Page 17 of Glass Rose
FIVE
GAVIN
My senses have been dialed to eleven since they pumped me full of their experimental cocktails, and in this open world, every fucking input screams for attention.
I filter through it all, searching for the distinct putrid smell that means the Infected are nearby. Nothing yet. But they’re coming. I’m sure they are. And if not them, other people…
Sofia sits beside me in the passenger seat, the blue glow of her phone illuminating the tears gathering in her eyes. Fourteen calls to her parents, fourteen times straight to voicemail. The panic rolling off her skin smells like copper pennies and salt, mixed with something floral from her shampoo, a scent I’ve become too familiar with since I met her.
“They’re not answering.” Her fingers tremble against the screen, leaving smudges on it. “They always answer. Even at night.”
“Cell towers might be down.” Though I suspect it’s worse than that. Everything is worse than people think.
“Please.” The call fails again, and she slams the phone against her thigh.
I want to tell her it’ll be okay, but I’ve never been good at lying. Especially not now.
My fingers tighten on the steering wheel. What the fuck do you say to someone whose world is collapsing? I haven’t had a normal conversation in over a year. My social skills are as fucked as my DNA.
She stifles a sob with a quick cough. It breaks my hesitation, and I reach over, placing my hand over hers.
She flinches. Fuck. Too much pressure? I ease up. These hands can punch through drywall now and crush metal. What the hell am I doing touching someone as breakable as her?
“Sorry.” I start to pull away, but she doesn’t let me
Her hand turns over, fingers interlacing with mine. “It’s fine. Just… startled me.”
“You’re still afraid of me?”
“No. There are worse things to fear now.”
“You don’t know what I’m capable of.”
“I know what you’ve chosen not to do.” She squeezes my hand. “That tells me more than whatever they did to you in that place.”
My scarred hand is monstrous against her smooth skin, and something tight in my chest loosens. Maybe I’m not as lost as I thought.
In the backseat, Dr. Cho clears her throat. “We need a plan beyond ‘drive until we run out of gas.’ The military will establish quarantine zones within hours.”
“If they haven’t already,” Alex says. “We should head north. Less population density.”
“North is mountains and winter,” Cho snaps. “We’d freeze to death.”
“Better than being eaten alive.”
“Oh, and you’re a survival expert?”
“At least I’m thinking beyond the next five minutes, which is more than?—”
“Both of you shut the fuck up.” I spot a small supermarket ahead with an almost empty parking lot. The place is dark except for security lights. Good enough. “We need supplies first.”
I swing the car into the lot, cutting the headlights as we approach. My enhanced vision picks up details in the darkness—no broken windows, central door still intact.
“Here?” Alex asks. “You think there’s anything good in there?”
“This place is small enough that the looters will skip it for the bigger stores first,” I say.
People are flocking to warehouse stores and gun shops first, grabbing weapons, water, and canned goods in bulk. Places like this, tucked between a laundromat and a hair salon, get overlooked in the initial panic.
