A World Alone (Dead World Series Book 1) Read Free

I think anyone would choose to run;
there's no sense in fighting one of them up close with the risk of getting
bitten.
    Slowing to a quick walk I bend, crouching as close to the ground as I can
get while glancing around the street. The sun glares down on me as I scurry
towards the park, its brilliant beams forcing sweat to soak my shirt and jeans.
    My feet instantly feel lighter as I set foot on the overgrown grass, like
stepping on a cloud after riding a thunder storm. I waste no time in diving
into the shrubbery, crawling through the wild leaves and prickling thorns until
I come upon a tree trunk, moderately surrounded and concealed, like a mini
forest. I turn back and readjust some of the branches and bushes I moved before
sitting down and resting my back against the trunk of the tree.
    Strands of grass latch themselves onto me as I quietly breathe, their long
bodies swaying in the soft breeze. Even from this distance I can hear the
infected that had been chasing me. Its screams piercing the air like a beacon,
signaling every other infected in the surrounding area. It'll be a while before
the coast is clear for me to move. After all the infected congregate around
their fallen counterpart, they'll be on the hunt, which means I'll have to be
quick if I want to get out of this town alive.
    But for now I'm stuck here. I hold myself still against the tree, listening
for any rustles of movement or signs that something might have seen me. I stay
like this well after the sun has set, only moving once the cold of night has
begun to numb my limbs.
    Shrugging my bag off I pull it onto my lap and delve inside. I ruffle
through its meager contents until I find what I'm looking for. Pulling them
out, I frown at the two plastic water bottles. Messy handwriting is scribbled
across each bottle in permanent marker, distinguishing the clean supply from
the dirty. The water in the dirty bottle is murky with mud from the depleting
stream I collected it from; but at least the bottle is half full. The other
bottle is empty. Just to make sure, I unscrew its cap and tip it over my
tongue, hoping that maybe a few stray drops will fall. It's bone dry.
    I could have sworn I had more.
    Pulling a small pot and box of matches out of my bag I gather up a few
sticks from the ground and flatten out a bed of grass. I should be able to make
a small fire without attracting any attention. As long as I can keep it under
control I'm sure I'll be able to boil the water and stamp out the flames before
the smoke is visible. It's a risk I'm willing to take. I should have done it
while the sun was still up, but the underbrush looks thick enough to hide the
fire and the canopy above is so dense that its leaves, I’m hoping, will act
like a net and stifle the smoke for long enough. I pour the water into the pot
and hope for the best.
    If only I had marshmallows this would be just like camping. Although I've
only ever been camping once and it wasn't a very pleasant experience. It was
just after my mother had left. We were trudging through a forest for hours,
searching for the perfect place to set up camp. Neither my brother nor I cared
for camping, but our father had insisted. I still can't imagine why. The entire
trip had put him in a sour mood. He tripped over almost every branch and stone.
At the time I thought he was just clumsy, now I think he might have been
drunk. 
    "For God's sake, Nathan would you stop pulling your sisters hair!"
His loud voice was plagued with irritation as he stumbled over the trunk of a
fallen tree. 
    "Stella started it!" Nathan whined as he gave my hair another tug.
    "Did not!" I cried, my small hands moving to shove him away.
    "Did too!"
    "Would you both just stop fighting! We're here." My brother let go
of my hair and we both looked out at the small area of flat ground our father had
managed to find within the woods. Nathan and I shared a look before observing
the area once more, sure that we must have missed something.
    "This is it?"