Page 40 of Romancing in Rot

I take the two from the alley.

One arrow.

Then another.

Both down before they clear the shadow.

We keep moving.

No talking, which is a freaking miracle with this crew. Not even Joanie has something smart to say. That says enough.

No one says it, but Chicago walks with us. Fuel. Garages. Stations. Abandoned cars. Supply trucks.

It also means bodies.

Thousands, maybe more. Packed streets. Blocked exits. Blind corners. Buildings full of locked rooms and dead mouths.

I knew that when I said we should go.

I knew it before Clair told me Russ might be there.

Now every mile toward Chicago feels like a promise I might not be able to keep.

The giant axe sign appears first, hanging crooked above a small outdoor shop.

Bingo.

The front windows are blown out, glass scattered across the sidewalk in glittering piles. Inside has been picked over, but not clean. Some shelves are stripped bare. Others still hold gear.

Good.

Also means we aren’t the first ones through.

My hand stays near the bow as I track every doorway and dark corner. Cold air pushes through the broken windows, carrying dust, old rubber, mildew, and something faintly rotten from deeper inside.

We split at the entrance.

Jacob and Lyla move left.

Trish and Joanie head for the back.

Mom falls in beside me without a word, backpack open and ready.

We move fast. Quiet. Useful over pretty. Light over bulky. Nothing that slows us down more than it helps.

Across the aisle, Jacob leans close to Lyla and says something low. She smirks, shoves him, and he bumps her right back.

Easy.

Comfortable.

Like none of this ever cracked them.

He deserves that.

After Jessica, Jacob deserves something that doesn’t leave scars. She sat at our table, smiled in our faces, checked in after his ex-fiancée’s murder, all while sharpening the knife behind his back.

Darkness doesn’t always announce itself.