Dave stared at Sandra. His shoulders heaved with each sob; his body slumped over in defeat. Dr. Neff crouched down to make eye contact with him.
“Where is she, Mr. Wilton? I know you do not want me to cause your wife any more pain. I promise you are free to go once you tell me.”
“I don’t know. Not fully. She has a map she’s following, trying to retrace her steps. She’s starting at a farm where she thinks she killed a little boy. I think it’s called Apple Acre.” Dave’s eyes melted with defeat. The man had no fight left in him.
“Thank you.” Dr. Neff grabbed his medical bag before addressing the Collectors. “Clear the home of any weapons and food provisions. Then untie them and report back to camp.”
Dr. Neff returned to his SUV and sent a text to Catherine. “The girl went to Apple Acre Farm. Start there.”
Chapter Eleven Allison
Once Allison hit the paved road, she floored the old farm truck up to sixty miles per hour. Probably the fastest the old truck had ever gone, and it showed. It shook and rattled, exaggerating every bump in the road and tossing Allison around in the driver’s seat. Allison didn’t bother consulting her maps; she just wanted out of there, away from Apple Acre Farm. Tears stung her eyes and clouded her vision. The world outside flew by in a blur of green as she focused on the yellow lines on the road, trying to keep the truck in its lane. I’m so stupid. No shit, he can’t forgive me. Allison cried until her sobs had no tears left.
As her dry heaving slowed she let her foot off the gas and watched the odometer decrease until she was traveling at a reasonable forty-five miles per hour. The old truck seemed much happier at this speed and stopped jolting Allison around in her seat. Allison saw a sign for a rest area and pulled off the road into the parking lot. There were two small buildings next to each other on the opposite side. The asphalt was patchy, full of bumps with clumps of weeds growing in its cracks. All around the perimeter, the grass was tall and unruly. A perfect place to hide right before an ambush. There were picnic benches with worn red awnings scattered around the lot, mostly overtaken by the grass.
Pressure built in Allison’s pelvis and she realized she needed to use the restroom. She climbed out of the truck and started to lock the door but decided against it. Who’s going to break in? Besides, I don’t want to fumble with a key if I have Infected on my ass. This area had been cleared, but Allison would rather be safe than sorry. She grabbed the pistol from its case and tucked it into her waistband as she jogged over to the bathroom.
Allison pressed her ear to the door of the women’s restroom. It was quiet. She pulled the gun from her waistband and held it up as she pushed open the door. The stench of raw, warm sewage hit her nose, and a dry heave forced itself up from her gut. She let the door close and backed away from the bathroom, using all her energy to not vomit. She moved over to the men’s restroom but also found it empty, toilets overflowing with filth. The sewage system must have failed and came back up through the pipes. Fucking disgusting.
Allison braced her body against the side of the building as waves of nausea passed over her. Once the urge to vomit passed Allison went to the side of the building and squatted down next to a bush, making sure she was hidden from the road as she relieved herself.
Tires crunched on torn-up concrete and her stomach dropped. Someone’s here. Her spine stiffened, and she froze in place. Her mind raced. The man from the farm. Terror sent all her hair standing on end as her throat tightened. She slowly peered around the bush and shimmied her pants back up while remaining crouched in the tall grass. The truck parked near Allison’s, but no one exited. Her breath quickened as sweat beaded on her forehead. The windows were so darkly tinted Allison could not make out who was inside. After a few minutes the truck pulled back onto the road, heading in the same direction it had originally been going. Allison’s chest tightened as she watched the truck drive away. What were they doing? Something isn’t right. She leaned against the side of the building and closed her eyes. One, two, three—stay calm—four, five, six—stay focused—eight, nine, ten—don’t forget to breathe. Her throat loosened as her breathing returned to normal, the tightness in her chest faded, and the goosebumps on her flesh disappeared. An uneasiness rolled in her belly like thousands of beetles crawling through her digestive tract. Allison couldn’t shake one feeling: She was in danger.
She jogged back over to her truck, keeping her eyes on the area around her. She did not want to be surprised by anyone, Infected or otherwise. She climbed in, locked the doors, and pulled out her journal. She flipped through a bit and then looked at her list in the back. Her next stop was the area where she attacked the family on top of the car. She hoped her broken shards of memory of this would help her identify the area where it occurred. She
