knew, hadn’t been redone since the seventies. It wouldn’t stand up to any kind of stress, especially the determined kind that seemed to be on the other side of the door.

Which left Cassandra with two options: whatever was outside would find its way in or send the elevator crashing to the ground trying to.

Fanfuckingtastic.

Neither option was something Cassandra wanted to contemplate, but here she was.

The man tightened his hold on her, and Cassandra looked back at him, though she couldn’t see him.

Somehow, she had managed to keep her grip on her phone, and she lifted it and pushed the button.

His face was again lit up with that eerie light, but this time, Cassandra appreciated the calm she saw in it.

He dropped his arms and Cassandra turned, keeping the light on his face.

He lifted his hands slowly, put one finger against his lips.

Cassandra nodded, understanding very well what he had been trying to tell her before.

Cursed herself for pushing that stupid bell.

Once the man seemed certain that she understood, he moved his finger away from his mouth and pointed up.

She followed the direction he was pointing. He wanted to get out of here too. And apparently, he had found a way.

She nodded, her excitement at a way out only momentarily tempered by the question of whether she would be able to take the path.

She tried to work out when she could, but cardio wasn’t exactly a priority, and Cassandra didn’t mind indulging in the occasional—okay, more than occasional—pint of ice cream.

But if her options were the first pull-up she had done since elementary school, careening to her death in this elevator, or her facing whoever was outside those doors, she would find her inner iron man as fast as she could.

She tilted the phone up to illuminate the ceiling. Then, she watched as the man stood on the narrow rail and braced one hand against the car’s ceiling.

Then, moving in complete silence, he pushed at the ceiling, dislodging one of the wooden tiles. He had tilted his head away, but Cassandra could see the dust and grime that fell off the tile.

He didn’t seem bothered, and instead, one hand still braced against the wall, one foot on either of the rails, he slowly slid the tile aside.

The elevator jarred again, this crash louder, more intense than the others.

Cassandra went careening against the wall but quickly reached for the rail to hold herself still and make as little noise as possible.

She recovered, and she lifted her phone toward the man, saw that he was still as he had been, his entire body unmoving.

The car shook yet again, this time the motions even more violent. Cassandra knew this was a tenuous position, one that only got more so with each time the elevator shifted.

It wouldn’t stand up too much more of this.

The man seemed to agree.

He looked at Cassandra then gestured toward her. She moved forward as quickly but as quietly as she could and handed him her cell phone.

He took it then slowly lifted it into the open ceiling.

It was again dark in the car, the faint light of the phone getting only fainter as Cassandra presumed the man looked around the elevator shaft.

What felt like hours later, but had only been seconds Cassandra knew, he handled her the phone and then braced himself against the wall.

His hands went into the hole in the ceiling first, followed by his head. He shifted his shoulders to look closer and then pulled the rest of his body up.

See, that was easy.

Cassandra told herself that, her attempt to pump herself up for what she knew would be a challenge.

But if he could do it, she could too. And what was more important was that she didn’t have another option.

She could stay here or, she realized with a stunning clarity that had been missing before, she could die.

She wouldn’t die.

CHAPTER THREE

Jack scanned the elevator shaft as quickly as he could, finding at least one piece of good fortune.

The shaft was pitch-dark, but using the woman’s cell phone, he’d spotted a network of ladders along the shaft wall.

His way out.

He doubted the newer part of the building would have them, but in old buildings like this, those ladders probably ran the length of the shaft, and he could use them to get out.

What would face him when he did was another question altogether. One he wouldn’t think of now.

He spotted the ladder he would use, one that was on the opposite side of the elevator car, somewhere between the eighth and ninth floors if the numbers on the wall were to be believed. He would circle the concrete beam that surrounded the elevator car and then climb down.

Jack was preparing to move, his mind completely focused on the exit in front of him, when he spotted the cell phone and then the slender brown hand it was attached to.

In the entire time inside the elevator, the woman hadn’t let the thing go. And she’d been shocked, visibly so, when he had told her he didn’t have one.

To his mind, the things were more trouble than they were worth. Who wanted someone to be able to contact them at any time? And besides, in Jack’s mind, there was nothing in the outside world worth being connected to.

But, at least in this moment, he could see the value of it.

The bright phone gave him a more complete view of the elevator shaft. And after glancing at it quickly, he looked back toward the car.

His first instinct was to go to her and pull her out, but he pushed that down.

Something was happening, something that was no good at all. Jack couldn’t afford to get involved, and he wouldn’t let anyone to slow him down.

Still, it was difficult to do nothing, not after so many years—a lifetime really—spent training and fighting to protect people who couldn’t or wouldn’t do it themselves.

So he stood frozen, a rare moment of indecision keeping him in place.

To his surprise, the woman’s head soon emerged from the elevator. He could see her face was sweaty, her expression one of complete focus as she pulled herself out of the car.

The squeeze was a little tight around her hip area, but she soon made her way out and onto the roof. But rather than stop or look relieved, the woman looked around wildly, her eyes searching.

She spotted Jack where he stood on the concrete and made her way to him.

She wasn’t as silent as he had been, but she was impressively quiet and even more impressively quick.

She reached out with one foot, then the other, and then worked herself onto the narrow concrete beam and slumped against the wall.

And she still had that damn phone in her hand.

Jack could see her relief at being out of the car.

She had tried to put on a brave face, but even without whatever had been trying to get into the elevator, he knew that the darkness and the confined space was starting to get to her. Him too, but he had more practice at hiding it.

She didn’t, and he could see that she was relieved.

He didn’t know how to tell her that her relief was misplaced.

Her journey, whatever was going to be, had just begun. He knew that whoever had been trying to get into that elevator was just the beginning of their problems. And they still needed to get out of here.

He nudged her, finding some grim humor at the way she jumped and then clung to the wall.

She looked at him with riotous eyes, her, What the fuck? as unmistakable as it would be if she’d said it out loud.

Jack shrugged, the most of an apology he would dare offer, and then gestured toward the phone.

She looked at him, thinking, and then slowly handed it over.

Jack took it and then made note of the battery. Looked to be about three quarters full. Jack again found himself impressed.

From what he had observed, people were attached to the damn things, and if ever there were time they actually needed them, they were either dead or close to it.

Good on her for giving herself at least a small advantage. In the end, the cell phone wouldn’t mean much, not if the nagging worry that filled Jack’s gut was anything to go by. But it might help.

And it would definitely help now.

Jack extended his arm and then moved the phone around the shaft.

The new illuminated view confirmed what he had suspected.

Though he could barely see over the edge of the car, Jack knew that the ladder was the way down.

He handed her the phone her back and she nodded curtly.

Jack didn’t bother to return the expression and turned toward the car.

He went to take a step but was stopped by her hand on his arm. He looked back at her and met questioning eyes.

Jack paused, studied the woman’s face.

Before, she had been a little nervous, maybe impatient to get out of the elevator. But when she had heard that first crash, he had seen pure panic—panic that, if he hadn’t acted quickly, would have gotten them killed.

It seemed she had recovered.

There was worry in her eyes and fear, but she wasn’t mindless.

Despite his better instincts, Jack decided then he would help her down the shaft.

After that, she was on her own.

He nodded toward the ladder then pointed down.

She looked at him, looked toward the ladder, then finally, down.

He could see from her expression that she didn’t exactly like that idea, but after a moment she nodded.

Jack then began to slide around the edge of the elevator shaft.

This first part would be okay. The concrete ledge was unobstructed and provided a solid, if narrow, path around the car.

But once he reached the final edge, he’d have to navigate around the protruding concrete barrier. There was about four-foot gap between the ladder and the concrete pillar. He’d have to make a jump for it.

Easy peasy for him. For her, not so much.

As he slid along the wall, he paused long enough to look down, the light from the cell phone illuminating her. She wasn’t wearing heels, but the flat suede boots she wore wouldn’t give her any traction.

Not his problem he reminded himself.

He focused on moving ahead.

He reached the protruding barrier in less than two minutes, and the woman kept up with him step for step.

She tucked her phone in her pocket, leaving them in the darkness, but Jack had enough sense of the elevator shaft to know where they were.

“Light,” he whispered.

A second later, the cell phone light again lit the shaft, the glow weak, barely enough, but he would make do. Jack paused, looked from the ladder to the barrier and then back again.

And then he turned, keeping his chest flush against the concrete. He stuck one leg out, groping for the ladder. When his foot found the metal, he breathed a little sigh of relief and then quickly reached over and hooked his elbow on it, then dragged the rest of his body across.

Fortunately, the ladder seemed sturdy and didn’t give it all when he put his full weight on it.

He looked up, saw the three floors ahead, identical to the ones below.

For a moment, he considered going up but then quickly dismissed the idea.

He didn’t know what he’d find up there, just like he didn’t know what he’d find down. But at least if he went down, he’d have a better chance at finding a way out.

When he heard a sharp intake of breath, he looked around.

The woman stared at the gap for a few seconds then began unbuttoning her shirt. Jack watched as she tucked the phone between her breasts, forcing himself not to linger but impressed with her quick thinking.

Jack crawled down, put himself well under where she would make her landing, and then pressed himself flat against the ladder.

Her hands would be free, but that was no guarantee. If she jumped and missed, she would either land on top of the elevator car and likely send it careening to the ground, or she would fall into the gap, landing on the floor. If that happened, Jack knew she would reach out, and if she caught him, her momentum might be enough to pull him off.

So he kept himself as flat as he could and then looked up, waiting.

* * *

Cassandra tried not to think about anything but the space in front of her. It was hard, especially since she could see the elevator from the corner of her eye, and just as easily imagine trying to reach for the ladder, missing, and cracking her head open.

She could see the news stories now: Semi-prominent Atlanta Attorney Found Dead at the Bottom of an Elevator Shaft. Details at Eleven.

No, that wouldn’t be pretty. Which meant she couldn’t miss.

She had been impressed with herself when she’d made it out of the elevator with relative ease. Maybe it had been the adrenaline, or maybe those few yoga classes her best friend had dragged her to had paid off, but though her shoulders burned ever so slightly, she was okay.

But this was different.

She thought she could make it, but she was wearing her kid-sole boots, boots that had cost a pretty penny but were designed for fashion and not function. The soles were slick and would give her no traction at all. She worried they would slip right off the metal and send her down, probably taking the man with her.

Not that she should have been concerned with him.

He hadn’t even given her hand to help her out of the elevator car. She told herself it was because he didn’t want to risk upsetting the car, but she suspected that wasn’t it.

Still, Cassandra tried to live a clean life and not mess with karma, though if today was anything to go by, she might need to step up her game.

Either way, rude or not, she didn’t want to be responsible for the man’s death.

Or her own.

So, after she had studied the space and shaft, she tried to formulate a plan. The gap looked to be about four feet, not that she had any experience trying to measure such things.

Still, though it was a distance, she suspected it was just short enough that she would be able to reach out for it. She gave a silent thanks to her father for his gift of height, the only thing he had ever given her. Then, after she took a deep breath, she moved.

She tipped as close to the concrete beam as she could and then moved her hands across. She could feel her balance giving as her hands got farther and farther away from her body, but she tightened her muscles and tried to make her legs solid, unmovable anchors.

She held them so tightly she could feel the strain, the heavy pull at her knees. But she didn’t stop. Instead, once she was certain she wouldn’t move, she slowly inched her hands across the rough concrete barrier. The material was cool to the touch and just a touch damp, rough against her palms. She tried to focus on that, on the way the concrete felt against her hands. It reminded her of exfoliating lotion, the rough bits of sand always pleasant to feel against her skin.

Cassandra couldn’t believe she was having this conversation with herself right now, but the alternative was to think about losing her grip and falling, the question of whether her arms were strong enough to support her. None of those would be helpful, so she let herself think her stupid thoughts as she reached for the ladder.

When she had stretched as far she could, she took a deep breath and then launched.

She swallowed the little shriek that bubbled up and then breathed a sigh of relief.

She wasn’t hurdling toward her death, and she hadn’t even kicked the man in the head.

Pity that, but she held the ladder tight and breathed.

She looked down at the man and didn’t see anything but the dark hair on the top of his head and the consuming darkness that was below.

He seemed to be studying something, though she couldn’t imagine what or how in the darkness of this elevator shaft. But after a moment, when Cassandra assumed he was satisfied, he started to move.

Cassandra’s legs were tense and her arms still burned, but she followed suit.

She could climb down a ladder at least.

The man moved fast, and Cassandra tried to keep up with him. But for some reason, as they got closer and closer to the bottom, her worry began to rise.

She’d been so focused on getting out of the elevator car and then on to the ladder, she had momentarily forgotten the reason she had to do either of those in the first place.

Someone had wanted into that elevator, someone she knew did not have good intentions for her. She hadn’t allowed herself to think about it before, but now she did. It hadn’t been a guard, and she doubted it was a civilian.

Which left her with one conclusion—some of the prisoners who were housed in the jail right next to the courthouse had gotten lose.

It was as plausible as anything and not at all unheard of. The question was, how had they been allowed to roam for so long, and why had no one come to the elevator to help?

The answers to those questions were key, and Cassandra didn’t know if she was ready to hear them.

She’d have to at some point, and some point soon, but for now, she focused on what mattered. And that was the fact that the elevator wasn’t shaking anymore and she was getting ever closer to the ground.

She looked down, noticed that the man had started to move faster and refocused on what she was doing.

Down, down, moving faster than she would have thought safe but far slower than the anxious nerves that were coming over her now wanted her to.

The man stopped, looked up at her, and though Cassandra couldn’t see his face, she assumed that he was communicating with her.

She looked down, again seeing nothing but blackness but knowing that they were close to the ground.

This building had at least one basement and probably many more subfloors that Cassandra didn’t know anything about.

She saw what appeared to be a door, and when she looked at the wall, she saw the crisp L that had been painted with black paint.

They had arrived.

CHAPTER FOUR

The door in the concrete cutout was about half the size of a regular door, which meant Jack would have to crouch as he went through it. Something he didn’t want to do, but something that was unavoidable.

So, after he stayed still for yet another moment, he turned the knob and pushed the door out, moving slowly, millimeter by millimeter. Fast would normally be his approach, but without knowing what was on the other side, silence seemed more important than speed.

When the door was finally open, he cautiously made his way through and breathed a sigh of relief when nothing immediately attacked him.

That sigh of relief was short-lived.

Almost instantly, Jack’s eyes landed on a figure.

He’d seen enough corpses to know he was looking at one.

