“I guess not,” she said. “Stay alert.”
“Can I ask you something?”
She sighed. He was talking too much. She didn’t know why he was talking so damn much. Didn’t he know they were in a precarious situation here? That there could be bad things waiting for them in the next aisle? Or in the next room? Or outside?
Why does this city not feel empty?
When she didn’t answer, he said, “What’s it like to kill someone?”
“You killed Mac,” she said, hoping that would nip the conversation in the bud.
It didn’t work.
“I think he’s still alive,” Peter said.
“He’s probably brain-dead if he is.”
That made him go quiet, and in the few seconds that followed, she felt a pang of guilt.
Jesus. What’s wrong with me?
“It’s okay,” she said. “You did what you had to.”
“I know,” he said quietly.
She wasn’t the least bit convinced he was okay with what he had done to poor Mac, but Gaby didn’t know how else to comfort him. This wasn’t the time, either. They were still moving inside a building they had never been in, in a city that may or may not hold dangers they didn’t even know existed yet.
Later. I’ll talk to him about it later.
They were turning toward the third aisle when a scream pierced the air, coming from outside.
“Milly!” Peter shouted.
He was already running before Gaby could turn fully around. She hurried after him, just in time to see him shoving the glass doors open and lunging outside.
Christ, she had no idea he could move that fast!
Gaby burst outside onto the sidewalk after Peter, the M4 swinging up and sweeping the large parking lot for threats.
There’s something wrong with this city. Dammit, I should have listened to my gut instinct!
Everything was where it should be — the white truck and the two vehicles at the gas pumps. There was nothing out here that could pose a danger to them, so why were alarm bells exploding inside her head?
But everything was where it should be—except for Milly. The girl was gone.
“Where is she?” Gaby asked.
Peter was whirling around, the Smith & Wesson gripped too tightly in his right fist.
“Peter,” Gaby said. “Where’s Milly?”
“I don’t know,” he said. “I don’t know!”
The girl’s backpack was leaning against the curb. Gaby bent to pick it up when a loud cry streaked across the air, coming from down the street. Peter took off running in that direction with the same deceptive speed she didn’t know he was even capable of.
Where the hell had he been hiding that?
She ran after him. Or tried to, anyway.
Another scream, this one just as pained and shrill, rocketing up the street and prompting Peter to run even faster. He seemed to know where he was going, where Milly’s screams were coming from, and soon he had abandoned the highway and was turning into a side street with long, smooth strides.
Gaby followed as best she could. Gray and red and white buildings flashed by on both sides of her. Store and restaurant signs. Windows, some painted, others barren, reflecting back a streaking figure — her. Thank God she had tied her hair in a ponytail.
She swerved around vehicles in the streets, keeping sight of Peter in front of her. He had somehow added to the distance between them.
God, he’s fast. Where is all that speed coming from?
She blamed her lagging pace on the rifle she was carrying along with the Glock in the hip holster. There were also the pouches around her waist, still stuffed with spare magazines even though she had dumped the ones for the AK-47.
Milly’s voice, shouting, “Peter!”, coming from their left, and very close by.
Without hesitation, Peter turned into the mouth of an alley. Gaby was on his heels, and she was surprised to see that Peter had slowed down in front of her. As she began to catch up to him, she could hear his breathing hammering out of him in quick, pained bursts, flooding the narrow space along with their pounding footsteps.
There was a dead-end in front of them, along with a metal door that was opening and a figure darting through it with Milly thrown over its shoulder.
“Peter!” Milly shouted, looking back at them with hands outstretched and eyes wide with terror.
Gaby had never seen someone look so frightened in her life. Well, that wasn’t true. Her mind flashed back to the kids from Mercy Hospital being taken away in the back of the Humvees. She had failed to save those kids. She didn’t even know where they were at the moment or what had become of them.
Not again.
She didn’t know where she got the burst of speed, but suddenly she was running past Peter. Then she was halfway up the alley when the steel door slammed shut in front of her. She didn’t stop for one second. As she neared it, she reached out with one hand and grabbed the knob and twisted it and jerked the door back and slipped inside in one continuous, blurring motion.
Darkness.
It was pitch-black inside.
She stopped, the only sounds coming from inside her chest and through her mouth as she struggled to breathe. She swiveled the carbine left, then right, then behind her. Not that it did any good.
She couldn’t see a goddamn thing.
Her eyes tried desperately to adjust to the blackness, but she could only see a few inches in front of her. It looked like some kind of hallway. She listened for footsteps, prepared to hear the soft patter of bare feet against tiled floor.
Ghouls! her mind screamed. There are ghouls in here!
Her finger tightened against the trigger.
She didn’t know how long she stood there, swallowed up by darkness, but it must have only been a few seconds, because the alleyway door opened behind her and sunlight flooded inside. Peter hurried through, his breath flooding out in long gasps. In the brief few seconds that the door was opened, she confirmed that she was inside a hallway with old walls, peeling paint, and a vinyl-covered floor.
“Milly!” Peter shouted.
His voice echoed just before he let the door slam shut behind him and they were, once again, swallowed up by the same black void as a few seconds ago.
“Oh my God,” Peter said, his voice breathless.
“What is it?” she said, keeping her eyes forward at…nothing. There was a big fat nothing in front of her.
“The door,” Peter said, the panic rising with each syllable. “There’s no doorknob on this side of the door, Gaby. I can’t open it!”
Gaby glanced behind her, searching out the door, trying to find the doorknob in the sea of nothingness. She couldn’t locate it, and the only reason she even knew Peter was standing next to her was the smell of his sweat and his out-of-control panting as he ran his hands over the metal door.
It’s a trap. They led us right into a goddamn trap.
She heard a click before a stream of light flashed across her face, illuminating the peeling and old faded multicolored patterns over one side of the wall. Peter, with a flashlight, swiveled the light back to her. She winced, and he quickly took the bright light away.
“Sorry,” he said.
“You brought a flashlight?”
“Yes. Why?”
“You’ve had it this entire time?”
“I—”
“The cave, Peter,” she hissed. “Why didn’t you use it when we were back in the cave?”