Black Bird of the Gallows(63)

“Okay.” I look at each of their faces. “How close are we to your homes?”

Neither of them answer right away, even though both of them can. They don’t have to tell me they’re afraid. I am, too. “We have to do this,” I say. “We have to find your families.”

“I know.” Lacey looks at the ground, eyes glazed. “I know.”

Deno pushes her hair back from her face. “We’re only two blocks away,” he says. “Come on. We can cut through some backyards.”

We break our circle but keep our hands linked. Deno leads the way, as he demonstrates remarkable skill at maneuvering through other people’s yards, over and around fences, avoiding the properties with panic-stricken dogs. Avoiding the homes that are on fire. It takes us no time to arrive in front of the Taggert home. Deno has led us to Lacey’s first.

Her house is still standing, but obviously empty. A group of residents congregates at the corner, talking, trying to comfort one another and figure out how long it will take for help to arrive. All are dirty and injured and appear absolutely terrified.

My pace falters at the sight of several men holding weapons. When they see us, they turn, brandishing their baseball bats and other blunt instruments. I try to hold on to Lacey’s hand, but she rips away from us and bolts straight for them, her neighbors, who maybe think we’re a threat.

“Where’re my parents?” she cries. “Suzanne and Bill?”

“Lacey!” Deno sprints to catch up with her. The people recognize her—thankfully—and part to reveal six people sitting or lying on the ground. They all appear alive, but not necessarily for long. My stomach clutches at the amount of blood on everyone. A strangled sound wrenches from Lacey. Injuries forgotten, she collapses next to a woman. It’s her mom. Her leg is bent at a strange angle. Blood smears over her cheek, but her face lights in surprised relief.

“Mom,” Lacey cries. “You’re okay. Oh God, you’re okay. Where’s Dad?”

“Lacey! I was so worried!” Mrs. Taggert grabs Lacey’s hand and squeezes it. “Your dad went with a few others for help.” The group closes around them, sheltering the injured from, well, whatever they’re afraid of.

“Are you kids nuts, running around like this?” one of the men shouts at Deno and me. He’s holding a crowbar in white-knuckled hands. “It’s not safe out here.”

“Why?” I back up instinctively. “What’s going on?”

“We’ve been attacked twice tonight since Mt. Serenity went down.” His gaze narrows and sweeps the streets, which are still. “They’re setting fires to homes, looting, attacking anyone they can get to. Whole neighborhood would be ablaze if not for all the soaking we’ve been getting these past weeks.”

“Who would do that?” Deno asks.

“People,” another man replies. “Sick, demented people. No one I recognize, but…” He shrugs. “Look, I don’t know. We ran a few off. We…did a number on one guy who just wouldn’t leave us alone. He’s locked in Murphy’s bathroom.” He nods toward a yellow house. “Don’t know what shape he’s in.”

“Why aren’t you inside?”

“Can’t see who’s coming. They’re setting fires. Can’t signal for rescue.” His body goes tense as his gaze sharpens on something across the street. “Get behind us, kids. I think we have company.”

I spin around, heart pounding. Unsure of what to do. The whipping blades of helicopters sound in the distance. Rescue is on its way. I can just sit tight and wait to be airlifted out of here.

My senses prick at a sweet, familiar scent on the air: honey.

No. Not here. Not now.

A disorganized smattering of people darts down the street. They’re whooping, of all things. A rock wings past my shoulder, strikes one of the men standing guard. He curses, grabs my arm, and propels me into the group. My gaze sweeps the chaos, the terrified people. It snags on a man standing on a darkened porch, watching. He’s not someone anyone would notice. Not someone who would stand out. He’s an island of calm in a sea of fear. My heart pounds hard and heavy, even as my stomach sinks. I hope I’m mistaken.

A beard slides over the man’s face, then disappears.

I can feel it, the moment our gazes meet. It’s like a rocket locking onto me. My breath chokes off.

Beekeeper.

He nods, so slowly. Acknowledgment.

Run. It’s my first thought. My only thought.

I break free of the group and into a flat run, away from the people throwing rocks, away from the group protecting themselves. I only make it a block when a woman crashes into me. I land on the shattered panes of a window. The impact jars every inch of my aching body. Glass scrapes against pavement, digs into my palms. The woman scrabbles over me, clawing at my hair like it’s smothering her. An incomprehensible stream babbles from her mouth. I catch a glimpse of bare teeth, feral, rolled-back eyes.

A red welt on the side of her neck with white, vein-like striations twists up her jaw.

Fresh panic squeezes my chest. How many people are running around right now with Beekeeper stings? How many infected people are roaming the ruins of Cadence?

The woman uses my back as a stair tread and darts off. I lurch to my feet, hurting everywhere. This is like playing Modern Warfare…on the wrong side of the screen.