A World Alone (Dead World Series Book 1) (5 page)

"Speak," Logan growls, pulling the gun to his side. The man looks
at him, but remains silent, his eyes a blank but not lifeless stare.

"I said speak!" Logan growls again, louder this time as he pulls
the gun up and aims it at the man. I take another step back, movement catching
itself at the corner of my eye. I turn and look, my body suspending itself
mid-step.

Another three men have spread themselves along the road behind us, all
dressed the same. Like a pack of dogs that have their prey circled they too do
nothing but stare, eating us alive with their eyes.

"Logan. . . " The word trails off as I reach out and place a hand
on his shoulder. He looks at me before following my gaze to the other three
men.

Silence encircles us in a bubble as the dark hugs each of them, compressing
their bodies into terrifying contortions.

None of them move.

Until all of them do.

CHAPTER
NINE

Logan

My finger squeezes around the trigger before my arm is
even in the air. The bullet strikes one of them in the leg, their figure
sprawling forward in a black blur. Despite his injury he lunges at me. I swing
the gun up and squeeze again, a faint mist settling on my skin as the air
temporarily takes on a red hue. His body falls limp against me while one of the
others rush towards Stella. She kicks them back as I push the corpse aside in
time for another one of them to grab me.

He throws my hand in the air and holds it there with a firm grip as I try to
twist my wrist so that the barrel of the gun will point at him. My other hand I
find against his throat, clamping down on his esophagus as he vainly attempts
to do the same to mine. Throwing my head back I swiftly bring it down, crashing
against his temple with a dense thud. He falls back with a wail of
astonishment, his grasp falling free from my hand as he tumbles to the ground.
I lower the gun to his level and slowly start to squeeze the trigger until—

"Stop!"

The sound catches me off guard amidst the chaos. I lose focus of the figure
in front of me and find myself turning towards the voice.

I almost sigh when I find Stella held up against one of them, a thin blade
pressed against the curve of her neck.

"Drop the gun or I'll slit your friend's throat." His voice comes
muffled from the balaclava, but even still it's obvious how young he is from
the unnatural depth he forces into his words; a vain attempt to sound
intimidating.

"Go ahead, she's not my friend." My gaze shifts from him to
Stella, and then flicks down to the blade glinting silver in the moonlight. His
brow creases as he considers this.

"Fair game, you won't mind if we take her then." He pulls Stella
against him with a rough tug, emitting a small noise from her as he holds the
knife in place. "A lot of things we could do with a pretty girl around
here."

His gaze slithers the length of her body, the knife pressing closer against
her neck as she struggles against his hold. I aim the gun at his head, lining
the sight up with his temple. Before his eyes pull away from her, I pull the
trigger.

Click
.

His eyes widen for a second and turn glassy with shock before they begin to
glint with amusement. The mask stretches and there’s no doubt that behind it he
is smiling.

I pull the trigger again.

Click
.
Click
.
Click
.

He laughs, moving the knife an inch away from Stella's neck to accommodate
the movement in his arm as his body rocks with the hilarity of it all.

"Well, well, wel—" Before he has time to finish, Stella throws her
head backwards, her hands creeping up the front of her throat and throwing his
arm away from her. He curses loudly as she spins away from him, making a grab
for the knife but missing.

He staggers a step away from us, blood spilling through his fingers as he pulls
the balaclava down and clenches his nostrils shut. He waves the knife between
us wildly as he continues sputtering curses.

"I'm gonna kill you!"

"We don't have time for this!" one of the other men growls, his
gaze cautiously flicking towards mine before continuing in a lower voice.
"Peter's waiting."

The one with the knife and hopefully a broken nose seems to sober up at
this. He drops his hand to his side, letting the blood trickle freely down his
front as he raises the knife towards my throat.

"Give us the keys to your car then," he says slowly, his eyes
threatening and his voice no longer trying to attain a sense of intimidation,
but actually achieving it.

I scowl as I continue to hold the empty gun in front of him. I can't give
him the keys to the car, there are too many memories in there. There has to be
something I can do to scare them off somehow. I throw a quick look at the other
two guys; it doesn't look like they have any weapons. Stella stands a few feet
away from me, her eyes warning me not to do anything. I quickly look away from
them, trying to rid their haunting green from my memory.

