Love in an Undead Age by A.M. Geever

Author:A.M. Geever [Geever, A.M.]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: A.M. Geever

32

The stretch of road leading up to the reservoir was completely overgrown. Road was too generous a description. It was more like a washed-out mud track overrun with nature’s version of barbed wire. But there was a house just ahead that they had almost missed from the highway. Others might miss it altogether. Miranda could see its dim outline, a dark shape against a darker background.

Her shoulders felt like they were on fire. She lifted a heavy arm to hack at prickly brambles as tall as the Humvee’s roof. Muscle memory—lift and swing, strike and cut—was the only thing that kept her moving forward. She winced with every swipe of the machete; her blistered palms and fingers had long since been rubbed raw. Along with Connor and Doug, she had hacked at the thicket of thorns and briars for half an hour, breaking it down just enough for the Humvee to nudge its way through. Finally, impossibly, the thicket began to thin.

“I think we’re through the worst of it,” Connor said.

Miranda pushed through the brambles to stand beside him in what passed for a clearing compared to the thorny hedge. Clumps of grass as tall as a man grew in the semi-open space, whipped in all directions by the wind and rain. A simple clapboard house sagged on the far side of the clearing. Behind the house, closer to the water, stood a collapsing garage.

“Thank you, God,” Miranda whispered. She sheathed her machete and began to wipe at her forehead, then caught herself. It was not likely to make any difference for more than a second. She drew her handgun instead. It felt too light in her hand compared to the Desert Eagle she had lost in the crash on the Expressway. Her hands hurt so much and her arms were so tired that she wouldn’t have had the strength to hold the Desert Eagle anyway.

A moment later Doug caught up to them, looking like he’d been on the losing side of a fight with a pissed-off cat.

“Scout ahead to the water’s edge. I’ll tell the others to drive through,” he said. He turned and disappeared into the brambles.

“You heard the man,” Miranda said, trading a tired glance with Connor. They set off toward the house. Thorns snagged at Miranda’s pants. Dead branches reached up from the ground, tripping her. Miranda stopped once, cocking her head to the side to listen, but only heard the rain. She wished she still had the night-vision goggles she had tossed aside in the chaos of the ambush.

They approached the house cautiously. The front door stood ajar.

“Let’s shut the doors and clear the garage first. It’s smaller and we can do it quickly, then come back to this after we wash off,” Connor said, his voice low. He produced a bungee cord from a pocket on his vest. Miranda kept her gun trained on the door. After a few cautious steps forward, he snatched the doorknob and tied the door shut. Then they separated, Miranda on one side and Connor the other, before meeting again at the back porch.

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