But the presence of a body, one that, from what little Jack could see in the dim room, had experienced a massive amount of trauma, didn’t bode well for what he would find outside.

Jack listened as the woman followed and heard her sharp intake of breath.

He turned to look at her, ready to silence her if she again cried out.

She was quiet, still, but her eyes were wide as she took in the body.

Jack looked at her, and when he was certain she wouldn’t make any noise, he quietly closed the half door.

He let his gaze pass over the corpse and took in the disarray in the room.

This appeared to be a storage closet of some sort and had all manner of supplies.

There were countless rolls of toilet paper stacked against one wall and a variety of cleaning implements and cleansers. Jack spotted something in one corner and walked toward it slowly.

He got a surge of adrenaline when he realized that what he had spotted was a set of pipes, around eight inches, a little long to deliver the kind of force he would hope for, but far better than he could have imagined.

These appear to be old, the genuine article and not one of those new plastic things. Should it come to that, the pipes would serve him far better than the mops and brooms that he had been eyeing.

He picked one up, testing its weight in his hand.

He gave one tentative swing, familiarizing himself with the motion of the pipe.

He hooked a spray bottle of ammonia on his back pocket and then made his way toward the door.

From the corner of his eye, he saw the woman grab a pipe just as he had.

She held it tentatively, like she was more afraid it would hit her than she would hit anyone else.

Jack reached for the knob, and she ran up to him.

He looked back at her.

“What?” he whispered.

“Where we going?” she answered, breathing heavily but appearing calmer than he would have expected.

“We aren’t going anywhere. I’m getting the hell out of here.

“Now without me you aren’t.”

Even though the woman was afraid, she sounded absolutely certain of that.

That annoyed him.

If she had broken down, pleaded for his help, he would have been able to ignore it, but there was something about her certainty, that underlying strength he saw, that got to him.

He held her gaze with his.

“You get in my way, you slow me down, you’re on your own,” he said.

And though he whispered, he had no doubt that the woman heard him and that she understood.

She confirmed as much when she nodded curtly and dropped her hand, gripping the pipe tighter now and holding it with a little more authority.

Jack again reached for the door, and as he had with the other, he pulled it open slowly.

The sight that greeted him on the other side of the door was almost unimaginable.

The warning lights, powered by a generator he had no doubt, lit the hall—not as brightly as it would have been on a normal day but brightly enough for Jack to see what had happened.

Bright enough for him to see too much.

He stopped counting when he got to the twelfth body, if it could even be called that.

It was more like pieces, shapes that had once been human but were now mangled, and, if Jack thought right, chewed.

It didn’t make any sense.

But whether it made sense or not, his logic couldn’t argue with what his eyes were showing him. And what they showed him was that something awful, ungodly, had happened here.

The woman was so quiet that Jack looked back to check on her.

Her eyes were glued on one particular scene.

A man, or as best as Jack could guess, a man.

His face was unrecognizable. His arms and legs had been pulled from their sockets, and his guts spilled from the jagged hole that had been ripped into his abdomen. Jack guessed his chest had been cracked open, the reddish-white of what he could only assume were rib bones peeking through.

What was left of the man had been smeared along the floor, little bits and pieces creating a trail down the hall.

Jack followed that trail to the place where it ended and then looked in the opposite direction.

He glanced at the woman and nodded toward the closet they had just left.

* * *

The closet was barely lit, but Cassandra wished it was darker.

Anything to avoid seeing evidence of what had unfolded there, and there was no doubt in her mind that it had been horrible.

Something she knew she wasn’t supposed to see. Something no one else was either.

Cassandra had thought the closet stifling, far too reminiscent of the elevator, but she’d been happy to retreat to it

It would give her no refuge.

She knew that, but when the man silently closed the door and then propped the broom handle underneath it, she felt something like relief. Crazy, considering how not two minutes ago she been anxious to be out of that room, anxious to put the misshapen mass that had once had a person inside it out of her mind.

Now, Cassandra suspected this place was close to a haven as she would find. It wouldn’t last, but she would take it while she could.

When she looked at the man, she didn’t see any visible signs that he was shaken, at least not at first glance. But that alertness she had seen before had intensified, and had she had any doubt—and she’d had no doubt—she knew this situation was not good.

“What happened out there?” Cassandra asked, using the quietest voice she could muster.

She wasn’t really sure why she’d asked.

The man had been in the elevator with her, so he knew just as much she did, but speaking the words out loud gave her something to focus on, something that wasn’t the dead man on the floor, the others outside that door.

Whatever had done that to them.

“I don’t know. But we have to get out of here,” the man said.

On that point, they were in total agreement.

“Did you drive here?” he asked.

She nodded excitedly then slumped, the thought of going into the court’s basement garage to retrieve her car something her mind wasn’t ready to contemplate.

Even on the best, sunniest days, the place always gave her the creeps. Today, she didn’t know if she could deal with it. But if the alternative was staying here…

She brightened, remembering that the court had been so empty today that she had been able to find one of those coveted spaces right outside the front doors.

“Out front,” she said, her mind envisioning those hours before when everything had been different.

Not normal, but not this.

“Give me the key,” the man said.

His voice pulled Cassandra out of her thoughts, and she looked at him, studying him.

“I think I’ll hold onto them,” she said.

“Why?” he asked.

She thought her answer spoke for itself. He’d already tried to ditch her. If she gave him the keys, she could be in real trouble. And there was no way he was going to leave her here with no transportation, no idea what was going on. She didn’t know what he had planned, but she couldn’t dismiss the thought.

Her uncle had always told her she was too trusting, an odd characteristic for a hardened criminal defense attorney. Before, she might have even agreed with the assessment.

Not today.

“I could just take them from you,” he said.

He tossed the words off nonchalantly, like they were a statement of fact, but Cassandra wasn’t lulled.

He was testing her, and it was a test that she would most assuredly pass.

“You could try,” she replied.

She didn’t feel the need to expand on that statement. Of their own volition, her fingers tightened around the pipe.

She wasn’t sure if she’d have the nerve to use it and was even less sure that if she tried she would be successful. Everything about the man screamed competence, and if he wanted to relieve her of her unwieldy weapon, she was sure he would have no trouble. But she wouldn’t make it easy. The prospect of being here alone, with no car, was scarier than the thought of trying to take him on in hand-to-hand combat.

The man studied her, the dim emergency lights giving his intense expression even more intensity. After moment, he seemed to make a decision.

“If my car wasn’t four blocks away, I’d leave you. As it is, I’m stuck. But you’ll do as I say and move fast. If you slow me down…”

Cassandra didn’t miss the implication, but he wouldn’t have to worry about her slowing him down. She wanted nothing more than to be out of this place, and something told her he was the only way that was going to happen.

“What’s the best way out of here?” he said.

Cassandra was feeling jittery, more than little bit nervous, but she forced her mind to focus. The courthouse was laid out in a square with an annex building on either side, one housing administrative offices and the opposite annex—fourteen stories of it— containing the county jail.

After a series of embarrassing security incidents, the city had installed security checkpoints throughout the main floor. Or, they had started to. Much like many other projects, this one had gone incomplete for three years, if Cassandra could remember correctly. The west side of the building didn’t have the security checkpoints, and though it was farther away than the exit to their immediate left, it was a straight shot that got much less traffic, and Cassandra knew it was their way out.

“We go right,” she said. “The building is laid out on a square. There’s an exit door that feeds to the front lawn. My car is there,” she said.

“Why not left?” he asked, sounding suspicious.

“It’s quicker, but more people use it, and there’s a security checkpoint that could easily get barricaded. So if we go that way, we might not find an exit,” she said.

If Cassandra didn’t know any better, she would say the man looked impressed, but in the next breath he was all business.

“Hold tight to that key. Be ready to run,” he said.

She nodded, not bothering to tell him that she didn’t need the direction or the speech.

She fiddled in her pocket, momentary panic gripping her. She usually left her keys in her briefcase, but when they had crawled out of the elevator, she had taken a moment to grab them. A moment of foresight that was one of the few bonuses of this day.

Some of the tightness that had gripped her chest loosened when she closed her fingers around the odd-shaped key fob. She kept her hand closed around the black plastic but didn’t take the object out of her pocket. She didn’t want to risk losing it in the run or having it jarred out of her hand. It would be awkward keeping hold of it as she tried to move, but she wouldn’t let it go.

“Ready?” he asked.

“No,” she whispered.

He opened the door.

* * *

To the woman’s credit, she didn’t freak out when Jack open the door. He appreciated that, but he would have felt a lot better he’d had the keys himself. He understood her worry. He wouldn’t have given them up either. He wasn’t quite hard-assed enough to take them yet, but he hoped she kept up.

He pulled the door open slowly then looked left, right, left, then right again.

That same eerie silence that had been there before was still present, and the longer it lasted, the more jittery Jack got.

Everything about this was wrong.

Even without the carnage in the hallway, it would be wrong. From what he knew about this place, the courthouse served as a hub for a large portion of the city. If it was attacked or went dark, as it seemed to have, there would have been a reaction, and a strong one.

Unless the authorities were otherwise occupied.

Jack knew it was a mistake for people to wait for help, but this place was one he would expect to be well protected. That it wasn’t told him all that mattered at this point.

And what it meant was, like always, Jack would have to rely on himself.

When he was sure that what he could see of the hallway was clear, he emerged from the room.

And then he set off at a fast walk.

The woman kept pace, but even if she hadn’t been with him, Jack wouldn’t have broken into a full run. He wasn’t sure what was better in this situation, speed or stealth, so he took the middle ground, moving at a rapid clip but not so fast that he was uncontrolled and not able to react to whatever he might confront.

As he went down the seemingly endless hall, he noticed that the blood and spatter seem to get lighter and lighter. By the time they reached the corner, the floors were a pristine white, that same shiny marble that he had seen upstairs.

And in an instant, he knew why.

The woman had said the opposite side of the hall was more heavily trafficked, which meant that whatever had done that was probably attracted to sound. The remaining people left in the courtroom trying to rush out had probably gotten caught in a bottleneck.

Jack could guess at how that had turned out.

When he reached the corner, he stopped and peeked around. When he saw it was clear, he set off again, the woman a half step behind him.

He glanced back at her and she nodded forward, gesturing toward the illuminated exit sign and the single door underneath it.

Jack saw that there were no other doors, so he focused on the exit. It appeared structurally sound and fortunately didn’t have an alarm attached to it.

Still, Jack wouldn’t allow himself to get too hopeful. Instead, he sped up just a little bit more, and he the woman reached the door about ten seconds later.

He stopped, his heart pounding, adrenaline rushing through him, but his years of training taking over.

“Which car is yours?” he asked, speaking as loudly as he dared, which was nothing more than a whisper.

“The blue one. Compact electric right out front,” she said.

“Fast,” Jack said, his voice stern.

The woman nodded, and Jack opened the door.

And stepped into a nightmare.

CHAPTER FIVE

Jack was no stranger to death, no stranger to carnage. The years and the wars had inured him to all of it.

Or at least he’d thought so until that very moment.

But nothing he had seen before had prepared him for what he saw now.

Inside, the courthouse had been quiet, eerily so, but outside was another story altogether.

The silence inside had given way to absolute chaos.

In the distance he could hear sirens, smell the acrid smoke of fires. He heard what seemed like a never-ending series of gunshots, and the occasional deep, piercing scream.

But that was just the background soundtrack to the front lawn.

What he’d seen in the hallway couldn’t compare. That had been the aftermath, but he was witnessing this live.

He looked left and saw bodies packed tightly in a circle, the wet, squishy sound of gnawing and gnashing and chewing almost drowning out the sirens and the shots and the screams.

It was dark out, but not so dark that Jack couldn’t see what this pack was feasting on.

A person.

The person’s legs were intact, his shoes oddly pristine, his pants still creased.

But were it not for those shoes and the crisp crease in the pants, Jack wouldn’t have known it was a person at all. Because where the rest of him should have been—his thighs, his abdomen, his chest—there was almost nothing.

The man had been hollowed out and eaten by the people who were on top of him, or what he used to be.

The woman’s sharp inhale snapped him out of stillness.

He drew his eyes away from the tailored pants, overlooked the other scenes that were so similar playing out in front of him, and spotted the glossy paint of the compact car she had described.

It was close, maybe fifty yards away, but in that moment, it felt like miles.

But Jack moved into action.

He’d already wasted too much time, and he didn’t know how long those things would be distracted by their current meal. Not to mention, he had about thirty others to contend with, all in little clusters on the lawn.

He remembered earlier when he had come in how he had thought the nicely manicured lawn was one of the only good things he had seen in the city.

Not anymore.

Now, that formally nicely manicured lawn was the scene of unspeakable horror.

Jack would use that to his advantage.

Before there had been a question of speed versus stealth, but now, Jack went for stealth.

He set off in a run, and the woman followed behind him.

He tried to look everywhere, keeping the car in his periphery as he searched the area for threats.

There were many, far too many for him to try to handle, so his only hope was that he reached the car before they noticed he and the woman were there.

The car was getting closer, closer still, and Jack pushed himself harder, trying to run faster.

He reached the car about two seconds before the woman did.

They had both gone to the driver’s side, and when she stopped in front of the car, the locks disengaged.

To Jack, it sounded eerily like a dinner bell, and the occupants of the front lawn seemed to agree.

At the sound, they looked up, moving almost in unison and just as quickly narrowing in on Jack and the woman.

“Hurry,” he said firmly, not yelling, but hoping that she understood the seriousness of the situation.

She pulled the door open and crawled across the console, her height and size making her motions looked unwieldy though she moved with deceptive speed.

Jack wasted no time getting in beside her and trying to pull the door closed.

“Key!” he said.

Instead of handing him the key, the woman groped under the steering wheel, and then pushed the button.

The car spring to life, and when Jack slammed his foot on the brake, the woman reached for the gearshift and put the car in reverse.

The black screen in the middle console lit up, and Jack could see that someone was behind him. The camera was grainy, but Jack didn’t need a crystal-clear image to know that something was wrong.

Everything about the way the person moved was awkward, odd.

Human, but also not.

Jack didn’t know whether it was a man or woman, the gore and injuries on the body obscuring the thing’s sex.

He slammed on the gas.

The car rolled over the thing, and it didn’t make a sound.

He put the car in drive but looked in the rearview mirror and saw that the thing was standing up.

That shouldn’t have been possible, not with what looked like two broken legs, but it was happening, and when Jack locked eyes with the thing, he saw nothing behind those eyes but pure malice.