But I can't.

Lowering the gun, I keep my gaze on the ground, not wanting to see their
smug expressions. My blood begins to boil and heat the surface of my skin, but
even still I restrain myself from doing anything. I take the car keys out of my
pocket and throw them at the feet of the one with the knife. In a swift
movement he bends down and scoops them up, his glaring eyes trained on me the
entire time.

He steps forward and slashes the knife out towards me. I jump back, the
blade catching me on the wrist. It glides through my skin like butter, opening
the skin and coaxing a river of red to flow out. I yell out in pain,
reflexively clamping down on the wound with my other hand and then shouting at
the pain that causes. The gun clatters to the ground at his feet.

He laughs loudly as he steps around me, wiping his blade on the tail of his
shirt and picking up the gun. "Looks like we got some wheels fellas,"
he chuckles, glancing mischievously at the other two men. They take off at a
run, already knowing which car is mine. They must have been watching us for
longer than I thought. I watch them go, gritting my teeth as they slam the
doors shut. The jeep coughs sleepily as they struggle to start her properly. It
takes a few moments before she roars to life, fully awake. They pull her out of
the gas station and take off speeding down the road, shouting out the windows
as they go.

I stand still, staring in the direction they’ve gone, listening as their
shouts slowly fade to nothing and their shape disappears over a hill. I'm
surprised they didn't bother killing us when they so easily could have. The
thought is taken from me by my aching wrist, as my fingers, wet and glistening
a dark red, tightly clench around the wound. With a calm resolve that is difficult
to hold, my nostrils flare as I exhale a low and steady breath.

I lost my car.

I lost my goddamn car, because of her.

She steps up beside me, staring off after them, her finger gently tracing
the curve of her neck.

"Well," Stella sighs, "that could've gone better."

I shift my glare towards her, my jaw beginning to ache from the constant
tension of gritting my teeth. She furrows her brow before dropping her gaze to
my wrist.

"You're hurt," she frowns, looking back up, "let me
see."

I step away from her, my features creasing into a deeper glare. "No,"
I spit.

She straightens up, her face pinching in confusion. "What? I'm just
trying to help!"

"I don't need your help!" I shout, not caring how loud I am.
"Goddammit this is exactly why I don't help people!"

She coils back, surprise exploding on her face before settling in anger. "What?
You blame me for this?" she asks incredulously. "How is this my
fault?"

"I stopped at the gas station to let you out! If you weren't with me I
would still have my car!"
And everything I had in it
, I think
bitterly. All the photos and drawings. All the memories I had with that car.

All gone.

"You needed to get gas!" she retorts.

"I had a full tank!" I yell back. "Only reason I stopped was
to get rid of you!"

She steps away, her anger simmering down as though she begrudgingly accepts
what I've said. Lips pressing together tightly, she stares off to the side and
expels a low sigh, her brow settling slightly.

"I'm sorry," she breathes softly, "I'm sorry you feel that
way, but there's nothing we can do about it now." She returns her gaze to
mine, her eyes staring into the dark recesses of my soul. "Our best chance
of survival lies in sticking together." Her gaze doesn't deviate from mine
as she holds me still with her eyes.

The same eyes that haunt me in my dreams.

That beg me for help every night.

Those same
fucking
eyes.

For a fraction of a second I see past the eyes. Hatred overwhelms me as I
see them for what they really are. A distant memory, a bad dream. A green haze
that has tormented me for so long. And I see the manipulation in them. The
lies.

"What is it that you really want?" I sneer.

She looks at me confused. "What?"

"Oh don't insult me! Do you think I'm an idiot!" I yell.

She stares at me, her eyes hard.

"I know all about the damsel in distress act you've been playing."
Her shoulders slump as I say this and I know now that I'm definitely right.
"A little tip for next time, it doesn't really work well if you go around
head butting people!"

She rolls her eyes.

"So tell me then! What do you want? What do you want from me!" I
shout at her. With her shoulders slumped, she stares at the ground for a moment
before looking up at me with the smallest of frowns; one I already suspect to
be fake.

"Okay," she huffs, "you got me."

