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  Casey tore her gaze away, her gorge rising.

  “It hasn’t been dead for long.” Cain crouched to observe the remains at a closer range, giving the air a tentative sniff. “Maybe less than a day?”

  “Let’s hope Ashley’s friend didn’t wander off too far, then.” No sooner had she spoken the words than a noisy growl filled the woods to their left. Startled, the twins whirled around and whipped out hammers and kitchen knives, listening intently to pinpoint its exact location.

  “Can’t see a damn thing,” Cain muttered.

  “I know.” It didn’t help that sweat kept trickling into her sensitive eyes. “I have an idea, though, but it involves some climbing on your part.”

  Her twin suddenly broke out in a grin. “Say no more.” Swiftly tucking the tools back in place, he examined the closest tree, then grunted in approval. Moving with the sinuous grace of a leopard, he pulled himself up, grabbing branches along the way, until he disappeared into a thick cluster of leaves.

  Silence. Then: “Three o’clock. To your right.”

  “What’s he doing?” Casey breathed.

  “Just standing there like a mindless zombie, actually.”

  “See anything else?”

  “Not really … Wait – he’s moving!”

  Casey hunched into a fighting stance, tightening her sweaty palms around the weapons. Damn the warm weather! Her hands were growing greasier by the minute – one wrong move, and the carving knife could slip and embed into her upper thigh.

  Frantic rustling, coupled with a sudden cascading of fresh leaves, sounded right above her head. “I’m coming, Kay!” Cain yelled, practically sliding down the bulky trunk to reach her. The reckless fool was going to end up with splinters stuck up his ass and hands, or worse, a sprained ankle.

  “I’ll take care of it!” she shouted up at him. “Just leave it to me –”

  The breathtaking impact cut off the rest of her sentence and sent her flying backwards into the nearest bush. During those crucial seconds, she noted three facts.

  First – the infected jock, Roy, was someone she instantly recognized. They’d shared a couple of classes together, although she would hardly call him an acquaintance. A popular loudmouth, he was always seen with equally loud sorority girls hanging around him, strutting around campus like they owned the place.

  Second – the noisy bastard was still clinging to her, but that wasn’t so bad. At least, it wouldn’t be if his disgusting teeth hadn’t sunk into her shoulder and drawn blood.

  And lastly – despite her slippery hands, she’d still managed to stab his broad, muscular back with her trusty knife.

  “Kay!” Grunting as he landed on his feet, Cain rushed over and violently wrenched the jock away from his sister. Horror filled his eyes as he stared hard at her open wound. “You’re bleeding. I don’t believe it … this wasn’t supposed to happen –”

  “Don’t just stand there,” Casey interrupted, wincing. “Help me up, will you?”

  He insisted on piggybacking her and she allowed him, feeling tired and contemplative. So it had finally come to this. Any minute now, she’d know for sure whether the so-called “vaccine” even worked, let alone existed. She buried her face into her twin’s comforting back, drawing in calming breaths to stop the trembling.

  Everything will be fine. I’ll be okay.

  To distract herself, Casey squeezed her thighs around her brother. “Hey, is he dead?”

  “Not likely,” Cain replied, pulling her closer. “But don’t worry about him. How do you feel? Sick? Feverish? Hungry … for human flesh?”

  She knew his lame attempt at a joke was to mask his underlying fear, so she decided to play along. “Not hungry, no. But I seriously want to get laid. It’s been a while.”

  “I bet Ashley’s grandparents have an inflatable sheep in the house somewhere,” he deadpanned. “After all, it’s usually the friendly, strait-laced types that get kinky behind closed doors.”

  “Pity I lack a certain male appendage, if the thing actually exists. Anyway, at least you have Ashley.”

  He snorted. “Yeah, no. I’d prefer the plastic sheep, honestly.”

  Their banter came to a stop once they reached the jock, who was lying facedown on the ground. The knife hadn’t sunk in deep enough, not that a single stab would’ve caused much damage to begin with. If anything, Roy should have leaped up and attacked them by now.

  So what the hell’s going on?