He slammed on the gas, driving the little compact as fast as it would go.

“You hit that person!” the woman screamed, sounding as close to hysterical as Jack had heard her.

He didn’t bother to look at her, instead intent on focusing on the road, but he did speak.

“That wasn’t a person.”

* * *

“Wasn’t a person?” Cassandra said.

Though she was asking a question, Cassandra knew she hadn’t misheard him. She wished she had, much like she wished she hadn’t seen what she had on the courthouse lawn.

But wishing wouldn’t make it go away.

Cassandra tried to wrap her mind around what she had seen, what she had heard. She wasn’t able to.

In the hours since she had entered the building, it felt like the entire world had changed.

But that couldn’t be the case. It just couldn’t be.

She pressed the buttons on the radio, scrolling through until she found a news station.

When she did, words she never thought she’d hear blasted over the air.

“This is not a test.”

“Oh, God,” she said.

She went quiet as quickly as she had spoken though, refusing to give in to panic.

“Hold it together,” the man said.

“I will,” she said.

She wished she felt as confident as she sounded, but this was yet another case where wishing would do her no good.

So instead, she tried to focus on what she knew, which was precious little.

From what she could see, her formally quaint little section of town had descended into madness. The windows of her favorite coffee shop had been broken out, and she saw another one of those piles of bloody flesh that used to be a person in front of it.

There were several small fires in trash cans, but Cassandra knew those would soon spread.

Those signs of disorder, disarray, were nothing in the face of the others.

She’d seen those clusters, those packs of what looked like people eating other people.

She had tried to ignore it, but seeing scenes like this over and over again as the man maneuvered her small car through the cluttered streets was almost too much for her mind to fathom.

She couldn’t seem to draw her eyes away, though she didn’t want to look.

Finally, when she landed on a small hand, spotted what looked to be a little pink bag splattered with what she knew was blood, she turned away.

She focused on the man, trying to mimic his stoicism and failing miserably. And then, finally, she asked the question that she prayed someone would be able to answer.

“What the hell is going on?”

CHAPTER SIX

Cassandra didn’t really expect an answer, and the man didn’t give her one.

Besides, there wasn’t an answer, not one that would make any sense. Not one that would make what she had seen more believable, more bearable.

So, since she didn’t know what was happening, and the recorded broadcast on the radio wasn’t telling her anything else, she focused on what she could control in this moment.

The man was barely moving fifteen miles an hour. The streets were strewn with litter, the remnants of car crashes and more of those stains on the asphalt that Cassandra knew had once been people.

She ignored them all and said a silent prayer of thanks that she had ignored her uncle’s teasing and gone with the compact electric rather than 4 x 4 he had been pushing on her.

No way anything bigger than her compact would have been able to make it through this mess, and what the vehicle lacked in power it made up for in maneuverability, which was what it seemed they needed at this moment.

Cassandra turned and spotted her neglected gym bag on the backseat. She grabbed it and rummaged through, grateful when she found her sneakers.

She’d picked them mostly for the fashion, the bright neon colors appealing to her eye and giving her a bad-ass look when she paired them with the perfectly coordinated pants and top. She had no idea if they were functional, but they had proven more than enough for her attempts at working out, and if nothing else, they would be far better than her boots.

She slid the car seat back as far as it would go and then kicked the boots off her feet, unwilling to touch them, unwilling to really look at them. She had no idea what was on them.

That wasn’t true.

She knew exactly what was on them, and thinking about that made her shiver. She quickly stuffed her feet into the sneakers and then kicked the boots underneath the seat.

Next, she went to the gym bag and wrapped her fingers around a bottle of water.

Her friends teased her for still using plastic, but in this moment, she was grateful.

“Here,” she said to the man.

He looked at her quickly and then grabbed the water from her hand.

She listened as he opened the cap, took two long swallows, and then handed the bottle back to her.

“There’s more. In the trunk,” she said.

He nodded but then pushed the bottle at her again.

She took it and then tentatively sipped, letting the room temperature water wet her dry mouth. She was feeling queasy and worried that even the sips of water would make her stomach rebel.

To her surprise, the water was refreshing and only made her realize how thirsty she had been. She took a few more sips and then closed the water.

She went back into her gym bag, scrounging around the bottom before she pulled out a wrapped granola bar.

“Here,” she said.

She opened the package and then offered the bar to the man. He took half, swallowed it down in two bites.

“You can have the rest,” she said.

“No, you should eat it,” he said.

“I’m not hungry,” she said.

“You aren’t now, but that might be the last food you see for a while. You should eat,” he said.

The man spoke truth, but hearing the words made her stomach clench. Still, she pushed past that feeling and ate the granola bar, chewing quickly. As had been the case with the water, eating it made her realize how hungry she had been, and by the time she finished it, she felt almost human.

“Where we going?” she asked.

From what she could see they were about three miles away from the courthouse. This was one of the nicer areas of the city with larger homes on larger lots.

“We need to get away from the city,” he said.

“Yeah,” she replied. “Maybe there’s some kind of shelter or something,” she said.

Before he even said anything, she knew that wouldn’t fly. He confirmed it with his next words.

“No. No shelter,” he said.

“Why?” she asked.

“Because shelter means people, and people mean danger. Haven’t you figure that out yet?” he asked.

“All I know is that you ran over somebody,” she snapped.

“What do you think that somebody would have done to us if I’d give it the chance?” he asked.

Cassandra had no answer, and she didn’t even try to argue. She didn’t want to accept it, but she knew what the man said was true. Still, they needed a plan.

“So are we going to go?” she asked.

“West,” he said.

“What’s west?”

“It doesn’t matter what’s west. What matters is what’s not west. And this is not west,” he said.

“You’re not making any sense. Something is going on, and we have to—”

Cassandra’s words died in her throat when she looked up ahead.

CHAPTER SEVEN

Shit.

Almost instantly, Jack realized what he had done, but that realization came too late.

There was no time to reverse, and there was no way he could maneuver around the Humvee that blocked the road.

He hadn’t liked being in the open like that, exposed, but he still didn’t know what he was dealing with, and he’d meant it when he told the woman they needed to be away from people.

But he’d been so distracted that he’d driven them directly into a trap.

“Get out of the vehicle.”

The firm voice came across the speaker system that Jack knew was installed in the Humvee, and he cringed. If that woman’s car locks had been like ringing the dinner bell, he didn’t want to think about the attention the speaker would draw.

He didn’t want to risk them using it again, so he got out of the car. The woman followed suit.

“Soldier,” Jack said, nodding at the man sitting on the passenger side of the Humvee holding the intercom.

Jack pegged the man at about ten years younger than his thirty-five, and he could clearly see he was the oldest of the crew. Jack spotted two others and the driver in front and figured there was an equal number in the vehicle behind, though he didn’t look.

However many there were, Jack was outnumbered, and without a weapon, he had no shot. When a man in the passenger side got out of the vehicle, Jack figured he had made the same calculation.

He walked toward Jack and the woman briskly, looking businesslike, almost impatient.

“There’s a curfew. Why are you on the streets?” he asked.

“We didn’t know about a curfew,” Jack said.

“Where the fuck have you been?” he asked.

Jack heard the snickers from a few the man behind and risked taking his eyes off the guy in front to look. Three others had gotten out of the vehicle.

“We got trapped in an elevator. Only just managed to get out,” Jack said.

“Aren’t you lucky?” he said.

“We hope so,” Jack responded, knowing the solider picked up on what he was asking.

The man didn’t respond but instead walked around the vehicle and came to stop next to the woman.

He studied her intently but then looked back to the vehicle.

“Your car is in good shape,” he said.

“Yeah, like a said, we just got out of an elevator,” Jack said.

“Well, I hate to be the bearer of bad news. We’re in some deep shit. The president has declared martial law,” the solider said.

“What kind of shit?” Jack asked.

“The kind there’s no getting out of,” came the reply.

“Is there something we can do to help?” the woman asked.

He looked at her and noticed that her expression seemed worried but also optimistic.

“That’s an interesting question,” the soldier said.

There was no way the woman missed the implication of his words, but she overlooked it.

“We have some water on the backseat. A couple of granola bars. It’s not a lot, but if it would help…”

“Is that all you have to offer?” he asked.

“You can take the car,” Jack said.

That got the soldier’s attention and he looked from the woman to Jack.

“What am I supposed to do this piece of shit?” he asked.

“It’s electric. I figure some smart guys like you could do something with that much battery power,” Jack said.

“Electric, huh?” the soldier said.

He circled the vehicle, looking at it.

“Where’s the water?” he said.

He’d come to a stop next to the woman again and stood close to her as she opened the door and reached into the backseat.

“Here’s some. And there’s more the trunk,” she said.

“Roberts!” the soldier called. He could see the woman wanted to flinch, but she kept it together. “Get this car.”

“We appreciate your patriotism,” he said, still standing close to the woman.

“You’re welcome,” she responded. She sounded a little bit afraid but was holding it together admirably.

“Can you point us in the direction of the nearest shelter?” Jack asked.

“East. Everybody’s in that huge church that has a coffee shop in the lobby,” the solider said.

“I know it,” woman whispered.

“Well, good luck,” soldier said. “I’d be sad to see anything happen to you.”

“I’m sure I’ll be fine. I hope the water helps,” she said.

Then, without looking at Jack, she started to walk away.

He took her cue and followed.

He could feel the soldiers watching as they walked away, but, mirroring the woman, he didn’t look back.

That had been close, on the verge of getting ugly, and he didn’t want to exacerbate it.

He also didn’t like the idea of being out here, exposed, but he’d make the best of it.

Jack kept walking without looking back until he heard the Humvee crank, no doubt to get back into position for the next person that might come along.

At the same time, he tried to keep his eyes open, to take in everything that he possibly could.

So far, the street had been deserted, and as they walked, he saw nothing. Everything on the street looked pristine, like it was any old normal, quiet day.

It wasn’t, and Jack felt even more urgency than he had before. Things might look good here, but he knew everything could change in an instant.

He needed to be ready.

He didn’t know if he could be.

They kept walking and had made it about a mile from Jack’s best guess.

“I have to go to the bathroom,” the woman said.

She hadn’t spoken since they’d left the soldiers, and Jack had been too lost in his own thoughts to say anything.

“We need to keep moving,” he said.

“We need stop,” she responded.

He hated that she argued with him, but he also knew that she had a point.

He looked around, noticed that the neighborhood had again changed. The houses were still very nice but were even more spread out. Now, instead of the manicured lots, these were larger with some lawn and lots of trees.

Maybe this wasn’t such a bad idea. They’d have to stop at some point, and Jack needed some time to think, plan.

“Up here,” he said pointing ahead.

CHAPTER EIGHT

Cassandra was relieved he seemed to be agree with her.

She was exhausted, cold, and she had to pee more than she ever had in her entire life. That made for an interesting combination, and given the come down from the adrenaline that had been spiking, she felt completely worn out.

He walked toward a house that was set off in a far a lot, trees surrounding each side and no houses in the immediate vicinity.

It looked deserted, and Cassandra deeply hoped it was. She didn’t know how much longer she could keep going, but she also didn’t know what to expect when she ran into other people. It was best if there was no one there.

It was early, the first rays of sun just beginning to come over the horizon. Cassandra could hardly believe that it had been so many hours since she had first entered that elevator, but the dawning of the new day was undeniable.

She stayed close to the man as he made his way around the house, noticed how he seemed to look at everything all at once.

He lifted a finger to indicate she stay silent and then walked toward the garage.

It was more of a carport, an open area with no cars inside.

That was a good sign, but the man didn’t seem swayed by it. Instead he grabbed a wrench that had been haphazardly thrown on a workbench and then walked to the garage door.

Cassandra remembered that this had been her idea, remembered that they needed to stop, and tried to swallow down the fear that was creeping over her. There was no way she wanted to go inside there not knowing what was on the other side of the door, not able to imagine seeing another one of those things.

But the alternative was to be out here alone, and she still believed the man when he said if she slowed him down, she would be on her own.

That couldn’t happen, so instead she grabbed the hammer that had been lying next to the wrench and followed him.

He crept to the garage door and turned the knob.

To her surprise, the door gave.

When the man pushed on it, it creaked, the sound loud, seeming to split the air.

The man stilled and then waited, listening.

Cassandra found herself listening too, every inch of her intently focused on anything she might hear.

But all she heard was silence, and apparently it satisfied the man.

He pushed the door open the rest of the way and then paused to look at her.

He lifted his finger to his mouth again, and Cassandra nodded that she understood.

She might pee her pants, but she wouldn’t make a sound.

The house had looked modest from the outside. Its all brick exterior was common for the area, but when Cassandra first glimpsed the shiny floors, she spotted it for what it was.

It was one of those places that had been remodeled, probably ripped down to the studs on the inside and built back up, while keeping the neighborhood’s integrity.

And as was the case with so many houses like it, the recent renovation meant that all of the walls and rooms that you would ordinarily see in an original house from the era had been replaced.

Thank God for open concept, Cassandra thought.

From their spot in the garage door, they could see the living room, the French doors that undoubtedly let out to a patio, and the wide-open kitchen.

The place was in disarray, but not like what Cassandra had seen outside. The pantry door stood wide open, and from what she could see it had been emptied.

She followed behind the man, taking in the rest of the place. Several photo albums were laid out on the shiny wood floors, and Cassandra could see a dark spot on the wall where she presumed a picture had been.

When they reached the hallway, the man looked at her then looked at the light switch on the wall. She nodded, and he flipped the switch.

No power.

That shouldn’t have surprised her or disappointed her, but the darkness was daunting—and also a reminder that this was really happening.

Not like she needed one.

One small ray of hope was the fact that the new open concept also included skylights in the hallway.

It was still not quite light yet, but the first morning rays gave the hallway some measure of illumination.

She moved down it slowly, following in the man’s footsteps.

She counted three doors. Two on one side, one on the opposite side.

He stopped at the first and peered inside.

He kept moving without looking back at her, and when Cassandra passed it, she saw that it was a small half bathroom.

He kept going and then stopped at the next door in the hall.

The door had been closed, and he stopped at it, looked at her, and nodded toward the opposite wall.

Catching his meaning, Cassandra stepped aside and held her breath as he kicked the door.

The shattering of the wood was surprisingly soft, and even better, Cassandra didn’t hear anything stir after the noise.

The man peeked into the room and then went in deeper.

