“Waist-high grass and weeds,” Tye said with a scowl. “Does any look trampled to you?”
She shook her head. “You’re thinking zombie hide-and-seek? They’d have been on us already.”
“That they would. Bastards have no subtlety.”
“Amen for that.”
It took just a few moments to wade through the scraggy vegetation and approach the biggest window. Up close Jackson could see that the house did not look as pristine as it had from the street. The white of the stone was discolored in places by mold, and the wooden slats of the shutters were showing signs of wear and tear. She gave them maybe another year or so before bugs ate their way completely through.
“They’re starting to rot,” she muttered. “Should be easy enough to get through.”
“Along the vertical?” Tye asked.
“Yeah. You take the top hinge. I’ll take the bottom. One swing each should do it.”
The left side shutter came off easily enough, with minimal noise, and they lowered it to the ground, propping it up against the side of the house. Once it was safely out the way they stepped forward and peered through the window frame into the house.
“No glass,” Tye said softly. “And no pieces or shards of it either. At least none that I can see.”
“It’s like someone just carried them away…or cleaned up the mess.” Their eyes met and Jackson frowned. “This is creepy.”
“Creepier inside. There’s no fucking light.”
Jackson tightened her grip around Mandy as she looked into what would once have been a living room. Tye was right; although strips of light came in from the shutters, it was nowhere near enough to illuminate everything. She could make out a couch, a table, and what might be a TV stand, but nothing apart from that. “I wish I still had my flashlight,” she whispered. “I’d sell you for it right now.”
“Who are you selling me to?” Tye asked as he ran his hands along the ledge, probably making sure there were no slithers of glass they’d missed. “If we’re talking a curvy Latina I’ll go happily.”
“Curvy? On the post-apocalyptic diet?”
“Good point. Now stand back and I’ll go in first.”
“You sure?”
“It’s probably my turn. Wait for the signal.”
Jackson nodded as she turned to keep a watch on the street. That damn backpack was still in her line of vision and she scowled at it, unsure why it bothered her so much. It certainly wasn’t the only evidence of abandoned belongings. There were other bags scattered around, most empty, but some full of moldy clothes and useless electrical items. One thing was for sure, none of them had food or bottled water inside. Stuff
Jackson took a deep breath, gave the street one last look, then dropped Mandy-the-machete into the room. She felt naked without her weapon and hurried to lift herself on to the ledge and pull herself up, dropping a moment or so later onto the carpeted floor.
What was that stench? A combination of mold and ammonia? It was strong, almost overwhelming, and Jackson clamped her lips shut as she looked around the room. Shadows played across every surface, tiny dust motes swirled in the horizontal shafts of light, and almost immediately a feeling Jackson did not like hit, and hit hard. Over the last two years she’d learned to listen to those feelings. They’d kept her alive when so many other people—hell, practically everyone—was dead, and she picked Mandy up quickly, the feel of her smooth wooden hilt immediately comforting.
“Looks all clear,” Tye said, his voice hushed. “On this floor at least.”
“Something’s not right here,” Jackson whispered, unable to put her finger on what exactly was bothering her. “It feels…off.”
“Then let’s hurry.”
They crept into the darkened hallway—Tye leading the way—and followed it the length of the house. It opened up into a kitchen, a large one, and the light was a little better, the gaps in the shutters wider from where the rot was making better progress. Still, the weird feeling remained, enough that Jackson tightened her grip on Mandy.
“That’s gotta be the pantry, and the door is closed,” Tye said, his voice hushed. “Check it out, and I’ll keep watch.”
Jackson approached the door slowly, her heart beating a steady tattoo in her chest. She gripped her weapon in her right hand as she turned the doorknob, holding her breath without even meaning to. The relief that hit when nothing jumped out seemed oddly out of place, and Jackson lowered the blade only slightly, her gaze taking everything in, because whoever had lived in the house had clearly planned for a rainy day. The metal shelves were practically overflowing with food, and for a moment she just paused to look at it all, her heart racing at the sight. Beans, vegetables, even tinned potatoes. How long had it been since she’d eaten a potato? Not since that farm in Indiana and most of them had been rotten.
“Jesus Christ, take a look at this,” she whispered. “There’s enough food here for weeks.”
Tye leaned back slightly so he could peer in. Even in the dim light Jackson saw his eyes widen, but a moment later he shook his head. “We can only take what we can carry, you know that. Unless you wanna eat here and then take more with us?”
“I want to stuff my face immediately, but,” she looked around the darkened room, across the shadowed work surfaces, the sink and the oven—something like a chill slithering down her spine as she did so, “this place give me the heebies, not to mention the smell. I don’t like it. It feels wrong. Let’s take what we can carry and find somewhere else to eat and rest.”
“Back in the direction of the campus?”
“Might as well. We need to go back that way to pick up the interstate.”
“Get a move on then, sugar pie. I’ll go after you.”
Jackson pulled her small pack off her back and unzipped it. The sound was unnaturally loud in the quiet of the room, more so than their hushed voices. She shook her head as she caught Tye’s eye. “I know. I know.”
There was enough space in the pack for maybe a half-a-dozen cans. Any more than that would slow her down, and despite the spooky vibe of the house Jackson narrowed her eyes as she read the labels, wanting to make sure she picked right. After a moment or so she took two cans of beans, a tin of potatoes, and a packet of pasta. Then carefully, so as not to disturb the shelving unit, she lifted herself on her tiptoes and reached out for a tin of ham. The moment her fingertips found the first of them she paused. Tye froze too, his ax head glinting off one of the vertical shafts of light.
“Did you hear that?”
She nodded. A sound, a sort of creaking. Jackson lowered herself slowly, her feet hitting the floor with the smallest of noises, her pack held tight to her body.
Tye took a step back, so that he was closer to her, and looked upward. Jackson followed his gaze, swallowing against the sudden lump in her throat as she realized what he meant.
He gestured toward the hallway they’d snuck through, but Jackson shook her head. The stairs were there and whatever was now making its way across the roof, or maybe even inside the attic, would cut off their escape. She touched Tye’s shoulder and pointed toward the French windows instead. Or rather what used to be the windows, they were just closed shutters now, but they closed from the inside, meaning they would be able to unlatch them, and slip out.
Cautiously they stepped across the floor. Like the carpet, it didn’t feel right, not squelchy this time though,
