Sorrow's Gift

Chapter Thirty-Four: Crash

The sun was getting way too low in the sky. They needed to find a place to stay for the night or they were going to be in trouble.

He'd been studying the towns and out-of-the-way places they'd passed on the road, but nothing had seemed right. Too many rotters in the towns. Too many trees surrounding houses out in the middle of nowhere.

At this point, though, anything was better than spending the night in the truck.

He turned the radio down and got Parrish's attention.

"What's up?" she asked, straightening.

"What do you think about this farmhouse coming up?" he asked, pointing to an old blue house in the middle of a field. "It's starting to get dark."

She stared out the window and nodded. "It could be good," she said. "There might be people living there, though. We can always knock and see, but just keep in mind that people might be pretty fierce about protecting their property right now."

"I know," he said. "There's a car in the driveway."

He slowed the Humvee and turned into the gravel drive. Slowly, he brought them up to the house and shifted into park. "I'm going to check it out. I'll leave the truck running, though. Do you think you can drive it if we have to get away fast?"

"Probably," she said.

"Why don't you move to the driver's seat and turn us around? If anything goes south, I'll jump in the passenger side and we can roll."

He grabbed the pistol from the cup holder and stuffed it into the back of his jeans. If there was anyone inside, he didn't want to scare them by walking up with a machine gun strapped to his back. Still, he needed to be ready for anything.

"Be careful," Parrish said.

"What's going on?" Noah asked, leaning forward.

"I'm going in," he said. "Watch my back."

Crash got out of the vehicle and walked toward the front porch. Behind him, he heard the door shut and the tires crunch against gravel as Parrish turned the Humvee around.

He swallowed a huge lump of nerves in his throat and forced his feet to move. As he passed the windows on the first floor, he tried to see inside, looking for any sign of movement. The curtains were drawn, making it too hard to really see anything.

He made his way up the steps of the porch and took a deep breath before he knocked on the door.

His feet tapped on the creaky old wood as he waited. Something banged inside, and he reached back, putting his hand on his gun.

He knocked again and listened.

Another crash inside, like glass hitting the floor. He leaned in, putting his ear to the door. Footsteps shuffled against the floor and he knew. No one was alive in this place.

He glanced back at the others and motioned for them to come up to the house.

Noah climbed out of the back, his bat strapped against his back and his shotgun in hand.

"There's at least one rotter inside," he said. "And it knows I'm out here."

"Maybe we should make more noise. If there are a few of those things in there, we can draw them toward the door, so when we open it, we can just blast them all," Noah said, joining him on the porch.

"Good idea," Crash said. "I hope."

He took the pistol from the back of his jeans and banged the butt of the gun against the door as hard as he could. "Come and get it, assholes," he shouted.