When he was out of sight, Cassandra thought her heart might stop, but he came out a second later and then headed toward the final door.

She glimpsed into the room as she passed it and noticed that it was a small bedroom that seemed to be used as a storage or craft space.

And more importantly, it was empty.

When he reached the final door on the hall, this one opposite the two others, he stood on the opposite wall before he kicked in the door.

Also like before, when he was out of sight, Cassandra’s heart stopped.

Again he emerged, and Cassandra breathed a sigh of relief.

“It’s empty,” he said.

She slumped against the wall, her knees threatening to give out if she left them. “Thank God,” she said.

“They left in a hurry,” the man said.

“Yeah, I saw that,” she responded.

He walked past her, and again she found herself following. She stayed in the living room, though, as he went to the garage door and locked it, then moved to the front door and did the same.

Finally, he went to the French doors and called, “Patio.”

“Yeah,” she responded again.

For one who enjoyed talking as much she did, she seemed at a loss for words.

“Let’s see what’s in the kitchen and then get out of sight,” he said.

“Right,” she responded.

After hearing what he said, she felt exposed in a way she hadn’t before. That made sense. She had seen the white bank of windows flanking either side of the patio doors, but it hadn’t quite connected to her that meant that someone might see them.

She really needed to get her head on straight and start thinking. She’d held onto the tiny grains of hope that this would pass, that it wasn’t really as bad as it seemed, but that had been a fool’s errand and a mistake she would not make again.

But instead of dwelling on that, she followed the man to the kitchen, and still moving quietly, opened and closed the drawers and cabinets on one side while he worked at the other. They met in the middle, and Cassandra lifted her prizes, which consisted of a jar of bacon bits, a half jar of olives, and three slices of wheat bread. The man lifted a container of hummus that looked like it had been opened.

“Looks like were having Greek for breakfast,” the man said.

They took their spoils and headed to the hallway, sitting such that they could see the garage door and front door but might not be visible to someone outside of the house.

They ate in silence, Cassandra finding the bread and hummus and olives almost choking her but still swallowing them down.

They finished the meal by sharing a diet soda, and then once they were done, Cassandra leaned against the wall and studied the man.

He was not looking at her, but Cassandra had no doubt that he was aware of her perusal.

“Good work back there,” he said.

“Where?” she asked, somewhat surprised that he had spoken.

“With the soldiers,” he said.

Cassandra shook her head. “Yeah, I know a shakedown when I see one,” she said. “Why did you give them the car?”

“Would you prefer they take something else?”

His words were yet another splash of reality. And though the words weren’t kind, Cassandra couldn’t bring herself to be angry with him, not when what he said was true.

“Besides,” he said, continuing, “that electric car wasn’t going to get us very far.”

“No,” she said.

She went quiet then and again studied him.

“What’s your name?” she asked.

“Why does that matter?” he responded.

“I just want to know who to thank,” she said.

He looked at her, surprised.

“Jackson Thorne,” he said.

“Please to meet you, Jackson,” she said.

“Jack,” he said.

“Pleased to meet you, Jack. I’m Cassandra Rutgers,” she said.

He stood, studying the place. “Get some sleep, Cassandra.”

Doing so seemed impossible, but as the seconds ticked by, Cassandra found herself falling into a deep sleep.

CHAPTER NINE

Jack had thought the woman, Cassandra, would argue, and he was relieved when she fell asleep without protest.

All things considered, she wasn’t the worst person he could have gotten saddled with, but he needed a clear head to assess the situation.

There was no way around it, no way to deny it, but the shit had hit the fan and he’d been caught unawares.

He cursed himself for that, knew that he of all people should know better than to ever let that happen, but here he found himself. If someone else had told the story, he’d laugh at his stupidity. He’d seen the signs, but he’d let himself get stuck in the city and gotten saddled with a civilian along the way.

A series of disastrous fuckups that Jack might not recover from.

He had to be smarter, and that would start now.

He did another search of the house, looking for something he might have missed during his first round, not expecting to find a weapon but hoping nonetheless.

He didn’t.

The closest thing he found was an emergency kit that had a flare gun, one of those thermal blankets, some ointments and Band-Aids, and two flashlights.

It wasn’t much, but Jack would make do.

He needed transportation but suspected that would be harder to come by, but that was another problem he’d have to deal with when he came to it.

About two hours after they had arrived, he looked at the woman in the hallway and thought about leaving. It would be easier for him if he did, and he moved faster with no one to worry about.

Reason told him that that would be the smart play, the one most likely to keep his ass out of the fire, but he couldn’t do that.

It made him think maybe he wasn’t as heartless as his ex had told him he was, or maybe he had just gone soft. But either way, he felt responsible for her. At least for now. He’d see that she got somewhere safe, though he had no idea where that might be, and then be on his way.

He considered letting her sleep longer but knew that they were burning daylight and needed to get moving. Things were quiet now, but he couldn’t count on that lasting.

He leaned down and shook her, and she startled awake quickly, clasping her surprisingly slender fingers around the hammer.

“Is everything okay?” she asked.

She seemed to be one of those people who could go from asleep to completely lucid in an instant, something that was positive.

“Yeah, but we need to go,” he said.

She nodded and then stood, stretching.

“Did you sleep?” she asked.

“No. But we need to go,” he said.

“Okay,” she responded.

She excused herself for a moment to go to the bathroom again and then she met him back in the hallway. She made quite the funny sight, her professional lawyer’s suit and the bright neon sneakers, but she didn’t look too worse for the wear.

“You find a vehicle?” she asked.

“No. We’re on foot,” he said.

“Where are we going?” she asked.

“I’m going to Montana. But I’ll get you somewhere safe before I do,” he said.

She looked immeasurably relieved at his words, but that relief was gone an instant.

“Is there such a place?” she asked.

He had no answer, so he just looked at her. She looked back, her expression not telling him anything, though he could see her mind was working.

“I have an idea,” she said.

“What?” Jack asked. He looked at her warily, not sure that he liked the sound of that, nor the excitement that he saw in her face.

She left, moving quickly to the first room in the hall, and then she came back.

She lifted the helmet and then smiled at him. “How about a ride?” she asked.

CHAPTER TEN

“Jack, it’s the right move,” Cassandra said.

He didn’t have to say anything to make it clear he didn’t agree with her. She’d barely been able to convince him to take five minutes to hear out, and now that she had, she didn’t know that she was gaining any ground.

“Think about it. You want to go to Montana. Montana’s west. So is my family’s place. If we go there, you can get supplies, maybe find out what the hell is going on, and then be on your way,” she said.

“And you want to make this trip to your folks on bicycles. An eighty-mile trip,” he said.

“Yeah. It’s the best way,” she said, nodding emphatically.

She’d spotted the helmet in the craft room but hadn’t paid it too much attention. But when he’d mentioned leaving, she thought she saw a solution.

She found the helmet, and even better, maps, one of which was spread out on the craft table with Jack studying it.

“These trails go for more than a hundred miles. They can take us from here to there. Plus, no people,” she said.

It seemed insane to her that she could so easily buy into the idea that people needed to be avoided, but after that shit with the soldiers, she knew that was the case. And besides, there might be more of those things.

Zombies.

She needed to accept that that was what they were, but it was hard.

All of this was hard.

But if she made it to her family, at least she would be with people she cared about and try get through this.

“And you really think you’re capable of biking eighty miles?” he asked.

“No, but I’m more capable of that than I am just staying here waiting to die.”

He looked at her and then looked back at the map. Cassandra had traced the path that she knew would be most efficient, and she looked at him as he looked at it.

“If we do this, we can’t go through the city,” he said.

“It’s not optimal, but it’s the most direct way,” she said.

“Sometimes direct is not best. We go up and around,” he said, tracing a path around the big suburb.

“That’s hilly terrain,” she said.

“We’ll make do,” he said.

“So you agree? This is the plan,” she said.

“This is the plan,” he responded.

Cassandra kept her smiled to herself and instead made her way back to the kitchen.

She found a backpack that she filled with any supplies that she could find. There were two bottles of water, the rest of the olives, one can of baked beans, and Jack had found the emergency kit and flare gun.

Cassandra split the supplies evenly between the packs and added a stack of candles to each.

Then, after they had both secure their packs to their backs, they went to the garage.

The bikes were in pristine shape. Cassandra hadn’t been on a bike in she didn’t remember how many years, but she recognize that these were well cared for, top-of-the-line. There also surprisingly light, which she hoped would be to their benefit.

“Do we walk or ride?” she asked.

“Were going to walk these out of the neighborhood and back into the park. Once we hit the trail, will ride, but until then we’re on foot.

“Okay,” she said.

She remembered his words from earlier and a very quick lesson he had given her about being light on her feet and not disturbing the underbrush.

She doubted it was something she would be able to put it into practice quickly, especially not with the bike in her hands, but as they walked, she tried to be as quiet as she could possibly be.

Somehow, when they had been inside that house, there was some distance from everything that was happening, which gave her the ability to maybe think things weren’t as bad as they seemed. But now that they were back outside again, that illusion had again been erased.

Ordinarily, this neighborhood would be teeming with parents on their way to work, kids on their way to school, signs of life.

Something.

There was nothing—only that silence that seemed like a living thing, the smell of smoke, more gunshots. Screams.

Always screams.

It was unsettling to say the least, and Cassandra didn’t think of herself as a person who is easily unsettled. She wished she could be more like Jack, more stoic, less affected by what was going on around her, but her mind was swirling. She couldn’t really process this, didn’t know what this was. At least not yet.

He’d found an emergency radio in the kit, but it hadn’t proven useful.

That same message had been playing over and over again, and Cassandra couldn’t help but wonder if there was anyone behind it.

Probably not.

“The world really does go this fast,” she whispered, disbelief almost freezing her in place.

Jack took a moment to look back at her, and then he nodded.

CHAPTER ELEVEN

The first couple of miles of the trip were precarious.

They were making far too much noise for Jack’s comfort. Some of it was unavoidable. It was difficult to maneuver the bikes through the leafy underbrush.

Some of it was also because of Cassandra. She didn’t complain and tried her best to keep up, but in her business suit and sneakers that were meant to be seen and not necessarily used, she was at a distinct disadvantage. Add to that the bike, which was light but awkward, and she was struggling.

Jack considered taking the bike from her but knew that wasn’t an option. He needed at least one of his hands free, and if she was going to make it, she needed to take care of herself.

But, as the trip continued, it got a little bit better.

The terrain was still rough, but they were moving farther and farther away from population centers.

Jack worried that the trail Cassandra had mentioned might be overrun, but so far, they hadn’t seen another person.

Fine by Jack, and something he hoped continued.

He knew this luck wouldn’t hold out. It was statistically impossible to think that it would, but he would take advantage of it as long as he had it.

He was starting to feel the effects of being awake for so long, but he pushed past it, and drank half a diet soda that he shared with Cassandra hoping that the little bit of caffeine would give him the extra push he needed.

“Up there,” Cassandra whispered.

He looked in the direction she was pointing and spotted the beginning of the trail. It was the first little plaque that marked some Civil War battle. Beyond that, he saw the signs that pointed toward the trail.

He stopped, and without prompting, Cassandra stopped as well. They paused, looked, listened, seeing if there was anything he could hear.

When he was satisfied there was nothing, he continued toward the trail, and Cassandra followed behind him.

They came through the woods and finally landed on the more well-worn earth.

The trail had some sticks and leaves that he noticed, but it looked relatively well-maintained.

“Let’s try to bike,” he said.

Cassandra looked relieved, but she didn’t express that feeling in word. Instead she set the bike down, and after she examined it, she reached for that helmet that she hadn’t let go of this whole time and popped it on her head.

“You really think a helmet is necessary now?” he asked.

“Safety first,” she responded with a quick smile.

Then she pushed herself onto the bike. It was a little bit too short for her, but of the two, it had been the better fit. He watched as she tucked her pant legs into the trouser socks she wore and then looked at him expectantly.

“Let’s keep it slow. Stay close. Look out for any obstructions on the trail,” he said.

She nodded, and after he got on his bike, they took off.

* * *

The first hour of the ride was uneventful, but by the second, Jack could see that the constant motion was beginning to wear on her. She didn’t say anything though, and Jack decided that he wouldn’t either. Every rotation of those wheels put them farther away from the city, and they couldn’t get away fast enough as far as he was concerned.

He was pushing, hard, but that was what he needed to do. The sooner he finished this ride, got Cassandra where she needed to go and got what he needed to continue with his trip, the happier he would be.

“Jack,” Cassandra said during the third hour of the ride.

“Yeah,” he called from the bike that was just slightly ahead of hers. They had decided to ride side by side in the middle of the road. He didn’t like being out in the open, but the position gave him a better view of anything that might lay ahead and made them slightly less assessable to anything that might jump out of the woods.

“I need to stop,” she said.

She’d held out longer than he’d thought, so he nodded.

“Okay. Up ahead,” he said, nodding toward a section of trees.

They pedaled toward it, and when they reached the edge of the trail, Jack got off the bike and then looked around.

The area seemed quiet and undisturbed, and he nodded at Cassandra, who then dismounted and walked her bike to the tree.

She was careful when she leaned it against the tree but far less careful when she popped her own body on the ground.

It was a little chilly out, but not too bad, and he could see her exhaustion.

“You holding up?” he asked.

“I’m fine,” she responded.

A lie, but he appreciated she had made the effort.

After he again looked around the clearing, he sat next to her and then offered her the half of a diet soda.

She took it and drank it eagerly, her expression one of near ecstasy.

“I used to take ice for granted,” she said. “Not anymore.”

“So I guess that means something good has come out of this,” he said.

“No,” she said. “Nothing. What do you think this is?”

He had been turning that question over and over in his head, trying to come up with some conclusion, wanting to avoid the one that was obvious but knowing that he couldn’t.

“It’s nothing good, Cassandra,” he said.

“I know,” she responded. “That’s not an answer.”

“What do you want me to say?” he asked.

“I want you to say what you think it is,” she responded.

“You’ll think I’m nuts,” he said.

“After this, I don’t think so,” she said.

“I think they’re zombies,” he said.

He didn’t think it, he was certain, but saying something so outrageous out loud was quite different than thinking it.

“I think so too,” she whispered.

Her voice sounded heartbroken, but what Jack didn’t hear was anything that sounded like doubt.

“How is that possible?” she asked.

“I have no idea. I don’t even know that it’s possible, but it’s happening,” he said.

“I can’t believe this,” she said.

