Shaun Harbinger: Storm

No answer.

I listened, willing my senses to reach beyond the door into the house beyond but either the place was empty or my listening skills hadn’t taken on superhuman powers.

Silence.

The door handle was made of brass, polished and worn from plenty of use over the years. I pulled it down.

The latch opened with a click and the door swung inwards.

I took a step back. I hadn’t expected the place to be unlocked.

A gloomy hallway led into the house. There were pictures on the wall that looked like framed family photographs. The air smelled musty, as if the house had been closed up for a while, but there was no sickening taint of rotting flesh.

I stepped inside, bat held ready.

Nothing jumped out at me, no hands reached for me.

My heart was beating so loudly it felt like it was in my ears and I was sweating and shaking. I closed the front door.

From one of the framed photos, the Mason family looked down at me with smiles on their faces. Mr. and Mrs. Mason and two blonde girls aged around ten or twelve. The whole family was dressed in their best clothes for what looked like a professional photo session. I wondered how long ago that day was and where the Masons were now? Huddled together in a Survivors Camp or wandering out back infected with the virus?

I hoped it was the Survivors Camp and not only because it would be easier for me that way; they looked like a nice family. I hoped they’d made it.

Meanwhile, I was going to use their house for a short time.

A doorway to the left led to a living room with the usual furnishings: sofa, easy chairs and a TV. There was also a big stone fireplace, which would be useful.

I tried the light switch. The ceiling light came on.

Someone—probably the army—was keeping the infrastructure of the country running. I imagined soldiers would be posted at power stations and sewage plants, making sure we had electricity and water even as we became overrun with zombies. At least we would die with the basic amenities.

I turned off the light and went into the kitchen.

It was small and well-equipped like any farmhouse kitchen, I supposed. Not that farmhouse kitchens were my specialty subject; before the apocalypse I barely visited my own kitchen, preferring instead to order takeaway. I used my oven to reheat pizza or curry sometimes but that was about the extent of my cooking abilities beyond making toast.

The thought of food made me hungry. I decided to quickly check the rest of the house then find something to eat. There must be something edible in one of those cupboards.

The only other room downstairs was a utility room with a washer and dryer.

I went upstairs, past more family pictures, to the landing. Four doors. All closed.

I stood still for a moment and listened.

Nothing.

The first door was a double bedroom. The next two were the girls’ rooms and the final door led to the bathroom. Toilet, bath, and a small walk-in shower.

I walked back along the hall, satisfied that the house was empty. The beds were all neatly made. I assumed the Mason family had followed the instructions on the Emergency Broadcast and left here to go to a Survivors Camp. There was no vehicle outside. They probably just packed a few essentials and drove to the nearest checkpoint, trusting their lives to the military and whatever government was running the country now.

Had Joe and my parents done the same? Handed their lives to the authorities with blind faith?

I went back downstairs to the kitchen. The cupboards were stocked with tins and dried food, including pasta and rice. There was a small green metal kettle on the gas hob and I found coffee and tea bags. No milk, of course, unless I tried milking one of the cows in the field, which I wasn’t about to attempt, but other than that I could have a good meal here and take some supplies with me when I left.

I could plan my next move on a full stomach.

I reached for the kettle and picked it up to fill it.

I dropped it immediately, stepping back as it clattered to the floor.

The lid rolled away and steaming hot water spilled out over the floor tiles.

Hot water.

The kettle had recently boiled.

Someone was here.

I crouched low and crept to the window. The house was empty but maybe someone was out there in the barn. They could have hidden there when they heard my car coming up the road. Were they afraid of me or were they waiting to ambush me? Maybe they had already disabled the Astra. Pulled the wires out of the engine or something.

The barn had a sliding door big enough to drive a tractor through. It was partly open. Beyond the door, there was darkness.

I wished Lucy were here. She was better at making decisions than I was, able to leap into action when the situation demanded it. Left to my own devices, I was too indecisive. Should I go out to the car, hope they hadn’t touched it, and drive away? Or wait here until whoever was in the barn came out? What if they weren’t in the barn at all and there was some part of the house I had missed?

I cast a glance over my shoulder at the hallway. I wished I had a key for the front door.

My legs were aching. I couldn’t stay here, crouched behind the kitchen counter, for much longer.

The people in the barn—if they were in the barn—showed no intention of coming out. There could be a dozen people in there, all as crazy as the survivors I had encountered at the marina. I should get in the car and get out of here.

Decision made, I moved as quickly to the front door as I could while keeping low on my aching legs. Standing and shaking my legs to ease the pain, I prepared to open the door and run to the car. I dug the key fob out of my pocket. As soon as I opened the door, I would unlock the car and get into it before the potential killers in the barn knew what was happening.

I would find another house, one with fewer inhabitants.

I tried to calm my erratic breathing and counted myself down slowly.

3…

I placed my hand on the cool door handle.

2…

Tightened my grip on the handle and the baseball bat.

1…

I let out a low breath.

Go.

I pulled the door open and fled outside, fumbling for the “unlock” button on the key fob.

Something hit me in the stomach, forcing my breath out in an explosive whoosh . I barely had time to see the woman step out from her hiding place beside the door before she lashed at me with a fist. It connected squarely with my face and I saw a sudden shower of bright sparks in my vision.

I swung the bat blindly, felt her catch hold of it.

She wrenched it from my grasp and threw it into the grass.

Unarmed, I raised my fists, only too aware that I had never faced anyone in a fistfight and this was a bad time to start.

She stood in a fighter’s stance, waiting for me to get closer like a praying mantis waiting for an insect to fly within reach of its spiked forelegs.

“I don’t want to fight,” I said, holding up my hands.

“Who the fuck are you?” She remained in her stance like a female Bruce Lee. The fact that she was Chinese added to the illusion. She wore a brown leather jacket over a black T-shirt and blue jeans over a black pair of boots. She was slim and tall with long raven hair and angry brown eyes.

“My name’s Alex,” I said. “I was just looking for somewhere to hide out for a while. I didn’t know you were here. I’ll leave.” I almost added, “If you’ll let me,” but stopped myself.

She looked at me closely. “Are you alone? You drove here on your own but do you have friends around here? Hiding in the trees maybe?” She stared at the trees, her eyes searching for movement.

“No, I’m alone,” I assured her.