None of us are that familiar or comfortable with horses, so the entire process takes longer than it should and daylight is waning.
“I really don’t want to sleep outside,” I complain to the others after we’ve walked for about twenty minutes. The temperature has already dropped and a chilly spring breeze blows against our backs. The road is clear of snow but the grass and shady areas still have thick clumps.
“We’ll get somewhere warm and safe for the night,” Green says. “Promise.”
“Avi said to follow this road all the way into town,” Jane says. “We’ll pass farms and other buildings that may or may not be occupied. Many people moved closer in when the crisis started.”
“They don’t have up any fencing,” Jackson notes.
“They live life differently,” she says with a shrug. “They trust their neighbors and God to take care of them.”
I snort and everyone gives me a look. “What? I barely trust you guys.” They act offended. I shrug. “Sorry.”
“Anyway,” Jane continues, “We’re looking for the church and community center.”
The road is long and desolate and we grow quiet. The only sound is the clomp of the horses’ hooves echoing off the road. It’s beautiful country, and the sun begins to set behind the trees, setting them on fire with an orange and pink glow.
“Do you smell smoke?” Walker asks, sniffing the air.
I inhale and look to the sky. A small tendril of smoke wisps into the trees. “Yes. Look, over there.”
We round a corner and find a large, white farmhouse sitting in the curve of the road. A wisp of smoke curls from the chimney and I feel a warm hand wrap around mine.
“Told you,” Green says, squeezing my fingers.
I stop abruptly in the road. “Look, I have no interest in getting locked up in a cage again. We need to go in there with a plan.”
Walker nods. “We’ll cover the outside from a distance.” She points to me and Green. “You two check the house. We’ll stay hidden until you give the all clear. Is that good?”
I agree and check my weapons, carrying the hatchet in my hand. A small gun rests in the small of my back and I have two knives tucked in my boots. I’m not going down again.
Green and I leave the others hidden in the trees surrounding the house. Jackson shimmied up a tree, perched high for visuals. He has no desire to get captured by crazy people again, either.
As we get closer, the house looks a little more run down than from on the street. A weathered wagon is pushed near the house, as well as some rusted farming equipment. That’s the trend now. Even if people are living in a building or home there’s no time, energy, or people left to maintain the structure. And even if they do it’s too risky to stay outside long. One day everything will get swallowed back by nature. Like the barn down the road.
No sound comes from the house but when we reach the porch I do see the flickering of firelight through a space in the dirty windows. Green grabs me by the arm.
“Knock on the door,” he says. “I’ll wait back here. Just, you know, act like a civilized person.”
“Huh,” I say, frowning at him. “Interesting concept.” But he’s right. According to Avi, we’re on friendly terms with these people. We come bearing supplies and medical assistance. We gave them the freaking vaccine. They should welcome us with open arms. “I guess it can’t hurt to behave in a non-threatening manner.”
“I’ve got your back. The others are watching.” He glances down and holds out his hand. “I’ll take that.”
I squeeze the hatchet.
“Alex.” With a heavy sigh, I hand it over. “Thank you. Be careful.”
I walk up the steps and stand before the door. I feel for the gun at my back and glance over my shoulder, spotting the others tucked in their hiding places.
With a fist I knock on the wooden, windowless door. Paint chips fall from the pressure, scattering at my feet. I step back and wait. And wait.
“Hello?” I call. “Is anyone home?”
My greeting is met by silence and I look back at Green, shrugging. I’m about to give up when I hear a sound behind the door. “Hello?” I call again. “Avi, from Catlettsburg, sent us. Do you know him? We risked the travel now that the snow has melted.”
His name must have done the trick because the dull bronze door knob rattles before opening slow and creaky. A pale face appears in the small crack. A boy, a teenager, asks, “Avi sent you?”
I smile. “Yes. We’ve got some food and other items to trade. Our wagon got stuck behind a felled tree but I left my friends and the horses back by the road.”