“If those soldiers have already started looting, what do you think that means?” she asked.

“It means that I wouldn’t expect help to be coming anytime soon,” he said.

Even saying the words left him empty but did nothing to alleviate his certainty. This was a very, very bad, and anyone who hoped to make it would have to do so on their own.

“You really think it’s all gone?” she asked.

“I don’t know. I hope not. But if it is, you have to be ready,” he said.

“How do you get ready for something like that?” she asked.

“I don’t know,” he responded.

CHAPTER TWELVE

At first Cassandra had thought her feet would fall off, but thankfully, they had gone numb. Now, she was worried about her hips. The pain in them was excruciating. Her thighs were fine, but that motion, sitting on that small uncomfortable seat for so many unbroken hours, was taking its toll.

The pain was so intense that every time she moved, she thought she might cry, but she wouldn’t do that. She wouldn’t dare.

Jack didn’t seem to be in any pain at all, and she wouldn’t let him see hers.

She wasn’t sure why was important that he respected her, and maybe it wasn’t that at all. Maybe she was doing this for herself.

She’d taken what he’d said to heart.

No help was coming.

She knew it was true.

They were on their own.

She was on her own.

The only way she would make it was through her own wits and her own guile.

Which meant something as simple and stupid as a pain in her hip or numb feet she thought would fall off was unimportant.

Jack laughed at her for wearing the helmet, but as evening began to approach, she was glad she had.

Something about it connected her to normalcy, made it easier for her to pretend that this was just an ordinary day. She could easily imagine her best friend, the one she didn’t know what had happened to and the one who wondered if she ever would, challenging her to something like this. She could hear it now. “Cassandra, let’s take an eighty-mile bike ride!”

And Cassandra was never one to turn down a dare even though she would rather do anything but. So, she told herself that this was what this was. Just another crazy adventure, one that she would tell stories and laugh about later.

And she kept telling herself back, kept talking to herself, reminding herself that this was the only way she would get to see her aunt and uncle again.

She hadn’t allowed herself to think about them.

Couldn’t let herself.

Some part of her still held out hope that maybe Jack had been wrong. Maybe this was local, or maybe something that was only happening in big cities. She couldn’t allow herself to think anything else, couldn’t accept the idea that she would never see her family again—that she would never get to tell them good-bye or say she was sorry.

She couldn’t let that happen, so she would do anything to make sure it didn’t.

When she wasn’t giving herself little pep talks, she tried to pay attention to the surroundings, though she found that her mind was wandering far more than she wanted it to.

“It’s getting dark. We need to find somewhere to stop,” Jack said.

“You don’t want keep going?”

“I do, but it’s too dangerous in the dark,” he said.

She didn’t argue and instead looked at him as he looked around.

“What about there?” she asked, pointing toward a structure.

It looked to be some kind of shack, maybe something some kids had built, but at least it would provide some form of shelter and was set off the road.

“Let’s go check it out,” he said.

Cassandra followed behind him, wheeling the bike and then letting it rest as Jack had his.

He approached the shack cautiously, the wrench held tight in his hand.

She had put the hammer in her belt loop but then had jammed it in the handlebars when it ripped her pants. She grabbed it and held it tight and stayed close to Jack as he approached the shack.

It wasn’t really a structure, mostly just some old two by fours that had been leaned against a tree.

“This’ll do,” he said. “I’m going to look around.”

“No,” she said.

“Yes. You’ll be fine by yourself. I’ll be back in a minute,” he said.

And with that he set off.

Cassandra tried not to be angry and frustrated, though it was difficult. She was angry at herself for being so needy and annoyed at him for pointing it out.

But then again, tiptoeing around her wouldn’t do her any favors in this situation, so she supposed she should appreciate his directness.

And he did have a point.

She did have to get together and learn to hack it on her own. She couldn’t do that if he was babying her, and as afraid she sometimes was, she needed to be a grownup and handle it.

With that thought in mind, she ventured away from the shack and went back to the bikes.

Carrying both of them was unwieldy, but she somehow managed to get them back to the shack and cover them with some wood. They hadn’t seen anyone, but she couldn’t bank on that meaning no one was out there.

That thought made Cassandra shiver, and she looked around, the darkness making her fear that much stronger.

“You can do this, Cassandra,” she whispered.

She wished she could believe that.

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

Jack moved as quietly as he could, the semidarkness of the falling dusk making it prudent to be quiet. He kept an eye on the woman but chided himself for doing so. This had been her idea, but just because they were together didn’t mean that she was his responsibility.

She wasn’t.

He recognized that having another person around was beneficial for both of them, but that didn’t mean she was his responsibility. He’d had those before and failed them. There was no reason for him to pick them up again.

So, instead of paying attention to what she was doing, he focused on the area immediately surrounding them.

It sucked.

This whole situation was beyond screwed, but they would have to make the best of it.

Jack had considered the options and decided that the field and shack were the best place to hole up for the night.

The location was a little more exposed than he was comfortable with, but hiding in the woods wasn’t an option. He doubted they could be quiet enough, and getting out of the woods would prove far more difficult than making a run for it from the shack.

Plus, even though from this location others could see them, it made it more likely that Jack wouldn’t be caught by surprise.

And, as he scouted the surrounding area, he made mental notes of the places most likely to be the best source of attack.

The northwest corner, over the sloping hill.

There was also a thick swath of underbrush that could hide a person with even the most basic training. But if more of those things, zombies, came around, he’d hear them before they got too close.

So, after his survey of the area, Jack turned back toward the shack, not happy with what he found but deciding he would work with what there was.

And, something was nagging at the back of his mind. That incident with those soldiers could have quickly gone sideways, and that it hadn’t was a testament to the woman’s quick thinking.

But he knew that wouldn’t be the only challenge they would face.

This area wasn’t exactly inhabited, but it was close to far too many suburbs for Jack’s comfort.

If some of those things managed to block them in, he’d have no way out. And given how close they were to the city, he suspected it was only a matter time before that happened.

It would be best for them to keep moving.

The few miles they had put between themselves and the city helped, but Jack wouldn’t be comfortable until he was home in Montana.

He went back to the shack and saw that the woman had hidden the bikes.

It was good idea, but not necessary. He decided not to tell her that, and instead he peered at her in the darkness, trying to see what she was thinking.

When they had been trapped in the elevator, Jack had been certain she was on the verge of a freak out.

But since then, she had maintained her calm in an admirable way. Which was good, because anything else and she would have lost her life.

But, Jack suspected this was only the beginning.

He wondered how she hold up.

She pointed toward her mouth and Jack nodded curtly.

“Did you see anything?” she asked in an urgent whisper.

“No. But that doesn’t mean there’s nothing out there,” he said.

She seemed to blanch at that statement but quickly recovered.

“We’re only going to stay here till dawn, right?” she asked.

He nodded.

“Good. I don’t feel safe here,” she said.

“Me either, but it’s the best we have,” he replied, moving inside the shack.

It was a tight space, probably designed for tools and storage, and not two fully grown adults.

In fact, it was even closer quarters than the elevator had been and just as dark, but they would make do.

“You try to get some sleep,” Jack said.

“And what about you?” she asked.

“I’m fine,” he said.

“No,” she said. “You sleep. I’ll watch.

“Do you have any idea what you’re looking for?” Jack asked.

“No. But I think I’ll be able to figure it out.”

Jack shrugged, though he knew the woman couldn’t see it. “Suit yourself,” he said.

One of the greatest benefits of his former career was having developed the ability to fall asleep anywhere. Jack took advantage of that and lost himself in the oblivion of sleep.

* * *

It was too dark for Cassandra to see anything. She doubted she could see more than five feet in any direction. Still, as she had said to the man, she stayed awake, kept watch as best she could.

The shack was not solidly built, and through the gaps in the wood she looked, trying to catch watch of anything before it sprang up on them.

She had talked a good talk, offering to stay awake because it seemed only fair. The man hadn’t really slept, and she had.

Now, though, she wondered if she had made a mistake.

She could tell from his even breath that he was sleeping, and for some reason, even though he was there, that made her feel more alone.

Though she told herself not to, she couldn’t stop her mind from going back to the courthouse, those soldiers who had taken her car, the awful, eerie walk to through that abandoned house.

Something terrible was happening.

She knew that deep in the very fiber of her body.

All she could do right now was focus on what was in front of her. And, at least for the foreseeable future, what was in front of her was what had a day ago seemed impossible. A bike trip back to her family home to escape something that she didn’t understand and didn’t know that she wanted to.

Even though she had seen these things with her own eyes, her mind still tried to reject them.

She kept thinking back to that elevator, the courthouse. She knew she would see the blood-smeared marble of the courtroom hall. See the splashes on the ground that she knew had once been people. Only begin to imagine what had made them that way.

It was too much to fathom, yet something she couldn’t ignore.

And, worst of all, she knew this would not be short-lived.

She’d always had a belief that things weren’t as fragile as people liked to think.

She was no Pollyanna, of course. She wouldn’t have been able to do her job for as many years as she had and still be naive. Some of the things she saw, thing she heard about, still made her ill with the evil of them.

But this, such awfulness and on such a large scale, it was more than she could fathom. She’d have to get over it soon though.

Her survival depended on it.

She flinched when she heard something outside. A twig snapping perhaps.

She froze, bracing her hands on either side of the shack walls.

She thought about waking up the man, debated whether she should or shouldn’t.

But, in the next moment she felt his fingers close around her arm.

She shifted, looked in the direction of where she knew he was even though she couldn’t see him.

He squeezed tighter and then let go. In the next breath, she felt him move.

He moved slowly, silently, in a way that was almost inhuman.

He hadn’t completely closed the shack door when he had come in, so Cassandra assumed he was headed toward it. But she couldn’t see, and lack of that input made her emotions run higher.

Her heart was again pounding, the noise loud enough to drown out everything around her.

She dared not move though. She was too terrified to even swallow. So, she just stayed where she was, waiting, wondering what was going to happen.

It was so dark, her eyes may as well have been closed, but she kept them open, unmoving, not even blinking.

She felt like she was out of time and space. Just suspended, balanced on the edge of terror, afraid she was on the verge of slipping off.

When something touched her, she almost screamed, but in the next breath she realized that it was the man.

“It was a rabbit,” he whispered.

Cassandra sighed, but there was no relief in it. Rather, it was simply the only thing she could do to relieve the tension she felt.

“You can sleep,” the man said.

“No,” she whispered, knowing that falling asleep would be the absolute last thing she’d be able to do.

“Try,” he said.

Cassandra didn’t respond, but she closed her eyes, willing sleep to come.

It didn’t.

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

Jack stayed up the rest of the night, certain that the woman wasn’t sleeping but not sure what to do about it, and then reminding himself that there was nothing he needed to do about it because she wasn’t his problem.

His problem was there would be many more nights like this, and there was very little chance that they would all turn out so well.

Out in the world like this, they were exposed. A part of him understood that being that way was unavoidable. But, if they were going to be out there, they needed at least some measure of protection.

Which meant they needed to get gear.

And gear meant people—something Jack hoped to avoid.

But when the sun finally crested the horizon, he had made his decision.

He didn’t too much enjoy being a sitting duck, and last night had only been a powerful reminder of that fact.

So they’d have to get supplies.

Jack looked over at the woman.

“You can stop pretending to be asleep now,” he said.

She sat up instantly and flashed him a tight smile. “I wasn’t pretending. I was trying,” she said.

Despite himself, Jack smiled but then was immediately serious.

“It’s time for us to go,” he said.

“Thank God,” she explained.

“You may not be so excited when you hear the plan,” Jack said.

She looked at him, frowned, and then shook her head.

“I need to handle something first, and then we’ll talk about it,” she said.

Jack lifted a finger to still her when she reached for the shed door and then moved in front of her and pulled it open.

He looked out quickly, saw only the cool mist of the early morning over the beautiful rolling countryside.

It was just the kind of peaceful natural environment that Jack ordinarily loved. But now, in the thickness of the morning fog, in the shadows of the stately trees, all he saw was danger.

“You take the left side. I’ll take the right,” he said.

The woman frowned but then began to move and circled the shack.

Jack went to the other side and handled his business and less than two minutes later they met at the front of the shack.

She had begun uncovering the bikes, and Jack moved silently to help her.

“So, what’s the plan?” she asked as she pulled on her helmet.

Jack’s body was stiff from spending a night in that shed, and he could feel the ache in his muscles from the long bike ride the day before. He could only imagine how much worse it was for her, but she didn’t make any mention of it, so Jack didn’t ask.

“Did you have fun last night?” he asked.

“Well, if your definition of fun is being terrified, cramped, and unable to sleep, I had a blast,” she responded.

“Yeah. Me either. There were some things that would have made it better,” he said.

“Like a time machine so I can go back to three days ago and avoid this nightmare altogether?” she said.

“That would be nice, but I somehow suspect the countryside is a little light on those.

“What are you saying, Jack?” she asked, clearly done with playing games.

“I’m saying that we were sitting ducks. We need protection,” he said.

He looked at her, studying her expression to see how she would respond.

“And how would you suggest we go about getting this protection?”

“We’re in the Georgia woods. I’m sure we’ll find something,” he said. The woman looked at him, completely serious now. “We have to take the risk,” he said.

“And run into more of those…things?” she said.

Her voice had dropped to whisper, almost as though she was afraid to even say it out loud for fear of conjuring one of them.

Jack wasn’t superstitious, but he understood the impulse. But pretending they weren’t there wasn’t going to change the situation.

They needed supplies, even if that meant running into more of those things.

He nodded, and the woman frowned.

“I don’t like this,” she said.

“Me either. But we have no other choice,” he said.

“There’s always another choice,” she responded.

“I’m glad you think so. But I don’t care what you think. I’m going to find a weapon, maybe some food. Join me if you want.”

He looked at her, knowing there was no way she would go her separate way. Maybe it was a dick thing to play off her fear that way, but Jack needed a second pair of hands, and the woman would be them.

Cassandra was quiet for moment longer and then she looked at him, tilting her head.

“I don’t like this. But, if we’re going to do it, we should be smart about it,” she said.

“Agreed,” Jack replied.

“I know there’s a camp office around here somewhere,” she said.

She rummaged in her pockets and pulled out a map.

“Here, the map shows a ranger station.”

Jack walked over and looked at the map.

“I’m not so good at reading maps,” the woman said, but as best I can guess, the ranger station would be about four miles up that way,” she said.

