The Loving Dead by Amelia Beamer

Author:Amelia Beamer [Beamer, Amelia]
Language: eng
Format: epub, mobi
Tags: Fantasy, Horror, Humour
ISBN: 9781597801942
Google: 07gqQwAACAAJ
Amazon: 1597801941
Barnesnoble: 1597801941
Goodreads: 7332917
Publisher: Brilliance Audio
Published: 2010-01-01T00:00:00+00:00

chapter eleven

Kate smelled smoke. A lot of the houses in the hills had chimneys, though usually people waited until after sunset, especially in the summer. But it didn’t smell like woodsmoke. She walked as quickly as Walter would go. Her house was tucked away on a narrow lane. Maybe six houses, lousy parking, but it was quiet, and the neighbors didn’t complain if they made a bit of noise on the weekend, which was the main advantage of a house over an apartment.

“Honey, once I’m decent, I might call a cab to get me back to my car,” Walter said.

“All right,” she said. “If you want.” She tried to keep the disappointment out of her voice. Walter had an entire life that she didn’t know about. She wasn’t part of that life; was never meant to be. She was a tissue to him. What hurt was that she’d been honest about her friends, her family, her thoughts, about nearly everything that mattered. “Yeah, you should totally do that,” she said.

He didn’t offer to take her along. She tried to understand why she felt so rejected. Now was hardly the time to stand on ceremony, but she wanted him to ask her to come with him. She’d probably turn him down, on principle. They’d always had clear boundaries; that was part of their arrangement. And maybe he thought she’d rather be with her friends, and that it would be awkward for him to tag along, but still.

They turned the corner. A fire truck blocked the lane. Kate screamed. Her house, where her friends were, was on fire. Flames rose from the flat roof. The house was built down into the hill, so it was impossible to see from the street how bad the fire was. From the front only the carport and the fenced deck off of Michael’s bedroom were visible.

She pulled away from Walter and dodged around the fire engine. “Michael—” she shouted. “Audrey! Natalie!” Kate ran down the stairs to the front door. A fireman stepped into her path, and she bounced off of him, falling to the deck. She left a smear of blood on his raincoat.

“Can’t be here, miss,” he said through his faceguard. He held an axe in his hand: he was an image from a nightmare. No wonder kids were afraid of fire.

Her hands went to her pockets. Her keys were gone.

“The door’s probably open,” she said. Her hip stung where she’d landed, and she’d skinned her palm.

The fireman opened the door, and closed it behind him. Kate waited a second before she poked her head in. “Audrey?” she called. “Michael?” Because it was right in front of her, she saw the key rack. She pocketed everything, three sets, not sure what was whose.

Standing in the hallway, the fireman said something. Kate realized he was talking into his walkie talkie. What a stupid term that was. Trust the military to give technology a clever name. Kate forced herself to focus. She took a step into the house.

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