“As for you,” Mike said, stepping closer to Sophia. “You stay on the boat. I don’t want you getting anywhere near those infected. You hear?”
She sighed and rolled her eyes. “Okay, Dad.”
Mike kissed her on the cheek and gave me a hard stare. “Be careful. Look after my little girl like your life depends on it.”
I watched Sophia walk toward me, a flutter in my chest and a tightening in my stomach. She stopped close enough to smell the sweat on her skin, her fingers warm and dry as she slipped them into mine.
“Count on it,” I said.
No one seemed surprised.
TWENTY-SIX
“If my theory is correct,” I said, “the last thing I want to do is start shooting.”
Sophia eyed the crowbar in my hands as she eased off the throttle and let the boat drift closer to shore. The water was deeper here, allowing us to pull in closer than at the cabin.
“I think you’re fucking crazy,” she said. “No way in hell am I letting you off this boat without a rifle.”
I shook my head. “It’ll just slow me down. Besides, I have my pistol.”
I went to the fantail and climbed down into the dinghy. After untying it, I gave Sophia a mock salute and said, “Be back in a few minutes.”
“Hey,” she said, crooking a finger at me. “Come here.”
I rowed until the dinghy’s bow was next to the fantail and stood up, putting us at eye level. When I was close enough, she grabbed me by the front of my shirt, pulled me in, and pressed her lips hard against mine. One of her hands slipped around the back of my neck, making me break out in goosebumps. After the better part of a minute, she let me come up for air. “You be careful, you hear me? I’ve had you less than a day. I don’t want to lose you just yet.”
“I’m always careful, Sophia. And for the record, you could have had me any time you wanted.” I grabbed her around the waist and kissed her again, taking my time about it. When I finally let her go, her breath was coming quickly and I could feel her heart pounding against my chest.
“For the record,” she said, “I’m sorry I waited.”
I pointed at the rifle leaning against the control panel. “Keep that handy. If trouble shows up, don’t hesitate to get the hell out of here.”
“I’m not leaving without you.”
“I’m serious. I can always get back to the cabin in the dinghy. Worst case scenario, I’ll swim.”
“You can’t swim that far Caleb.”
“Like hell I can’t. I’ve swam farther in rougher waters.” It was true. Tyrel insisted I learn to swim in the open ocean, namely the Gulf of Mexico. The farthest I had ever gone in one sitting was four miles.
“I told you I’m not leaving without you,” Sophia said. “And I meant it.”
I wanted to argue, but the look in her eyes told me it would be a waste of time. Instead, I let out a frustrated sigh, gave her one last squeeze, and got moving.
The engine was small, but loud. I did not dare crank it lest I draw a swarm of infected. It took only a minute or two to row the boat ashore. There were no infected in Phil’s back yard, but I could hear their feet crunching the asphalt in the street beyond. It struck me, then, just how different the world seemed without all the background noise: the ever-present drone of cars on pavement, jetliners roaring overhead, the rattle and whir of air conditioning units, the hum of power lines and streetlights, human voices in the distance, music drifting through open windows—all of it gone, now. Replaced by the wind, the buzzing of insects, the skittering of squirrels on tree bark, birdsong, the rustling of leaves and branches, the crackle of rodents and small lizards fleeing my footsteps in the brush. It was as if God had turned down the volume on mankind and raised it on mother nature. Even the scrub grass under my feet seemed too loud as I walked across it. I found myself holding my breath, straining my ears, and walking on the sides of my feet.
Moving quickly, I traversed the yard and went up the porch steps in two big strides. Knocking would have made too much noise, so I tried the door handle. Not surprisingly, it was locked.
Now what?
Glancing around, I saw a couple of windows on the ground floor. I walked to the closest one and peered through the glass at the little bronze clasp. It was unlatched. Using the crowbar, I wedged the flat end under the sill and levered upward.
After pushing the window up and slowly releasing it to make sure it wouldn’t come crashing down, I peeked inside. A living room lay in front of me, complete with sofas, bookshelves, entertainment center, and a gigantic flat-screen TV. The bottom of the window was only waist high, allowing me to place the crowbar on the carpeted floor and step inside. Once through, I slowly eased the window shut.
Now the problem was finding Phil and not eating a bullet for intruding. Shouting for him would have been the easy thing to do, but also stupid. Announcing my presence to a swarm of hungry ghouls would not do either one of us a bit of good. So I did what I always do: I fell back on my training.
Room by room, I swept the house, starting with the ground floor. At each doorway, I gave a little tap of the knuckles and whispered, “Phil, it’s me, Caleb. Are you in there? I’m going to open the door. If you’re armed, don’t shoot.”
The living room, kitchen, garage, and downstairs bathroom were all empty. Ditto for the three bedrooms and two bathrooms upstairs. After clearing the laundry room, I stood in the doorway, shoulders slumped, perplexed.
“Did he take off already?” I muttered aloud.
Back in the hallway, I looked left, then right, wondering where he might have gone. Finally, I looked up and realized there was one place I had not yet looked.
A quick tug on the string popped the trap door to the attic. I grabbed the stairs and eased them to the floor as quietly as I could. “Phil?” I said, voice pitched just above a whisper. “You up there?”
No answer.
I set the crowbar down, drew my pistol, and eased my way up the steps. Under other circumstances, I would have led with the gun. But in this case, I had come to help Phil, not shoot him. So I kept the Beretta down by my hip. It seemed like such a small decision when I made it, but like many small decisions I’ve made since the Outbreak, it saved my life.
When I was halfway up the steps, Phil stood up from behind a stack of cardboard boxes and raised his right hand in my direction. In his grip was a large, nickel-plated revolver.
“Stop right there,” he said.
I froze. “What are you doing, Phil?”
“I could ask you the same question.” His graying hair stood around his head in a frazzled halo, framing his bald pate. His clothes were stained and rumpled, looking as though he had been wearing them for several days. He hadn’t shaved in a while, and I was guessing he probably hadn’t bathed either. “I’m afraid you caught me at a bad time.” He gestured behind me with his gun.
I turned and looked over my shoulder. The space behind me was empty of boxes, the floor covered in blue tarps tacked down with roofing nails. At the far end, a very attractive, very naked woman was bent over a metal desk, arms and legs bound with duct tape and chained to eyebolts driven into the wall. For a moment, I thought she was alive. But then I noticed the mottled gray skin and the missing gouge of flesh on her left calf muscle. She bucked and thrashed, and made inarticulate growling noises through a ball gag. Around her feet lay several used condoms and empty foil packets.
Slowly, as if my head were on a rusty hinge, I turned back to Phil. “Listen, man. What you do in your spare time is none of my business, all right?”
He shook his head, a smile beginning to stretch his mouth. “You shouldn’t have come here. I’m afraid I can’t let you leave, now.”
My mind raced. It occurred to me Phil couldn’t see my hands. If he could, he probably would have pulled the trigger already. Which meant I had one chance, but I would have to be quick.
“Phil, I don’t care what you’re doing here. No one does. Maybe you didn’t notice, but it’s pretty much the wild west out there. There’s no reason not to let me just walk away.”