  “Put me down,” Casey said. “I need to check something.”

  Ignoring her request, he tightened his grip instead. “What if you get bitten again?”

  “Even if I do, it’s not like a second bite’s going to worsen my current condition.”

  “Unless he rips your throat out.”

  “I’ll be careful,” she said, patting his shoulder gently.

  To be on the safe side, Cain grabbed a sturdy-looking branch and poked the jock a few times. No response. Maybe he really was dead. Cain gave him one last poke for good measure.

  A phlegmy groan erupted from the jock’s chest, and the twins yelped in surprise.

  “W-Water,” Roy croaked through his bloodied lips, resting his cheek on the ground. He stared in their general direction with his slimy, colorless eyes.

  “I … need … water.”

  Chapter 12

  Lugging their bags and weapons down the stairs had been relatively easy, except when they had to zigzag around strewn parts of decaying bodies and limbs. But an unexpected problem arose once they reached the first floor. While Mr. Rothstein was fumbling to unlock the exit door, they soon sensed that they weren’t alone.

  “W-Where are you going?” a shrill voice demanded, and before any of them could even let out a syllable, she added, “Wherever you’re going, take me with you!”

  Mike turned to face the woman, mentally scratching his head and wondering why she looked so familiar. Clearly, she was an occupant of the building, but he didn’t know her name or her apartment number.

  “Hello,” Mr. Rothstein said carefully, pushing Trey behind him. “I’m glad to see you’ve made it. And your husband? Is he with you?”

  Of course … she was the woman they’d met at the entrance, shouting with her husband and pushing at Mr. Rothstein. Loathing filled Mike’s face, then shocked fury as the woman whipped out a handgun and aimed it at the retired pianist’s abdomen.

  “Never mind that deadbeat,” she sneered. “He’s long gone.” When the others continued staring at her, she turned the safety off and deliberately placed her finger on the trigger. “I’ve been watching you for days, going up and down the stairs and playing the piano. The freaking piano in the middle of an outbreak! And cooking food while the rest of us have nothing!”

  As she went on with her tirade, her spittle flying everywhere, Mike inched a little closer toward her. The woman looked soft, like someone who spent hours on end watching reality shows and gorging on a diet of fast food and root beer. Meanwhile, he was much younger and had the ability to heal and move fast (according to Mr. Rothstein’s theory, anyway).

  Feeling fairly confident, he decided to go for the handgun.

  He grabbed the woman’s wrist, simultaneously flicking the muzzle toward the ceiling with his other hand. She screamed at the top of her lungs and pulled the trigger, but there was nothing. Emboldened, he yanked the handgun away and tossed it over her shoulder, sending it skittering across the linoleum floor.

  “You friggin’ bastard!” she yelled, walloping Mike’s head with her meaty hands. “You nearly broke my wrist, you stinking piece of –”

  Snarls and frenzied thuds echoed through the foyer, and everyone immediately froze. The infected were coming their way.

  “Let’s go,” Mr. Rothstein ordered, pushing Trey into the parking lot. “You too, ma’am, if you want to live.”

  Without a word, Mike picked up his duffel bag and baseball bat, then jogged toward the open exit. “You sure about that invitation?” he muttered, brushing past
Mr. Rothstein. If his old friend replied, Mike didn’t hear it.

  After making sure the exit was securely locked behind them, Mr. Rothstein gestured for them to head to the right. “This way.”

  The RV was an impressive sight to behold. A modern apartment on wheels, it was silver on the outside and contained all the amenities required for comfortable traveling. It really was a shame that Mr. Rothstein couldn’t take that trip along the East Coast with his late wife.

  The woman, who still hadn’t introduced herself, whistled and stood in front of the RV entry door. “This is just perfect. It’s exactly what I need to get out of this dump.”

  “Excuse me,” Mike interrupted, jostling her out of the way. He knew he was being petty, but the woman was bad news. They might as well tie a millstone around their necks and jump into a contaminated reservoir. “We never said you were coming with us.”

