Apokalypsis , Morris, Kate [best classic romance novels TXT] 📗

bedroom, and it was in complete disarray and was also empty. No sheets were on the mattress, which was turned onto its side against a wall. Clothing and blankets were on the floor, as well as drug paraphernalia and empty beer bottles. The third was the same but was totally cleared out, nothing whatsoever in the room other than an area rug and used needles scattered around. They turned the corner and faced the last door, which was closed.

Roman turned the handle and pushed, but it didn’t move like the others. He twisted the doorknob. It was locked. He found a deadbolt at the top of the door, which was an unusual place, not to mention a door that locked from the outside, but even after Tristan slid it unlocked, the door wouldn’t budge. It was also locked from the inside somehow. He nodded to Roman and indicated he should stand aside.

“Let me,” Roman suggested, to which Tristan agreed. He didn’t really want to break his stitches open anyway. Avery would be upset. And the way that thing was sniffing the air earlier made him wonder if they could smell better than a normal human now. He knew they could hear better but that their vision was poorer. He also had an odd feeling they could smell better than people, too, and if one of them sensed an open, bloody wound, maybe that would draw them in.

Roman kicked one time and sent the door crashing in, but only about an inch because something heavy was on the other side. Together, they pushed until something was knocked over onto the floor behind the door. It was a tall dresser that crashed over loudly.

“Jesus!” Roman swore and rushed in.

Tristan followed and wished the kid would’ve let him go in first. On the floor was a girl in a t-shirt and underwear. She was handcuffed and also leg-shackled to the brass bed leg and lying on her side. There was about a four-foot length of chain connected to the ankle cuff. Roman was kneeling at her side before Tristan even had his flashlight out and shining around. He spied the heavy wooden dresser she must’ve pushed against the door to prevent anyone from coming in and wondered how such a slight girl could’ve pushed it at all.

“I think…” Roman said as he rolled her over. She didn’t move, didn’t moan, nothing. “I think… wait! She’s alive. I’ve got a pulse. I think this is her sister.”

Finally, she made a tiny sound.

“What? What is it?” Roman asked her.

Alex and Stephanie joined them in the room a second later. Stephanie gagged. The room reeked of human waste and many other offensive smells. As in the other bedrooms, there were clear signs of alcohol and drug use littering the room. Near the girl’s prone body were empty cans of tuna and chicken broth, which was what she must’ve survived on for God knew how many days. The cans were mangled and dented, the tin lids pried open rustically as if she’d had to use some tool other than a traditional can opener to get at the contents inside.

“Shit,” Alex remarked. “Is she dead?”

“No,” he answered.

Stephanie said, “There’s one turned in the basement. Looks like someone killed it.”

“Where are the others? Was the one in the basement the man who had her tied up here?” Tristan questioned aloud, not really figuring on getting an answer because none of them would know any more than he did. “Where’s the other girl? He had two.”

“Dead,” the girl in Roman’s arms whispered. “All dead. Turned. Sickness.”

Then she passed out.

“Jesus,” Roman said. “How long has she been in here like this?”

“Is she sick?” Stephanie asked. “Does she have it?”

It didn’t matter. They couldn’t leave her behind. Tristan stepped forward and pulled a face mask over the girl’s head and secured it there. If she were sick, maybe that would keep them from catching it from her. They all had their masks on, but he usually opted for a bandana or neck gator so that he didn’t use up their cache of masks.

“I’ll carry her,” he offered only to have Alex step up.

“No, you were shot. Let me. I’m good,” he said and handed off his rifle to Roman. “I got this.”

Stephanie grabbed a sweatshirt from another room and helped pull it over her head.

“Shit, she doesn’t even have on shoes,” she remarked.

Alex said, “It’ll be okay. I won’t put her down.”

“Damn,” she swore with what seemed genuine sympathy. “Wish the assholes who did this were still here.”

Outside, something screamed. It wasn’t a human- at least, not anymore. With Alex forced to carry the weak girl, he couldn’t run.

“I’m going after the truck,” Tristan explained after he spied through a nearby window a night crawler run past the house and keep on going. A moment later, two others zipped between the two houses across the street and disappeared in the shadows and snowfall. “We’re down one person, so I’ll take Roman with me. Stephanie, stay with Alex and help guard the girl. Shoot anyone who isn’t us that comes into this house.”

“Got it,” she answered.

“And Roman’s coming with me. You lock this house after we’re out.”

“Yes, sir,” Roman said, which was mirrored by her nod of agreement.

They went down the stairs again and out the front door since nobody seemed to be around other than crawlers. Then he and Roman ran as fast as they could back to the truck in the park, taking the same route. They vaulted over the chain-link fence again and across the field, nearing the park. Unfortunately, when they got there, it was surrounded by four or five night crawlers who were smelling and circling it.

He and Roman skidded to stops in the slick snow and threw themselves to the ground behind a jungle gym apparatus on the playground.

“Shit,” he swore.

“What do we do?” Roman whispered.

He thought a moment before saying, “We need to draw them off so one of us can get to the truck.”

“They’re so