ALIVE: The Aftermath Chronicles (Book 1)

Chapter 30 - THE BUNKER

The mansion sits above the colony.

Pretty, in all its southern charm and old plantation glory during the day. In the night, however, it casts nothing but a dark reminder over Richmond Hill. Over the powers that were, over the powers that will be.

Though the curfew hours of Russell have obviously, been lifted, Hannah couldn't feel the absence. Not a soul roamed the paths. Not the road she took, anyway. She could hear them. The people of the colony, having their own little parties. Some, gathered at the school, the town hall, or dared to stand outside the jails where Russell and Ana Maria stayed locked away. Taunting, as if the two inside could do nothing about it now. Even former members of The Guard acted as if, they'd never been one of Russell's bullies.

They weren't Hannah's concern, but there was one tied to Russell she didn't see.

Ethan didn't come home.

Her own house, empty. The one next to hers, Ethan's, longed for his return too. Yet, he didn't relieve their anticipation. She waited. She waited for hours. By herself.

A shallow bottle of cheap bourbon clutched in her right hand, it sways to the forceful stride she takes up the hill.

That shadowy beacon, beckoning her from her window and now, in her purposeful walk to get to him. Taking another gluttonous swig, her path staggers underneath her feet.

Why, Ethan chose to stay in the mansion with these strange new yahoos, is now her greatest mystery of all. Dalton's mystery kindness, had been solved. He needed her to get the rest of their people in the colony. Dalton knew Ana Maria, Hannah's enemy, but kept her in the dark all this time. She trusted him. That, was her first mistake. But for Ethan to abandon her...what had she done to deserve that?

At the plantation's door, she lingers. Staggering in her own stillness and managing to splash some of what's left in her bottle on her chilled fingers. Wiping it on her jeans, she hides the bottle the best she can next to a neglected planter on the porch.

From inside, she hears nothing. Not hushed chatter, not a laugh, nor the distant shuffle of feet.

Finally, she knocks. Softer than she meant to, but it's enough to ache at her already burning hand. Her injuries, still fresh and needing a good rest over the poisonous bourbon to heal.

When the door unlocks, then opens, Hannah's faced with one of those creepy men. Not their ring-leader whose face burned in her memory, but one of his lackeys that blended in with the others.

"Hi. I'm looking for Ethan. It's important." Hannah sharpens her words, trying to dull down the smooth coating in her throat from burning liquor.

The stranger's eyes narrow on her as he replies, "You are not allowed here. Go home, girl."

He goes to shut the door, but Hannah's hand, her boot, and half of her body is there to stop him.

"Listen, buddy, I'm not lookin' for a problem, but if you want to have me out on your porch all night singing 'She'll Be Comin' Round The Mountain' at the top of my lungs, then by all means, shut the door!"

"Ethan doesn't want you here. He is busy preparing."

A cold sets in her bones. One, that bourbon can shield her from. If he's right about Ethan not wanting her here, that is something she wants to hear from the horse's mouth. Yet, it's that eerie grin this man holds that gives Hannah an unexpected shudder. Preparing for what, exactly, wouldn't be a question she'd ask. Not to this guy, anyway.

Brushing past him, then dodging the hand that goes to grab her arm, Hannah is running down the hallways of the familiar mansion. Russell had a room for his nephew here, a living space that Ethan hadn't took up in quite some time. Not since, Russell started to lose his mind.