Dominion of the Damned (Preview)

Chapter Two

The lights were on in the house.

Hannah's mind raced as she climbed out of the hatch. It had been thirty days since the last time she'd emerged to check the lay of the land and try to raise someone on her dad's ham radio. Had she left the lights on after her last trip to the house?

A shadow went by the kitchen window. Someone was in there.

She debated what to do next. If the house was infested, she might still be able to make it to the the truck to try the CB radio. It would be safer to go back inside and wait, but for how long? What if those things never left? What if help was out there, but she missed her shot at it?

What if whoever was in the house was alive? What if they could help her?

She checked the magazine on the .45 she carried to reassure herself that it was fully loaded. She had another pistol tucked in the back of her waistband and a hunting rifle slung over her shoulder. If there was one thing her dad had stocked no shortage of, it was defensive weapons and ammo. If they could eat bullets, she and Noah could live down there indefinitely.

But since they couldn't, she had to risk venturing out once in a while. Not that they'd run out of food any time soon—there was enough for a family of four to live on for at least six months, including an ample supply of baby food and formula. Hannah figured she could make it stretch more than a year if she had to. She just hoped she wouldn't have to. That's why she made the trip to the house once a month, to see if civilization had started to find its footing once again.

So far, every trip had resulted in nothing but radio static and target practice.

Maybe this time it would be different.

She lifted back the flap of the sheet she used for a makeshift baby sling. Noah was snuggled up against her side, sound asleep. That baby could sleep through almost anything. She envied him that talent, but was also glad for it. It kept him quiet. Every time she left the shelter, she debated whether she should take him with her, but visions of him being left alone if anything happened to her, helpless and starving, always convinced her to take him.

Quietly, she closed the hatch. Holding the .45 ready, she crept forward, choosing her steps carefully. The bodies that had littered the yard were gone. Had someone removed them? Or did they get up and leave on their own? She gave a wide berth to the spot where she'd dug her parents' grave, partly to avoid falling into it, but mostly because she didn't want to see if any part of them was still exposed.

At the back of the yard, Hannah waded through grass that had grown waist-high, but as she got closer to the house she found that it had been recently mowed. She headed toward the east side of the house and the gate that led into the front yard. She stepped softly, careful to make no sound.

She picked up speed as she crossed the middle of the yard, hurrying to get into the shadows cast by the wooden privacy fence that ran along the property line. She was almost there when a bright light snapped on, temporarily blinding her and leaving her completely exposed.

The back door swung open. Hannah pointed her pistol in its general direction and squinted into the light. The shape of a man stepped out and asked, "Who's there?"

He was back lit by the flood light. Hannah couldn't make out his face. She could, however, make out the silhouette of another shotgun in his hands. She lowered her gun. "Don't shoot!"

"Who are you?" He sounded like an older man. He kept the shotgun trained on her.

"I live here. This is my house. Who are you?"