The Immune

14. Encounter

We walk together in an odd-shaped cone, silent. Occasionally, Justin will clear his throat and toss a cigarette to the ground. He lights another within seconds, and the cherry-red speck becomes a beacon in the darkness. He stomps out a match, filling the air with that charred sulfur smell.

I'm reminded of Dad so strongly that a smile spreads across my face. For a minute, we are back out on the porch, and he lights them up, almost an entire pack in a sitting. He could blow smoke rings better than anyone I ever met. I remember chasing them across the dead, crunchy grass.

Was Dad feeding my mom the virus? Is he capable of something so malicious? I've never seen him intentionally hurt anyone. That's what makes Mandy's story so far-fetched; in my eyes, Dad couldn't hurt a fly.

Stephen taps me gently on the shoulder after about thirty minutes of walking. He trains his flashlight beam down a hill to our right. Roofs of houses line the dark street in a neat row—a subdivision. A quick glance at the street sign tells me that this place is called Standifer Circle.

"Is this it?" I whisper up at Stephen. It doesn't look ominous or zombie-ridden. I walk in ahead as he nods.

Stephen grabs the gun on my back, and the strap pulls me back. "Stay with the group," he growls. "It doesn't look like much. But if you get attacked, you'll appreciate the four of us being here."

We descend the hill, and the houses cast even more moonlit shadows against the broken asphalt. The houses themselves seem alive almost. One can hear noises coming from inside—banging on walls and rattling around. It doesn't help that the world out here has gone dead silent. Nothing but the wind to brush past our ears.

None of the houses have windows. Few have doors; some have holes in the roof. As we walk down the road, I notice that some of the houses have a message on the side in red spray paint: "Infected Nest- Do Not Enter." A shiver jolts down my spine. I've never seen a late stage Infected, spare my own mother and in pictures. I'm not sure that I really want to.

Stephen stops walking and pulls out a folded piece of paper. He flattens it out and shows it to me.

"House numbers," he says, reading my mind. "We have the houses marked if there's a nest, and the blank ones are deemed safe. This map helps us keep track of which houses we've already scavenged."

The map has about twenty squares drawn on it; each one has its own number. A third of the locations are marked with a black x. Another third are circled. The remaining, I assume, haven't been checked.

"What will you do when you're finished with this neighborhood?" I ask, straightening out.

"Find another one." He shrugs. "Lots of houses in good 'ole Dunlap. Lots of people for the Infected to ruin."

He walks ahead, leaving me to let that sink in. Clare nudges me forward with a rough hand. I mumble an apology and jog to catch up with Stephen.

Most of the house numbers are hard to see from the street. After some grumbling about squinting, Stephen explains why we can't just shine his flashlight up that way ("Do you want to wake up the zombies?"). We don't stop for another seven houses.

"We ain't been in this one." Stephen puts his map away and motions to the numbers nailed to the houses once-white plastic siding. 214. "You're up, kid."

I gape over at him. "Wait, what?" There's a note of fear in my voice that even I didn't expect. "You're sending me alone? There's no telling what I might find!"

"Exactly." He runs a hand over his hair, which is short and choppy. "Don't be insulted, but it's safer if we send you in first. If you run into an infected, it might bite you, but you'll be fine. A bite for one of us could be fatal. You volunteered for this. Don't wimp out now."