“Yeah. But instead of going straight to it, I suggest we bike around and then approach from the west. That way we can see if anything’s going on,” Jack said.

The woman looked at him again skeptically and then nodded.

“Let’s go,” she said.

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

After that first uneventful, but grueling day, they set out on the rest of the journey. As expected, the ranger station was where it had been on the map.

It was really more of a single-room house than a real station. But, as they approached, Cassandra couldn’t suppress the hope that they would find something of value, maybe information, which she knew would be the most valuable thing of all.

“It looks deserted,” she said.

“Yeah,” Jack responded, “it’s not a permanent place. Probably just someone here for a few of the busier months during the summer.”

“Do you think there’ll be anything?” she asked, wanting to keep the anxiety out of her voice but not being able to.

“Don’t know. But we should see,” he said.

Cassandra agreed.

They leaned their bikes against the cabin’s back wall and carefully made their way up the stairs.

Cassandra hadn’t been focused on potential danger, but seeing Jack, who was even more alert now than he usually was, reminded her that she couldn’t just go off halfcocked. She didn’t know what might await her behind those doors, so, behaving in a way that was uncommon for her, she stayed behind while Jack went ahead.

The place was quiet, but things weren’t always as they looked.

So she waited, those few moments tense, until Jack popped his head out and waved her in.

She breathed a sigh of relief, releasing the breath she hadn’t knew she had been holding, and then she walked into the station.

It was nicer than it had looked from the outside. Not fancy by any stretch of the imagination, but the inside was clean, and looked well-kept.

To one side there was a waist-high wooden desk with an ancient-looking computer on top, and then to the other what looked to be a combination sleeping and sitting area. On the other side of the room was a rudimentary cooking area that was mostly a toaster oven and camp stove, and through the only other door that wasn’t the entrance, Cassandra expected she would find the facilities.

Cassandra took care of business and then came back out to find Jack rummaging through the desk drawers.

“I’m gonna go out on a limb and say the lights aren’t working,” she said.

“Nope,” he responded without looking up.

“Can I help?” she asked.

“See if you find anything useful in the rest of the cabin,” he said.

She set off, searching through the wooden chest that was propped under the cot. There wasn’t much, but she set aside a heavy flashlight, a box of waterproof matches, and a small tent.

Then she systematically went through the cabinets, grabbed the two cans of tuna that she found there.

Finally, she snagged two rolls of toilet paper and an unopened bar of soap.

Less than five minutes after they had arrived, she met Jack at the wooden desk.

“Not much, but at least it’s something,” she said.

“That thing have batteries?” he asked, gesturing toward the flashlight.

She lifted it. “No, but it’s heavy. Might come in handy,” she said.

He nodded his approval and then revealed his own find.

“A flare gun. Couple more maps. A pocketknife. And a gun.”

“A gun?” she said.

“Yeah, a gun more useless than that flashlight because it has no bullets.”

“Are you going to take it?” she asked.

“Might as well. We’ll need it,” he said.

She hadn’t even given the idea any thought, but she shared that hope as well. She was grateful for how tranquil things have been so far, but she didn’t know if that would continue, so it was best to be prepared. But she didn’t want to consider the possibility.

“So that’s it?” he said.

She nodded.

“Then let’s get out of here.”

She agreed. She stuffed her find into her backpack and then slung the increasingly heavy sack onto her shoulders.

They hadn’t found what they had been looking for, but it was time to continue.

“Let’s go,” she said.

But, as she took the first step, she froze at the tentative sound.

“Hello?”

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

Jack was instantly on alert and gestured toward Cassandra.

He was glad he had left their bikes outside, but he should have made her keep watch. He had been intent on searching place as quickly as they could and get going, hoping to avoid just this kind of encounter.

No such luck.

“Is anyone there?” came the voice again.

Cassandra looked at him, but he kept his eyes focused on the door.

He suspected that whoever was calling didn’t intend them any harm, but it wasn’t something he wanted to take a risk on. Holding the gun tight in his hand and calling on all the powers of bluffing he could muster, he called out, “Who’s there?”

A few seconds later he heard the rush of feet, stood tense, waiting.

The door swung open, and a man in his late forties, from Jack’s estimation, walked in. He was followed by a woman of the same age and three younger people—a girl maybe twenty and two other younger teenagers.

“You’re not the ranger,” the man said.

The hopefulness that had been his voice moments ago was gone now, and instead he sounded suspicious, wary.

Jack understood.

“No. The station was empty,” Jack said.

“Dammit,” the man muttered under his breath.

The woman tossed her husband, Jack assumed, a dirty look and then looked at Jack and Cassandra.

“What’s going on?” she asked. “We were camping and heard that message on the radio, but there’s been no updates and we haven’t seen another soul.”

“That’s lucky. It’s not good out there,” Cassandra whispered.

The woman looked like she wanted to protest, but Jack guessed something in Cassandra’s voice stopped her.

“It might be best if you stay out here for a while. Don’t try to go back to the city. It’s a death trap,” Jack said.

He didn’t say the Z-word, but the man blanched, and the woman looked to believe him.

“Any word from the government?” the man asked.

“Nothing,” Cassandra responded. She sounded sad, forlorn, but also certain.

The woman’s shoulders slumped, and the man shook his head.

“I assume you have an RV,” Jack said.

The man looked wary, but after a moment nodded. “Yeah,” he finally admitted.

“Is it stocked?” Jack asked.

“Well enough,” he said.

“Protect it and stay out of sight,” Jack said.

He hated to sound that way, but also knew that hiding the truth from them wouldn’t help.

“What about you?” the man asked.

“We’re making her way to her hometown.”

“Good luck,” he said.

Jack nodded and then the man and woman looked at Cassandra.

“Take care,” she said.

The family nodded at her, and a moment later, Jack walked out of the ranger station and around the building to their bikes.

They fell away without speaking, but about ten minutes later Cassandra looked at him.

“We didn’t even ask their names,” she said.

“Doesn’t matter,” he responded.

“No,” she said, “I guess it doesn’t.”

Though she was agreeing with him, Jack could see the hurt, understood that this wasn’t normal to her. It wasn’t normal to him either, but he was getting used to it. He hoped she would too.

They pedaled in silence, Jack considering what he had discovered at the ranger station. Which wasn’t much at all.

He hadn’t expected to find a bounty, but at least a couple of bullets for the .45 would have been helpful. The thing had looked ancient, and Jack wasn’t completely sure it wouldn’t backfire on them if he tried to shoot it. But, at the very least, the trip had confirmed something he already knew.

This was everywhere. With no end in sight.

He needed to get Cassandra to where she was going and soon. Jack knew they had reached the point where people would start to realize that help wasn’t coming, and between zombies and desperate survivors, it would get very, very ugly.

Before that happened, he wanted to be somewhere, if not hunkered down, then at least with supplies that would see him through whatever was on the horizon.

They pedaled until dusk, and as the sun slowly faded, Jack looked over to Cassandra.

“We should find a place for the night,” he said.

He wanted to keep going, but he knew that would be foolish. As dark as it was, he wouldn’t be able see five feet in front of himself. He certainly wouldn’t be able to see anything that might be out there lurking. So, though he was anxious to stay on the road, anxious to finally get to their destination, he wouldn’t be foolish or reckless.

“Okay,” Cassandra said.

They got off the main path and walked the bike into the woods.

Jack stopped about a quarter mile away from the path, deep enough in the woods that he wouldn’t be seen if someone were to happen by but close enough that he could see the road and some of the surrounding area.

“Here’s good,” he said.

He lay back against the base of one huge tree and Cassandra did the same.

Then, they settled down.

She unpacked her tent, but after a few moments looked at him.

“I don’t want to sleep in this,” she said.

“Me either,” he responded.

She nodded, and then laid the tent out so that the material covered some of the grass.

“Not five hundred thread-count sheets, but I guess it’ll do in a pinch,” she said.

“You take the first shift,” he responded. “Get some sleep, and I’ll wake you up when it’s time for us to switch,” he said.

She nodded and then lay down immediately.

It was dark now, so dark that it wouldn’t have made a difference if they were inside of the tent or out. But Jack understood what she was saying. There was something about being confined, about not being able to see what was coming even if there was nothing you could do about it that didn’t appeal to him.

She must have been tired, because she fell asleep without another word, something that was uncommon for the woman whom Jack suspected was usually chatty. Jack knew that she was trying her best to keep that tendency under wraps, but he had seen it anyway.

He appreciated the silence.

While wasn’t all bad to have someone to talk to, he also need space to think and to understand. It seemed he had been preparing for this moment every day for his entire life.

That kind of scared him and also made him wonder why.

His father had been a hard ass, and a mean, mean drunk, but he’d always preached to his only child the importance of being prepared.

Jack had rebelled against that, had tried to be everything his father wasn’t. But that lesson, the one about always being prepared, had stuck with him for his entire life.

The irony of that wasn’t lost on him.

He had everything he needed, but it was thousands of miles away. And, instead of getting to it, he had saddled himself with a problem.

But how to untangle it?

He still didn’t know the answer to that and didn’t know that he was any closer to figuring it out.

What he did know was that he was prepared, and he would make it through this. He didn’t have any of the things he would have liked to, but he had something that was even more valuable.

Knowledge.

And that knowledge would help him live to see another day.

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

“Cassandra.”

That single word, her name uttered in a low voice that was quieter than a whisper, still managed to penetrate the depth of her sleep and awoke her.

For a split second, she wondered where she was, the chill in the air, the smell of nature, the hard ground in her body leaving her momentarily disoriented.

But just as quickly she remembered and then stood.

“I’m awake,” she whispered, not quite able to keep her voice quiet as his had been but pleased that she seemed to be doing better on that front.

They hadn’t come across anything like danger, at least not since they’d left the city, but as the hours ticked by, Cassandra began to understand the need for alertness.

The absolute requirement of it.

She wasn’t sure how she was doing, but she was slowly coming to grips with everything that was happening.

When they reached her folks, which she hoped would happen tomorrow, things would go she had planned.

It was very simple. She would see the her aunt and uncle, make sure they were okay, and then the government, the National Guard, somebody, would explain everything that happened, how they had gotten rid of those things and then tell them how they would get back on their feet.

But every single second that passed, that fantasy slipped away and became replaced with a harsher but more realistic reality.

She was going to be on her own there.

She tried to let that sink in, tried not to fight against it. She would have to trust that she was equipped to handle anything that came her way, even though she wasn’t sure that was the case.

She looked over toward the direction where she knew Jack would be, wondering why he wasn’t freaking out.

She also wondered if he would teach her some things. Anything she had known before was far too rusty now, and if he was going to go, she needed to get a crash course.

This was all so far into her, but she tried to put her analytical mind to good use.

She knew little about how to defend herself. Her work dealt with those criminals, sometimes very bad ones, but she had a very different approach to defense. She was a woman of words, one whose mind and intellect were the key skills she brought to the table.

But that would have to change.

In this world gone mad, a reasoned approach wouldn’t serve her, and it certainly wouldn’t keep her alive.

Yes, it might help, and yes, she could aspire to try to maintain that, but she knew it couldn’t be her only fallback.

She curled her fingers around the flashlight, lifted it, testing its weight in her hand and against her wrist.

She tried to imagine herself slinging it, and then actually trying to do so but not quite following through.

The flashlight was heavy in her hand, awkward feeling, and so was the motion of swinging it.

It seemed silly to say, but something in her recoiled at the thought of hurting another person. She’d always assumed that was a good thing, but now she wondered if that would be her downfall.

Even before this, whatever this was, there were people who existed to hurt others, who would have had no compunction about hurting her.

Now, all bets were off.

There were those things to think about, and the people out there who she knew would kill her for the two bottles of water in her bag. What would she do when confronted with one of those people?

Would she be able to handle either?

Cassandra wasn’t sure, but she needed to get clarity on that point.

If she didn’t act, she would die.

She knew that, understood it as completely as she’d ever understood anything.

Like it so often did, her mind went back to the courthouse, to the memory of those packs descending.

She wouldn’t let that happen to her.

Cassandra had never thought anything like this would happen. She had been content to live her busy life in the city, fighting the good fight, living in the thoroughly modern world.

But that dream, the illusion that the world had been, had been ripped away from her with not so much as a kind warning.

The desire to sink back into that world, to pretend that everything was good or that everything would be better and soon, was tempting.

Even as she had made the hard ride, she found herself slipping into that frame of mind, allowed herself to think those thoughts.

She couldn’t let that continue to happen.

This was the world as it existed now, and as much she didn’t want it to be that way, as much she so deeply wanted it to change, it wouldn’t change.

She needed to accept that, understand it, and deal with it.

She just hoped she could.

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

The warmth of sunlight against his eyes pulled Jack out of his slumber.

He had long ago gotten used to sleeping wherever he could, so the jarring wake-up call didn’t throw him off.

He opened his eyes and then sat up, instantly alert and quickly taking note of his surroundings.

Cassandra wasn’t in sight, but he sensed the presence behind him, and when he stood, he found her leaning next to the tree.

“You’re up,” she said, somewhat unnecessarily.

“Yeah. Give me a few minutes and we can get on the road,” he said.

“Okay,” she responded.

He looked at her for moment, the impulse to ask her what was going on strong.

He tried to fight it back though.

It wasn’t his question to ask, and her problems weren’t his.

Still, he found himself asking the words before he could stop them.

“What’s the problem?”

“So, it seems like you know how to handle yourself in this kind of situation,” she said.

“I know how to handle myself as well as I can, but does anyone really know how to handle themselves in this situation?” he responded.

“I appreciate the modesty Jack, or at least I would most times, but now is not the time for it,” she said.

“What do you mean?” he asked.

“What I mean it is now was not the time for that kind of false modesty. I feel like such a moron, but I keep having to realize that everything is fucked. And then realize it again. This situation is not getting any better.”

“I know. And I thought you knew that too,” he responded.

“I did. I do. But…” she said.

She trailed off, but Jack didn’t push.

After moment she continued. “But I’m not equipped for this world,” she said.

“What do you mean?” he asked.

“I mean, I’m a lawyer. A good one, one of the best,” she said.

“Good to know you’re not a hypocrite,” he said.

She looked at him, puzzled.

“The false modesty thing,” he said.

She gave him a smile, but one that wasn’t as long or as intense as many of her others.

“No false modesty, especially not for something like that. I know exactly how good of a lawyer I am. And how terrible of a survivalist I am,” she said.

“I don’t know that you need to be a survivalist,” he responded.