Her eyes become glassy with the glint of unshed tears as she blinks
dramatically to keep them at bay. She turns away from me, hugging herself
around the waist.

"I've been alone for so long," she says, her shoulders beginning
to shake lightly with sobs. "I didn't realize how much I missed company
until I met you. You remind me of my father." She turns around to face me
now, her eyes red with tears, her cheeks streaked.

"I just don't want to be alone anymore," she says, shutting her eyes
as more tears begin to fall. In a matter of seconds, she has receded into a
tear streaked, bubbling mess. It happened a little too quickly.

I watch her for another moment, observing the thick lashes matted with tears
and the red puffy cheeks.

"I call bullshit."

Her eyes fly open, her lips parting into a small 'o' shape.
"What?" she asks, almost sounding flustered.

"I call bullshit," I repeat.

She stares at me for a moment in surprise and confusion, before dropping all
expression altogether. All sadness flees her eyes and leaves her looking
slightly bemused.

"You're good," she nods, the hint of a smile tugging at the corner
of her lips.

I shrug. "Hate to admit it, but it was a lucky guess."

She nods again, allowing herself a full smile as she reflects on this.

"I want to go north," she tells me, "I've heard rumors that
the infection can't survive up there."

"And why do you need me for that?" I ask.

"More the merrier?" she suggests with a grin. I frown at her, to
which I receive another roll of her eyes.

"I'm safer with you than I am alone. And I don't think you're better
off without me, despite what you think."

I study her features for a moment before deciding that she's telling the
truth.
Probably
.

"So what's in it for me?" I ask.

She shakes her head. "Absolutely nothing."

I snort and look at her skeptically, folding my arms across my chest.

"But I know what type of person you are," she continues,
"you're a good guy. And your conscience isn't gonna let you abandon
me."

I scowl at her. "Wanna bet?"

She frowns, her brow furrowing slightly as she sizes me up.

"Yes," she nods, her eyes uncertain.

My scowl grows deeper as I readjust the grip on my wrist.

"Come on," she says, "let's go look for a first aid kit in
the gas station." She reaches her arm out towards me, but I step back with
a growl. I stand for a second before straightening up with a final scowl.

"I don't like you," I breathe.

She drops her arm and stares at me for a moment before nodding with a sigh.

"I know," she says, turning and walking towards the gas station.

I watch her go for a few minutes, waiting until she is a reasonable distance
away before deciding whether or not I should ditch her. She's caused me nothing
but bad luck. Although she did save my life on two occasions. And she is just a
kid.
Goddammit
! I wonder for a moment if things would be different if
she hadn't saved my life. Maybe then I'd be able to leave her behind without a
second thought. Yet, somehow, I don't think that would be the case. I glare at
her back for another minute before following her, muttering curses under my
breath as I go.

She slips into the gas station and I follow after her. The inside is dark
and murky, packets of food strewn across the floors. She circles around the
store, checking for any infected before stepping behind the counter and
dropping out of sight. I can hear her rummaging through the drawers as I look
outside, searching the street for any sign of movement. Besides the occasional
sway of a branch the area looks still.

"Well," she mutters, "they don't have a first aid kit."
She stands up from behind the counter, holding a small bag in her hand.
"But they do sell sewing kits."

"You're kidding me."

She smirks, "fraid' not."

She steps around the counter and wanders through the aisles, picking out an
item every now and then. Eventually she comes back to the front of the store,
but only to make sure that the doors are locked. She seems to be pretty
competent.

"Come on," she nods, "there are chairs behind the
counter." Before I have a chance to respond, she opens a bottle and
splashes its liquid onto my arm. I jump back, cursing as I do. The liquid seeps
into the gash and burns the flesh, like lava has replaced the blood in my
veins. In a matter of seconds my skin turns a bright shade of red.

"Jesus what the hell was that!" I yell, the pain growing worse
before it begins to fade.

"Disinfectant," she mumbles, looking down and reading the label.
"Well, technically rubbing alcohol."

With a glare, I follow her to the back of the store where we find two small
stools hidden behind the counter. She takes a seat, scattering the items she
picked out in front of her.

"We're lucky this stuff was leftover," she mumbles, picking out a
needle and thread.