  “Like hell I’m not,” she spat out, pointing a thick finger at Mr. Rothstein. “The old man said I could go, didn’t he?”

  Their fight came to a temporary stalemate when the exit door suddenly rattled with a loud bang. Silence, then another ear-splitting bang followed, resulting in extensive damage to the lock.

  “You can continue your grievances in the RV.” Mr. Rothstein opened the entry door and hurriedly ushered Trey inside. “Get in, both of you. We’re leaving now.”

  Sighing in frustration, Mike tossed all their bags in, then stepped inside and slid behind the small dining table where Trey had made himself comfortable. The boy pushed his glasses up his nose and stared at Mike.

  “What you did was highly dangerous, Michael,” he said. “Aaron could have been shot.”

  “The handgun was empty.”

  “A fact you were unaware of at the time.”

  The RV started moving. The woman had seated herself upfront, telling Mr. Rothstein to go faster. For once, she made a good point.

  As Mr. Rothstein idled in front of the automatic exit gate, the door behind them finally gave way with a shrieking noise, an amplified version of nails dragging down a blackboard. The infected beings poured out and threw themselves at the rear of the RV, violently spraying their own blood onto the windows and side view mirrors. In the midst of this sudden mayhem, all Mike could think was, The spotless RV is dirty now. Instead of a blessed send-off to start off their trip, it felt like they’d been put through a forced baptism. And not with holy water, but infected blood.

  In other words, cursed rather than saved.

  “Move!” the woman screeched, climbing over Mr. Rothstein to grab the steering wheel and plant her sizable ass on his lap. She floored the gas pedal, grinding her hips into the poor pianist as the RV hurtled forward and smashed into the exit gate. After several more tries, the vehicle finally managed to break through the barrier, leaving everyone with whiplash and the uncomfortable knowledge that the tires were likely covered with blood, guts, and bits of flesh. In her bid for freedom, the crazy woman had hit and run over more than a dozen of the rotting infected.

  “Finally!” she cawed, cackling in sheer delight as she veered toward the intersection. It turned out the infected weren’t the only ones she’d flattened; Mr. Rothstein groaned beneath her, struggling to push her away.

  Mike quickly leaped to his feet. “Listen, lady, you’re going to crush his vitals. Just park somewhere and let him move to the passenger seat.”

  “Yeah, yeah, hold your horses.” Still chuckling to herself, she braked the RV and lifted her ass in a coquettish fashion. Mike ignored her, choosing to reach down and pull his friend by the armpits instead.

  “Are you all right?” he whispered, helping Mr. Rothstein into the adjacent seat.

  The pianist nodded. “Thank you, Mike. Just give me a moment to catch my breath.” When he calmed down enough to think, he told the woman to drive to the nearest self-serve car wash, where they would spray the blood and guts off the surface of the RV and tires, then have breakfast to regain back their strength. At the mention of food, the woman’s eyes lit up and she increased the speed, barking for directions with her usual impudence.

  Mike returned to his seat and pressed a fist to his mouth, studying his old friend silently. Under normal circumstances, Mr. Rothstein would have been desperate to reach his daughter Miriam without further delay. But they hadn’t factored in a newcomer in their plans, someone who didn’t exactly have a track record of solidarity. There was no way in hell they could trust her with information on their newfound immunity and the possibility of a vaccine.

  Deen & Blatt Pharmaceuticals would have to wait.

  A tap on his shoulder shook Mike out of his rumination. “What is it?” he asked, turning around.

  Trey blinked at him, his face devoid of expression. “I need to discharge my urine.”

  Seriously, who talked like that, let alone a twelve-year-old?

  Narrowing his eyes, Mike moved aside to let the boy pass. He then rose up a while later and headed the same way, stationing himself right in front of the small bathroom door.

  Sounds of a soul-sucking flush were followed by quick splashing of water. When Trey stepped out, neatly tucking his shirt in his pants, he bumped into Mike with a surprised “oof!”

  Without preamble, Mike grabbed the boy’s collar and dragged him into the bedroom, clicking the door closed behind them.