“That’s bullshit, and you know it. Nobody is going to come and save us. Not for long, long time. And even if we make it to my uncle’s, how long until those things show up? They might be there already,” she said.

Jack had been considering the same thing and was a little bit surprised that she had also reached the same conclusion, though he suspected he shouldn’t have been. Cassandra had proven herself nothing if not insightful.

“So, what does all this mean, in your mind?” he asked.

“It means I’m gonna have to get better at taking care of myself. Get better at doing all the things that I forgot how to do or never bothered to learn. God, I could kick my own ass,” she said.

He looked at her, watching she frowned.

“What do you mean?” he asked.

“I mean I don’t know how to do shit. I can’t even change the tire,” she said.

“I’m sure you know how to do stuff,” he said.

“Jack, don’t try to make me feel better. It doesn’t suit you,” she said.

“Fine. You know how to do shit, but neither do most people. You can’t go back in time and change that though, so what are you going to do about it now?”

“I was hoping you would ask me that,” she said.

He looked at her, wary now. “Why do I feel like him stepping into something, Cassandra?”

“You not stepping into anything. But I need your help,” she said.

“Didn’t I help you already?”

“Yes, and for that I am grateful. I told you before, but let me say it again. I would have died in that elevator. I’m lucky to not have that be the last place I ever saw. So, thank you for helping me get out.

“You’re welcome,” Jack responded, knowing that she spoke the truth and not insulting her enough to pretend otherwise.

“But,” he said.

“But I need your help more,” she said.

“I don’t know what I can do,” he said.

“Good. But I do,” she said.

“Go ahead,” he responded.

“The town is rural, and in a lot of ways it’s completely self-sufficient. But that’s not gonna help me if I don’t know how to do anything.”

“Won’t your family protect you?” he asked, wondering where this was headed.

“They’ll try. But, I don’t want to put my future, my safety, in anyone else’s hands, not even theirs,” she said.

Jack appreciated the sentiment. He shared the same one. One thing he hated more than anything was being dependent, so he could appreciate her desire not to be.

“And where will I come in with that?” he asked.

“You will be able to teach me a few things, just-in-case stuff that’ll keep me for however long this is going on.”

“Cassandra, I don’t know what I can teach you,” he said.

“We can work that out. We’ll get to town and see what’s there, but I’m just asking for little bit more of your time. Can you give me that?” she asked.

“I can’t make any promises,” he said.

She looked momentarily disappointed but seem to shake it off and then nodded.

“Fair enough. But think about it okay?”

“I can give you that much,” he said.

She nodded again and then grabbed the bike.

“I cleaned some of the grime off the spokes, pumped up the back tires. Do you think we can make the rest of the trip today?” she asked.

“It’s about twenty-five miles, right?” he asked.

“Thereabouts.”

“Then we should be able to make it, depending on how the terrain is,” he said.

“Good,” she said.

Jack shared her relief.

The journey had gone far more smoothly than he had expected, but he was ready to be off the road. Their luck wouldn’t hold out, or at the very least he didn’t want to count on it doing so. Which meant they needed to get somewhere and get her settled so that he could be on his way.

“Give me five, and we’ll get going,” he said.

Cassandra nodded and then walked around the tree, the chirping of the morning birds and brightness of the sun giving the woods of serenity that he knew was complete facade.

As she began to pack up their camp, he took care of his morning activities, took a few sips of the water, and tried to rinse out his mouth as best he could.

He wasn’t a prima donna, not by a long shot, but he really wanted a shower. Maybe soon.

In the meantime, he would think about Cassandra’s question.

In a lot of ways, it was admirable. She recognized an area of weakness and was trying to correct it.

But on the other, her attempt to do so was putting him in a place where he would have to stay longer than he wanted to.

It was getting him more involved.

And Jack reminded himself that he was done being involved. He knew exactly how that would end.

Cassandra might not know how to do shit, and while Jack knew that he did and that knowledge had helped him out before, he was skeptical that it would help her.

But, on the other hand, he really couldn’t help but admire her desire to change that.

Most people wouldn’t even have the foresight to ask such a thing.

He could picture it now, people all across what he now suspected was America, maybe the world, waking up one day to total chaos.

How many would just give up and die?

In a lot of ways, he couldn’t blame them. The world was never for the weak, and that couldn’t be truer now.

Cassandra wasn’t waiting, or even hoping as far as he could tell, for someone to come and help her. She accepted and seemed to understand that wasn’t going to happen. So she was being proactive, asking for help in the way she knew how.

But, as much is Jack might have respected that, and he certainly did respect it, he wasn’t sure he could be person who did that.

He worked alone, always alone, and what Cassandra was asking wasn’t something he could teach in an afternoon.

“Do you hear that?” she asked.

They’d been on the road for about three hours now, and the sun was getting higher in the sky.

Jack hadn’t heard it, admonished himself for being so distracted, and then listened.

“Over here! Help!”

He heard the scream off in the distance and looked to Cassandra who was looking toward it.

“I hear you!” she said.

Then, without looking back at him she pedaled away, moving hard and fast toward the scream.

“Wait!” he yelled.

She didn’t look back, and instead of slowing down, she pedaled faster, the wheels of her bike kicking up dust behind her.

“Cassandra!” Jack called.

She didn’t slow and again started to pedal faster.

“Dammit!” he muttered.

Then he started pedaling after her.

That would be her first lesson he decided.

She was being foolhardy, and he hoped it wouldn’t get both of them killed.

Cassandra skidded to a stop and hopped off her bike. It fell to the ground, forgotten immediately as Cassandra walked farther down the path.

He couldn’t quite see her face, but as he got closer he saw what she was looking at. A person kneeling down on the ground, rocking back and forth.

And then, in an instant, that person wasn’t rocking.

He had stood, and from the height and shape of the figure, Jack was pretty confident it was a he.

But the one who stood wasn’t his concern.

Instead he focused on the person next to him, the one with the shotgun pointed directly at Cassandra.

CHAPTER NINETEEN

“Don’t move,” Jack said.

Cassandra froze, though the order wasn’t directed at her.

Still, there was something in his voice that kept her from moving.

It appeared to have the same effect on the two men that stood across from her.

Later—if there was a later—Cassandra would kick her own ass for being so stupid. She was operating under the old rules, the ones that said when someone sounded hurt you went to them.

And now they were in this situation.

The flare gun and flashlight from the ranger’s office were in her pack, but they may as well be in the Grand Canyon. To get to them, they would have to go through the two men, and the shotgun that was currently trained on her made that seem unlikely.

“I would ask that you do the same,” one of the men said.

Though he spoke, Cassandra was certain he wasn’t the one in charge.

Rather, she looked at the other, the older of the two, though not by much. He was filthy—Cassandra would have called him slovenly—and his dark eyes had a sliminess that she couldn’t mistake, one that made her stomach drop.

“So, what now?” Jack asked.

If she hadn’t been busy trying to keep her knees from buckling, she would have looked at Jack, wondered at how he sounded so calm and composed when she was on the verge of breaking down.

But she didn’t dare look away.

The gun was still trained on her, and more importantly, she got the awful sense that it would do her no favors to take her eyes off the other man.

What she would do if it came to that, she wasn’t sure.

For now, she hoped it wouldn’t come to that.

“I ask the questions here,” the older of the two said.

“Fair enough,” Jack responded.

He slowly lowered his hands, and though the younger man appeared to want to argue, he stayed quiet.

“You don’t look like locals,” he said.

“Just passing through,” Jack said.

“This is a toll road,” he said.

“Got nothing to trade,” Jack responded.

“I disagree,” the older man said.

The shiver that ran down Cassandra’s spine threatened to shake her entire body, but she fought the feeling back. She’d been in enough prisons to know how these dominance games worked, and she wouldn’t let these two cow her. It didn’t matter how she felt on the inside, how terrified and how stupid, what mattered was what they saw on the outside.

And all they would see from her was pure, unyielding calm.

Her eyes still on the younger man, the one with the gun, she lowered her hands, risking a quick glance out of the corner of her eye at Jack and adjusting her stance to match his.

She was certain she didn’t portray quite the same look as he did, but that wasn’t important. What was important was that they had momentarily slowed what could be a very bad situation.

“Do you know what’s happening?” Cassandra asked.

The younger man, who had been looking at Jack, shifted his gaze to her. He seemed surprised by her question, not what she had intended but something that she would take advantage of.

“No, do you?” he asked.

“Have you seen those…things?” she asked.

The younger man looked pained, agony crossing his face. “Mama—”

The younger man cut off when the older looked at him and then to Cassandra.

“Enough conversation. Give us your shit,” he said, his voice taking on an edge that was simultaneously bored and menacing.

From the almost bewildered-sounding nonresponse, Cassandra sensed he wasn’t taking Mama’s demise as hard as his brother.

“We don’t have anything,” she said, repeating what Jack had said earlier.

“You have something, honey,” he said.

Cassandra didn’t have to be a rocket scientist to know what he meant, and to her surprise, rather than scaring her—scaring her more than his tone of voice—his leer pissed her off.

Probably not the best thing, but Cassandra wouldn’t kowtow to bullies. Even when it was a good idea.

“We told you we don’t have anything,” she said, keeping her voice firm. “And now that I can see that you’re not hurt, we will be on our way.”

The one with the gun looked at her, took a step closer.

“You will?” he asked.

“Yes, we—”

“Down, Cassandra!”

She wasn’t even sure that she had consciously processed Jack’s words. Instead, she moved, flinging her body against the hard ground and then quickly scrambling out of the path of the shotgun.

Jack had moved with almost preternatural speed. One moment he had been three feet away from her, and the next he had launched.

By the time Cassandra looked back, she watched as Jack drove the man the older man with the shotgun into the ground, his shoulder buried in the other man’s chest as he gripped the barrel of the gun.

“Get him!” the older man yelled at his companion.

Cassandra had almost forgotten he was there, and then watched as he ran toward Jack, a wicked-looking club in his hand.

Cassandra again found herself moving on instinct, this time springing up as quickly as she could and intercepting the attacker.

He attempted to swing, but Cassandra crashing into his arm changed his trajectory.

Rather than hitting Jack as he had intended, the man’s blow struck his companion.

It was exactly what they needed.

Due to the shock of the blow and his own surprise, the man’s fingers loosened, and the gun fell out of his hand.

Jack held the barrel, the weapon facing toward him with the trigger still toward the man.

The first shot was loud, breaking the silence and surface serenity of the day.

Cassandra was busy grappling with the younger man, a battle she was swiftly losing, but she couldn’t help but watch in horror as the older man again reached for the trigger.

She almost cheered when Jack pulled the weapon out of his reach and then tossed it aside.

Her mind was moving so fast, she could hardly process what was happening, but she guessed it wouldn’t be too hard to completely wrangle control, so Jack was taking the weapon out of the equation.

The stinging blow against her head reminded her exactly what that equation consisted of.

Her hearing was muffled in one ear, the ringing that was a result of the blow crowding out everything else.

She turned and froze for just a moment as dizziness threatened to overtake her.

But when she had pushed it back, she focused on the younger man.

He had her in a tight hold, one hand clamped around her neck, the other holding her fist.

Unless you counted a sixth-grade gym class fight, Cassandra had never been in a physical fight before.

Her mind was racing—the fear, anger, all of it, threatening to make her sick.

Still, she was able to pull from something primal, that inborn instinct for self-preservation, and went for the vulnerable spots.

She clawed at the man’s face, could feel his skin and flesh giving way as she dug and pulled.

“You bitch!”

That he screamed told her she was doing something right. That he still had the concentration to make words told her she needed to work harder. So, she dug more, shifting her hand until she hit the thin skin of his eyelid, and the firm orb underneath.

Cassandra pushed and thought she would vomit when she felt that orb give way.

But she didn’t stop.

No, she kept clawing, scratching, ignored his high-pitched screams, ignored nauseating feel of his blood on her fingers.

When she heard the soft pop, felt a rush of fluid, she knew she had won this battle.

He had been holding her tight, one hand locked around her throat. He screamed in pain again, but this time he let go.

Cassandra took the opportunity to scurry away but didn’t make it too far. She was on her back, and when she looked at him she saw the blood rushing from the scratches and mixing with the fluid leaking out of his wounded eye.

He was still screaming, but rather than backing away, he charged toward her.

He landed on her, his heavy weight pushing her into the road as her breath expelled from her chest.

Cassandra had been triumphant, but that triumph was short-lived.

Still holding his injured eye, the younger man reached toward her with the other hand. Though he was wounded, he was still strong, driven by rage now.

He clamped his hand around her throat and began to squeeze. Cassandra followed her first instinct and reached for his wrist. She tugged, and had she had the breath, she would have screamed out her frustration. He didn’t budge.

He had his knees holding her lower body in place. And even if she’d had the strength to loosen his hand, she didn’t have the leverage, not in this position.

Her senses were leaving her, as was the air in her lungs as she groped around wildly, reaching for anything that might help her.

She closed her fingers around something solid, didn’t even pause long enough to figure out what it was. Using all the force that she could muster, she swung wildly and crashed the object against his head.

The crack was sickening, the sound of bone breaking something that was both unfamiliar and immediately identifiable.

She didn’t make the same mistake she had before. She didn’t revel in her triumph, didn’t assume that her blow had been sufficient. Instead she swung again, listening for that telltale crack.

Again.

And then again.

The crack was becoming more and more muffled, now more like squishy mush. It reminded her of the sound tomatoes made when she crushed them for sauce.

Some rational part of her knew what that meant, but she swung again.

“It’s done,” Jack said.

At first, she didn’t really process what he’d said and went to swing again but was stopped by his hand on her wrist.

“It’s done,” he repeated, his voice more urgent, but only slightly so, than it had been before. This time, his words penetrated.

She tossed what she now recognized was a rock, threw it away as though it was fire.

She looked at Jack, saw that his breathing was slightly elevated, but he didn’t have any bruises.

Then, she looked beyond him to the older man. He wasn’t moving, and Cassandra knew what that meant.

Then, after what felt like an eternity, she looked down and to her right.

She had scurried away from the younger man, something she didn’t recall doing.

He lay on the ground, still like the other man, and even though she couldn’t quite bring herself to look directly at him, Cassandra could see the blood that pooled around his eye, the concave dent in his skull that was shaped like the rock she had held only moments ago.

The blood and brain and bone that marred that shape.

Cassandra couldn’t hold her reaction back. The vomit spilled from her mouth fast, the force almost overtaking her.

