Traveler (Traveler #1)(65)

I walk for what feels like hours, but without a working phone—I can’t get a signal at all—or a watch, who knows? It’s likely been less than that, but it feels like a lot longer. I haven’t found anything along the way that I can use as a mirror, either.

The sun is beginning to sink in the sky, and it’s getting even colder. I’m starting to think that I’m not going to find shelter before evening when I find the road. It’s half-buried under dirt and fine grayish powder, and chunks of it have crumbled off at the edges.

I follow the road in the same direction that I was walking toward, keeping to the edge of the rubble pile, and just as the sun drops to the horizon, I see the houses. It’s a small town, and strangely, even though it’s twilight, there are no lights, not in the street and not in any of the homes. I get a creepy sense of foreboding about this, and I slow my steps a bit, trying to pay closer attention, because I just kicked something hard as I was walking and it rolled off in front of me.

That’s when I realize I’m walking through a graveyard.

I kicked a human skull, and there are bone fragments all around me. Not one of them is intact—all are broken, shattered. I crouch down to look more closely in the remaining dim light and I see the marks upon them—like they’ve been gnawed. The bones are of all sizes. Large adults. Smaller adults. Children.

I stagger to my feet as the horror hits me like an icy fist in the chest.

I am in Finn’s world.

The Traveler doesn’t need to follow me. She knows I won’t live long. Not here.

The town in front of me now becomes a place to be feared instead of a safe harbor. I need to get out of sight. Who knows what’s hiding there, waiting for someone clueless like me to stumble in?

But I have no choice. I have to go. I need to find a mirror. A puddle of clear water. A piece of polished metal. Something. And the houses in town are my best chance for finding any of those things. More than anything, I need to get out of sight, and I’m not about to curl up for the night on a pile of skeletons.

I make my way more carefully now, grateful that I have my hearing again, but starting at every sound in the deepening night. It’s eerily quiet for the most part, but that just makes the tiny sounds stand out more when they occur. A shift in the rubble. Wind picking up. A thump that I can’t define.

I crouch down, running as quickly as I can until I reach the side of a house, flattening myself into its shadow. I’m panting with exertion. I stand there a few minutes, waiting and listening.

And then I hear it. Far off and barely discernable. Could it be human voices? I can’t tell for sure. I am tempted to hide in this building, but if they’re looking for people coming in off the road, this would be the first place they’d look.

I stay flat against the wall, inching along until I get to a corner and can look around it very, very slowly. I don’t see anyone in either direction down the street, but that doesn’t mean they’re not inside a building or something. I stop and listen again, but whatever I’m hearing is faint and far away. I think. I hope.

I decide to risk a run to the next house, and again, no one is there. I still feel like I’m too close to the road, though. I count down two more houses and wonder if I should risk crossing the street. Probably not.

I move around to the back of this house, still listening closely for voices, or any sound of people. I am torn between the need to get away and the need to stay clear of what is an obvious entry point to the town. I try the back door, but it’s not budging.

I look up and down the street carefully as I move around to the front of the house. I can see in the dim moonlight that the door has been broken in and I stand in the doorway, listening, holding my breath to keep it from sounding in my ears. I take a step cautiously into the house. My foot crunches down on something and I freeze in my tracks, holding my breath again. After what feels like an eternity, I move once more, and everything sounds impossibly loud as my footsteps echo on a wooden floor scattered with debris.

The house is very dark, and I make my way blindly from one room to the next, finding nothing on the ground floor that could act as a mirror—at least not that I can see in the dark.

I make my way up the staircase as silently as I can, but the stairs creak badly and I am sure I heard something rustle. I bite down on my lip to keep from making a startled sound, and I wait. Breathe. Wait some more.

I make it up two more stairs and wait again before finally moving to the top of the staircase and working my way carefully down the hallway, my eyes straining to see in near pitch-black. The first room I encounter is a bathroom, and I nearly shout with excitement. Where there’s a bathroom, there’s a mirror. I fumble around automatically for the light switch and realize how useless that was when nothing happens. The power must be out. I feel for the sink and find it, then reach my hand out and touch the glass above it. Yes! It’s a mirror.

But I can’t see it. If I can’t see it, I can’t shift. My hand reaches up to trace its outline. It’s definitely large and attached firmly to the wall. Maybe there’s something I can smash it with? I only need a good-sized shard. I feel around, but there’s nothing in the room—just a sink and a toilet.

I lean against the sink, momentarily defeated. This bathroom has no windows, and it’s as dark as a tomb in here. I’m going to have to find another mirror in a room with some windows, or a flashlight.