For all he knew, Mom and Dad and Ricky were still alive. But Isabelle’s family had been stripped away. If he didn’t save her, who would?
His mind screamed at him to turn around, to run out of the house, but his conscience pulled him backward. Before he knew it, he was climbing the stairs. He needed to be certain.
The whimper came again. This time there was no mistaking the sound. It was from a little girl.
Noah reached the landing and stared through the half-open doorway into the child’s bedroom. From this angle, he could see a bedpost and the corner of the bureau, but no signs of Isabelle. He took one step. Then two.
His view became clearer, but the right half of the room was still obstructed. He noticed a closet in the far left corner. Would she be hiding there? Or would she be out in the open?
He slipped through the opening, holding the rifle at chest level. The last thing he wanted to do was scare her, but he didn’t want to take any chances, either.
In contrast to the rest of the house, the room was clean. There were a few dolls and toys on the floor, but the place didn’t appear to have been ransacked. Perhaps the looters—as unconscionable as they were—had decided to give the child’s room a pass. Either that or there was nothing of value inside.
Did anything even have value anymore?
He’d just taken another step when he saw an outfit lying on the bed: a child-sized skirt, complete with leggings and shoes.
Had Isabelle been hiding here all along? Was she too frightened to leave? He envisioned her tidying her room and playing with her things, trying to recreate some semblance of normalcy in a world that’d gone haywire. What if she’d been alive the entire time, waiting for her parents to return?
He needed to find her. He needed to get her out of here.
He moved deeper into the room. There was no one in plain sight. That left two hiding spots: the girl was either in the closet or under the bed. He bent down until his face was level with the floor. A white bed skirt surrounded the mattress. He reached out with his hand, thought better of it, and used the barrel of his rifle instead.
The underside of the bed was a myriad of shadows. He scanned from left to right, searching the dark corners. His eyes landed on a shoebox, a stuffed animal, and a pile of clothes, but there was no one underneath.
Until there was.
Noah jumped back as something moved under the bed.
“Isabelle?” he hissed.
The room was silent.
He crept back over, keeping a safe distance from the mattress. The girl must be afraid. He couldn’t blame her. If he were in her shoes, he couldn’t be dragged out of hiding, either.
He lifted the bed skirt again, hoping to coax her out. Before he could locate her, something darted out at him. Noah fumbled for the rifle and struggled to take aim.
It wasn’t the girl, but a gerbil.
The animal skirted past him, frantic. He watched as it scurried out of sight and disappeared into the hallway. Noah looked across the room. An empty cage was sitting next to the bureau, the door open. Inside it was a vacant exercise wheel.
Someone must have let the gerbil out.
Noah’s pulse still roared behind his ears. He shook his head. At least he wasn’t hearing things. He might be crazy, but his senses were intact.
He got to his feet, doing his best to dust off the fear that had plagued him since entering the house.
The closet door crashed open, revealing the snarling visage of Isabelle.
12
T he infected girl was on him before he could fire a shot. She tackled him to the ground with unbelievable strength. It was as if the virus had supplied her with superhuman capabilities, giving her the brute force of someone twice her size. Noah fought to keep her at bay, recoiling as her teeth grew near.
He still had a grip on the rifle, but the weapon was sideways. Unable to fire it, he attempted to use it as a blockade, a last-ditch barrier between him and the ravenous little girl.
He stared into her
His mind screamed at him to turn around, to run out of the house, but his conscience pulled him backward. Before he knew it, he was climbing the stairs. He needed to be certain.
The whimper came again. This time there was no mistaking the sound. It was from a little girl.
Noah reached the landing and stared through the half-open doorway into the child’s bedroom. From this angle, he could see a bedpost and the corner of the bureau, but no signs of Isabelle. He took one step. Then two.
His view became clearer, but the right half of the room was still obstructed. He noticed a closet in the far left corner. Would she be hiding there? Or would she be out in the open?
He slipped through the opening, holding the rifle at chest level. The last thing he wanted to do was scare her, but he didn’t want to take any chances, either.
In contrast to the rest of the house, the room was clean. There were a few dolls and toys on the floor, but the place didn’t appear to have been ransacked. Perhaps the looters—as unconscionable as they were—had decided to give the child’s room a pass. Either that or there was nothing of value inside.
Did anything even have value anymore?
He’d just taken another step when he saw an outfit lying on the bed: a child-sized skirt, complete with leggings and shoes.
Had Isabelle been hiding here all along? Was she too frightened to leave? He envisioned her tidying her room and playing with her things, trying to recreate some semblance of normalcy in a world that’d gone haywire. What if she’d been alive the entire time, waiting for her parents to return?
He needed to find her. He needed to get her out of here.
He moved deeper into the room. There was no one in plain sight. That left two hiding spots: the girl was either in the closet or under the bed. He bent down until his face was level with the floor. A white bed skirt surrounded the mattress. He reached out with his hand, thought better of it, and used the barrel of his rifle instead.
The underside of the bed was a myriad of shadows. He scanned from left to right, searching the dark corners. His eyes landed on a shoebox, a stuffed animal, and a pile of clothes, but there was no one underneath.
Until there was.
Noah jumped back as something moved under the bed.
“Isabelle?” he hissed.
The room was silent.
He crept back over, keeping a safe distance from the mattress. The girl must be afraid. He couldn’t blame her. If he were in her shoes, he couldn’t be dragged out of hiding, either.
He lifted the bed skirt again, hoping to coax her out. Before he could locate her, something darted out at him. Noah fumbled for the rifle and struggled to take aim.
It wasn’t the girl, but a gerbil.
The animal skirted past him, frantic. He watched as it scurried out of sight and disappeared into the hallway. Noah looked across the room. An empty cage was sitting next to the bureau, the door open. Inside it was a vacant exercise wheel.
Someone must have let the gerbil out.
Noah’s pulse still roared behind his ears. He shook his head. At least he wasn’t hearing things. He might be crazy, but his senses were intact.
He got to his feet, doing his best to dust off the fear that had plagued him since entering the house.
The closet door crashed open, revealing the snarling visage of Isabelle.
12
T he infected girl was on him before he could fire a shot. She tackled him to the ground with unbelievable strength. It was as if the virus had supplied her with superhuman capabilities, giving her the brute force of someone twice her size. Noah fought to keep her at bay, recoiling as her teeth grew near.
He still had a grip on the rifle, but the weapon was sideways. Unable to fire it, he attempted to use it as a blockade, a last-ditch barrier between him and the ravenous little girl.
He stared into her
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