  “Take a seat,” he said, his tone harsher than intended. “We need to have a little chat.”

  * * *

  Against Casey’s better judgment, she decided to take Roy back with them to the lake house for first-aid treatment and observation. Cain had vehemently objected – the jock, according to her brother, still remained a highly infectious and dangerous threat despite his reclamation of speech. What Cain said, of course, made sense; just because Roy could talk didn’t mean he no longer harbored unspeakable cravings to chew off their face at any given moment.

  And yet … there were certain factors that also couldn’t be ignored. About an hour had gone by, but Casey’s mind and body stayed the same, free of the virus. The so-called “vitamin shot” was definitely working like a vaccine, at least for now. On top of that, Roy had behaved himself for the last hour; the only problems were the stab wound in his back and his inability to exercise full control of his body.

  “Where … are we?” Roy whispered painfully around his swollen tongue. The twins had created a makeshift cot with just two thick branches and vines roped around to help support his weight. His weeping eyes stared up into the sky, unaffected by the glaring sun.

  Casey glanced down, frowning in thought. She was holding the back of the makeshift cot, with Cain supporting the weight in front. “We’re almost at Ashley’s lake house. Do you remember visiting there for summer break?”

  “Sssummerrr …” Roy fell quiet, and then a low snarl escaped through his bloody lips.

  Casey nearly lost her grip on the branches. “Damn it! Cain, let him down for a minute.”

  The twins hurriedly placed Roy on the ground and stood a safe distance away, fixing him with a gimlet eye. The jock may have reclaimed some of his senses back, but both twins were ready to end his life if he started regressing back to his mindless, infected state.

  Roy worked his mouth over and over again, much like a dying fish on land. “W-Water,” he said, but Casey stepped forward and did something else, something completely unexpected.

  She crouched beside him, holding her arm out, and then slashed at her flesh with the carving knife.

  “What are you doing?” Cain bellowed in fury as his sister’s blood splattered into Roy’s gaping mouth. He wrested the knife away from her and slapped his hand over the wound to staunch the bleeding.

  “Testing something.” Calmly, she fished out a balled-up handkerchief from her pocket and pressed it on her arm. “Here, tie this around the wound.”

  “So?” Cain said angrily, making the knot tighter than necessary. “I’m guessing you had some brilliant reason for pulling that stunt, right?”

  “More li
ke an epiphany, actually.”

  “Okay, then, let’s hear it.”

  “It’s pretty obvious, isn’t it?” Casey raised her arm, wincing at the flaring pain. “I mean, look at me. More than an hour ago, I was bitten by an infected person, and yet I’m still fine. No fever, no symptoms … nothing whatsoever.”

  “Maybe the infection rate works differently for everyone,” Cain said, dubious.

  “It’s possible, I suppose, but highly unlikely. More importantly, look at him.” She rested a hand on Roy’s head. “See what happened as soon as he bit my shoulder and drew blood?”

  Cain stared at her for a beat, then threw his head back and guffawed. “Are you serious? Sounds like what you had was a delusional dream and not an epiphany.” His smile widened. “What now? Are you going to start spouting nonsense about how you’re a walking, talking vaccine who can turn the infected back to normal?”

  “Well …” Casey cleared her throat. “Maybe not to that extent.”

  Beside them, Roy let out a bubbly sigh and slowly blinked his pale eyes. “Are we at the lake house yet?” he whispered. This time he was surprisingly coherent, albeit still weak.

  Casey cocked an eyebrow at her twin, unable to hide the smugness in her voice. “We’d better leave this specific part out when Vlogman ends up replying to our message.”

  Chapter 13

  It was past lunchtime when the twins reached the lake house with Roy in tow. Ashley ran out to greet them warmly, then released a death scream at the sight of her friend, aka the one who had almost cannibalized them the night before.

  “What’s he doing here?” she demanded, hiding behind Cain. “And why isn’t he dead?”

  “It’s a long story.” Casey rubbed her arm carefully. “Ashley, could you go get the first-aid kit? Oh, and bring the butterfly sutures, too, if you have them.”