The Survivor Chronicles (Book 3): The Forsaken by Erica Stevens Read Free Book Online Page B

there. A glimpse over his shoulder changed his mind as John now had Xander's arm wrapped around his shoulders and was helping him forward. Carl hurried up the porch steps and into the house. There was no time to search it thoroughly as John assisted Xander into the house. Carl closed and locked the door and nodded to Riley. "Help me with the table."
    They turned the small rectangular kitchen table onto its side and pinned it against the door. "The front door," she whispered.
    He nodded and hurried out of the room with Riley close on his heels. She studied the stairwell down to the basement of the split level ranch as he threw the locks on the front door and pushed the curtain aside. The street remained clear but he had no doubt that they were out there, somewhere. He looked up as John and Xander stepped into the doorway between the kitchen and living room.
    John moved away from the door and walked toward him as Riley hurried to Xander's side. She took hold of Xander's arm and helped him away from the door to the couch. The man and girl appeared in the doorway. The girl nervously rang her hands before her as she repeatedly glanced behind her.
    "What do we do now?" John asked.
    "We get ready," Carl answered.
    "Ready for what?"
    "For when they find us."

CHAPTER 5
    Al,
    Al placed his hand on Bobby's shoulder and gently shook the snoring boy. Brown eyes blinked up at him, there was a flash of confusion and then Bobby started upright. Al placed his hand over his own lips in a gesture to silence him as Bobby's gaze darted around the hall. Bobby's eyebrows drew together as he looked at him and then at Josh, who Al had woken first. Bobby's shoulders slumped; he heaved a sigh as he focused on Al again.
    "What is it?" he whispered.
    Al nodded toward the room where Mary Ellen and Rochelle had slept. "I'll show you."
    Al heard the subtle groan Bobby released as he shoved himself to his feet. Al stepped into the doorway of the bedroom and spotted Mary Ellen kneeling beside Rochelle on the bed. The young girl was sitting on the bed; her coffee colored hair a tumbled mess around her shoulders as she stared at them from red rimmed eyes.
    Mary Ellen looked to them and climbed quickly to her feet. She gestured toward the window and Al walked over to meet her at it. Ever so slowly, Al moved a corner of the curtain aside to peer out. His breath caught in his chest, a small tremor shook his hand as the horde of people spilled out of the woods, across the street, and into the yard. He hadn't seen so many people since the stadium and he hadn't ever wanted to see so many in one place again.
    Especially ones that looked and moved like these people did. He could instantly tell the difference between the mindless wanderers, or The Lost Souls as he was beginning to think of them, and the angrier more rabid individuals. The Lost Souls weren't focused on anything, if there was a tree before them they walked into it and often remained there until someone or something else knocked them away. The ones that didn't get caught up on something walked aimlessly around, sometimes in circles, and they were usually staring at their own feet. More often than not The Lost Souls picked at their own skin and hair. His stomach turned at the sight of their tortured and brutalized flesh.
    There was nothing left to them, there simply couldn't be. No human, no matter how sick, would pick off their skin to the bone if there was any reasonable thought left within their brains.
    The angrier ones, though they left The Lost Souls alone for the most part, also weren't above pushing them out of their way, knocking them to the ground or stepping on them when they fell.
    All of the faces of the sick ones bore some sort of rot, perhaps it was leprosy; perhaps it was simply their bodies deteriorating from whatever illness was ravaging them. Bodies he was certain couldn't hold up for much longer, but then he'd also been certain that a tsunami would never hit Rhode Island.
    Life was funny