She didn’t try to fight it. She just let the heaves come and gave what little her mostly empty stomach had to offer.

Later—it could have been minutes, it could have been much longer—she thought the heaving had subsided enough that she could move.

She stood, her legs wobbly, but she recovered quickly.

She looked back at the younger man, and then, without looking at Jack, she walked toward the bikes.

CHAPTER TWENTY

“How far do you think it is?” Jack asked.

Cassandra looked at him, then looked toward the horizon where the sun was just beginning to reveal itself.

“I’m not completely sure, but I think eight miles, maybe ten,” she finally said.

She was somewhat ashamed that she couldn’t be more sure. This had been her idea, and they had gone through a lot to get here, but she didn’t know the way as well as should have.

She almost always traveled the interstate and barely had any memory of these back roads. She regretted not paying better attention, but there was no way to fix that now.

“These bikes are on their last legs,” Jack said.

“Yeah,” Cassandra said, “we may as well walk. It will probably be harder to pedal anyway.”

There was no way she would risk taking the road, and she suspected Jack felt same. Which meant they’d have to traverse the back roads and paths. And though they were flat, or flatter than a lot of the surrounding area, they were covered with twigs and rocks, all manner of obstructions that could easily upend their balance. Who knew when they’d find get to town, or for that matter, what shape it would be in when they got there. It seemed foolish to risk injury on the bikes if they didn’t have to.

“Let’s ditch them deeper into the woods in case anyone happens to come by,” Jack said.

Cassandra nodded and then began walking. Jack followed behind her, adjusting some of the leaves and underbrush, she assumed to hide their tracks. When he stepped back, he looked at the spot and appeared to be satisfied.

If Cassandra hadn’t known they had been there, she wouldn’t have thought anything was out of place.

“Let’s go,” Jack said.

Cassandra followed him quietly and discarded her bike in the woods.

Then, without word, they began to walk.

As she suspected, they kept off the road, and followed along the wooded path going west.

They walked for an hour, maybe two, in silence. Cassandra still wasn’t used to the disquieting feeling of not knowing precisely what time it was. She’d spent so much of her life watching the clock that doing it now was a reflex, a habit, one that she wasn’t happy to have to involuntarily break.

She knew it was stupid to focus on time when the world had fallen apart, when a person, or what used to be a person could be waiting around the corner ready to attack her. But the enormity of what was happening in the world was too much for her to contemplate.

They passed a pebble that lay atop the gravel path, and Cassandra kicked it, the explosion of frustration one she wasn’t sure the source of.

Or rather didn’t want to acknowledge the source of.

Instead she kicked the pebble down the road once, took a few steps to catch up with it, and kicked it again.

The urge to kick it yet another time, to cry, scream, came over her.

But she couldn’t give into them. What had happened was her fault; she wouldn’t compound the mistake by crying about it.

“You want to talk about it?”

She shifted her gaze over and looked at Jack who walked face forward, his profile showing no emotion.

She scoffed, a feeling of anger bubbling up inside of her, but she did her best to bite it back.

“He speaks,” she said sarcastically.

It wasn’t fair to direct this anger at Jack. He’d tried to warn her, and she hadn’t listened. The consequences of that were her fault and not his, but she couldn’t stop herself from being angry.

Though, she knew she was mostly angry at herself.

Still, it was easier to blame him, easier to hold onto the anger of him asking that question.

“Well…?” Jack said.

“Well what?” she responded tightly.

“You want to talk about it?”

“What the hell do you think?”

She knew she was being unfair, but she hated his question.

She hated everything.

Her feet hurt. She was filthy. And more than anything she wanted to get away from here. She kept hoping she would open her eyes in the morning and she’d realize that this was all some kind of twisted dream.

But that wouldn’t happen. She had to come to grips with fact, and talking to Jack, Jack, of all people, about her feelings was not going to help her do that.

“You don’t want to talk? Fine. Listen,” he said.

She looked over at him again, again feeling that anger surge.

“You did what you had to do. You’ll probably have to do it again. Don’t waste any more time thinking about it. The world as you knew it is gone. So kill or die. Those are your choices.”

He spoke so matter-of-factly that Cassandra found herself looking over at him again and then turning back to the road to maneuver her way around a branch that had pushed through the dirt.

“Is that your version of soothing away a murder?” she said.

“You know full well that wasn’t murder, Cassandra.”

In that moment, her anger had the corners of her vision starting to blur.

How dare he? How do he speak so calmly, try to tell her how to feel? Tell her what and was not murder. She had taken a man’s life. She had to deal with that.

“I think I should be the judge of that,” she said.

It was such a bland statement, so mild in comparison to what she was feeling. But it was the best she could muster. It was a surprise to her that she could muster anything at all.

“No, you shouldn’t,” he said.

She wanted to respond, wanted to yell, but she didn’t. Instead, she kept walking. She had employed the same tactic before, but then it had only been designed to leave space for Jack to speak.

And now…now she didn’t want Jack to speak. Didn’t want to think about this at all.

“Whatever you say, Jack,” she said.

“Are you trying to deflect?” he asked.

She obviously was, and he obviously had no intention to allow her to. So, as she looked at him, she came to a realization.

Jack wanted to know what she was thinking, so why not tell him? She was tempted to wonder what the worst was that could happen, given all that had happened already, but she wasn’t bold enough to tempt fate that way. In these few short days, she had already learned the error in saying that things could never get worse. They always could, and she wouldn’t do anything to make that happen any more quickly.

“I’m not deflecting. I just don’t want to discuss this.”

“I don’t want to either, but sometimes we have to do things we don’t want to. Sometimes, the world leaves us with no choice,” he said.

Cassandra understood clearly what he was saying without actually saying it, but that didn’t help her. And given how surly she was feeling, she had no desire to pretend she understood.

“Thanks for the wisdom, Jack. I will treasure your words forever.”

Cassandra kept her eyes on the gravelly dirt, partially to keep an eye out for obstructions and also partially because she couldn’t bring herself to look up.

But then she was looking directly at Jack.

She hadn’t even noticed that he had moved, and didn’t notice until she stopped, or rather was stopped by his hands on her forearm.

Her momentum threatened to carry her forward, but she was stopped in place by Jack’s hold.

“Look, you did what needed to be done. And if you hadn’t, I’d be dead, and you’d want to be. I’m not and you’re not. All because you acted. You did something that most people wouldn’t have the guts to. You don’t let yourself become a victim. So, focus on that, take it for what it is,” he said.

She had held his gaze the entire time, watched as his expression became as animated as she had ever seen it. Instinctively she sensed that he was speaking from experience, experience that she wondered about but didn’t bother to ask.

It didn’t matter, and he wouldn’t share it with her anyway. Instead, she thought of his words that morning.

“You told me to take it for what it is?” she asked, her voice almost a whisper that got lost on the whipping wind. “What was that?”

“You defended yourself.” He paused, then went on. “You defended me. Thank you for that.”

Intellectually, Cassandra knew he was right, had known it all along. But somehow, hearing what Jack said touched something. She felt oddly emotional, the contradicting feelings difficult for her to process. She knew he was right, and she knew she had done the only thing she possibly could have. But she couldn’t shake the feeling of sadness and dread.

It was enough to make her eyes well, but Cassandra wouldn’t let tears fall.

The man she killed hadn’t deserved them, and what was more, she realized this went deeper.

The Cassandra that she had been before, the world that Cassandra was from, was gone.

A small part of her wondered if it would ever come back.

But then she decided that didn’t matter.

What mattered was staying alive.

What mattered was surviving.

In that moment, Cassandra swore she would do just that.

CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

Jack looked at her, studied her as she processed his words.

He was no good at this. He dealt with people who were trained, people who understood the realities of life and the evil that sometimes inhabited it.

He thought she had to, but it was clear that wasn’t the case.

But Jack knew she understood now.

In some ways, he felt sorry for her. In the past, she had been able to live in the relative comfort of never having had to make a life or death decision. And certainly not ever having to bring about that death herself.

No matter how deserving those men had been, Jack knew that it would bother her.

But as the seconds ticked by, he could see as she started to understand.

He could also see as she came to grips with their new reality.

Everything that had happened since that elevator left Jack with no doubt.

Whatever was happening was terrible, probably worse than he could have imagined. And it wasn’t going to be over soon.

It might not ever be over at all.

So, while she might not know it, those men had given her a precious gift. Cassandra was going to have to look after herself, look after the people she cared about, assuming they were still around.

She knew that now.

And she wouldn’t forget it.

A moment later, Jack let her go, wondering briefly what had come over him.

The night before had been tense, and when they had finally made it a safe enough distance, Jack had stopped, but he had known that Cassandra was still on edge.

He had left her alone though, knew that she needed to work this out in her head before he broached the subject.

It had been tough.

He had expected a breakdown at some point last night, had expected it at any moment during the walk this morning.

It hadn’t come, at least not in the way he had expected it.

He could have understood tears, falling apart, but that anger, the boiling rage that had been simmering just below the surface, it had the same effect.

Interesting that she had chosen rage rather than tears as her response, but then again Cassandra had contradicted his expectations at every point along the way so far.

In reality, he shouldn’t be surprised that this was no different.

But he also knew he had to keep her from taking it too far.

“I think we’re less than a mile away,” Cassandra said.

They had walked in silence for most of the morning, into the afternoon, taking an easy pace.

They could have gone faster, and Jack didn’t necessarily like burning up this much daylight. But, on the other hand, a slow and steady approach was probably best.

This area was far more rural than Atlanta and even the suburbs that they had passed.

But he wasn’t naive enough to believe that they were the only ones on the road. He’d learned that the hard way, so he was okay with trading a little bit of speed for a lot more awareness.

He been constantly scanning, searching the horizon for any sign of disturbance, any sign of an enemy.

And as they got closer, that concern had him on even higher alert.

Cassandra thought she knew these people, knew this place, but Jack didn’t.

And, even if she had, she had no idea what had happened in the days since the elevator.

They had no way of knowing what they might find.

“The place we’re going to, is it in the middle of town?” he asked.

Cassandra shook her head.

“It’s on the outskirts. It’s a farm, about sixty acres I think,” she said.

He could hear some of her tentativeness in her words, got the impression that she might have known the answer right off the top of her head once, but that it had been a long time since she had to access that information.

“You keep in touch with these people?”

“Yeah,” she said.

But…?” he asked, something behind the way she’d said the word that he wanted to understand.

“I haven’t been as good at it as I should’ve been. My aunt and uncle are old school, like turn of the twentieth century old school. Their house is on a well and not a sewer, and they run power, what little they use, on generator. It’s not exactly conducive to text messaging or social media. And I’ve been busy. Too busy to get back here for more than five years now,” she said.

He could hear her shame in her voice.

He didn’t try to make her feel better about it. Instead, he reflected on the good thing she had said. Sixty acres was not as much is he would have liked, but it gave them some space. And if the land was like the rest of the surrounding scenery, they’d have a better chance of spotting anyone, or anything, who might approach.

The relative flatness of the terrain put them at somewhat of a disadvantage, but in this case, Jack didn’t mind. If someone were to approach, Jack would see them first and take the advantage.

They walked the rest of the way in silence, and about half a mile out, Jack spotted a speck on the horizon.

“That the house?” he asked.

“No. It’s one of the outbuildings. The house is farther down.”

Jack nodded, paying even more attention now. “Do they have livestock?” he asked.

“I don’t think so,” Cassandra responded. “They used to have cows, a few chickens, but I think they got to be too much for them to handle on their own,” she said, her voice again taking on that tinge of regret.

Jack didn’t say anything, but the closer they got to the outbuilding and the house that he finally spotted in the distance, the more excited he became about the prospects of this. He needed to get home, but he didn’t know how feasible that was, at least not immediately.

He hated the idea of staying in this place, but it might work for the short term. Again, he knew the location wasn’t ideal, but there was something he could work with, assuming not many of those things were around.

“It seems quiet,” she said.

“What do you mean?” he asked.

“I just mean, there’s usually always something, you know that’s just my aunt out and about. Or maybe my uncle in his barn fixing something. It’s never like this,” she said.

When he looked at her, he could see that her brows were drooped low, her expression pensive. He couldn’t dismiss the possibility that she was simply overreacting, being nervous because she felt so uncertain, but he also couldn’t ignore the fact that she might be right.

“Should we go through the front or the back?” he asked.

“The back. The kitchen is back there, and if they are inside, that’s where they’ll be,” she said.

As they got closer to the structure, Jack studied it.

As he looked at it, he could see that it had been added onto and thought he could tell that the pristine-looking country front porch wasn’t original. As he got closer, he looked at the back, noticed like she did that there were no signs of life.

But things also didn’t look to be in any particular disarray. It was a confusing appearance, one that alarmed him.

If her aunt and uncle had left in a hurry, he would have expected there to be some disarray. But this struck him as different from that, like everything was in place.

“Wait here,” he said.

“No chance,” she whispered.

He gave her a grim laugh and then quickly looked back toward the house.

“Stay to my left,” he said in a tense whisper.

She shifted, moving to his left, few feet behind him. He made his way up the stairs, noticing that they creaked under his weight.

The shifting wood sounded like an explosion, but Jack ignored the instinct to run or do anything else.

Everything inside of him was screaming that he was being watched, and an instant later the confirmation came.

He tensed, the familiar sound of a gun being cocked freezing him in place.

“Welcome to Paradise, Alabama,” came the gruff voice. “We shoot trespassers on sight.”

EPILOGUE

Somewhere in America’s Heartland…

“Report,” the man in charge barked.

“Sir, yes, sir!” came the immediate response. “Phase One has unfolded as projected. We’ve entered the final stages.”

The man gave a curt nod, a gleam of satisfaction in his eye.

“Initiate Phase Two.”

* * *

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Copyright

The Dying Light Book One Copyright © 2018 by Rowan Steele

All rights reserved.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, businesses, and incidents are invented by the author or used fictitiously. Any similarities to real people, living or dead, businesses and business establishments, places, or events are entirely coincidental. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

Content

Rowan Steele
THE DYING LIGHT

CHAPTER ONE

CHAPTER TWO

CHAPTER THREE

CHAPTER FOUR

CHAPTER FIVE

CHAPTER SIX

CHAPTER SEVEN

CHAPTER EIGHT

CHAPTER NINE

CHAPTER TEN

CHAPTER ELEVEN

CHAPTER TWELVE

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

CHAPTER NINETEEN

CHAPTER TWENTY

CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

EPILOGUE

Copyright