Free Escape by T.W. Piperbrook

omitted that detail, hoping that Meredith would never find out. The thought had made her sick. What else had he lied about? Was John even his real name?
    Regardless of who John was or what else he’d lied about, Meredith had vowed one thing: she’d never talk to John Parish again.
    Over the next few weeks John had called her repeatedly, even stopping by her house several times. Each time she’d refused to speak with him.
    Eventually he’d left a letter in the mailbox.
    According to the letter John had been separated from his wife for over a year, and until recently, he’d had no idea where she was or what she was doing. He said he’d wanted to tell Meredith, but was afraid of how she’d react.
    Meredith didn’t know what to believe. Even if the letter was true, John had destroyed her trust, and to her, trust was everything. He should’ve told her the truth from the beginning. He shouldn’t have lied.
    Weeks passed, and after a while, John stopped trying to contact her. Even still, Meredith had gone out of her way to avoid the furniture shop, taking a detour of several miles so as not to see him when she went into town.
    Despite her anger, she’d never mentioned anything to her friends or neighbors. She’d always believed in privacy, and her love life was her business. Besides, Meredith was ashamed. She’d been lied to and deceived, and she was deeply hurt and embarrassed.
    As the months wore on, Meredith began to move forward. She resumed her normal route to town, and though she tried not to look over, she still saw John’s blue truck in the gravel lot. Occasionally she’d even catch a glimpse of him through the open front doors, arranging his wares or working on his latest piece of furniture.
    But she’d never stopped. Not even once.
    Now, as she drove down the rural road, she realized all that was about to change. The world was a different place, and John was in trouble.
    No matter what he had done to her, he needed help. And that took precedence over anything that might’ve happened between them.
    Meredith sank the gas pedal to the floor, propelling her pickup faster than she’d driven in years. Fields whipped past her, and the road hummed beneath her tires. If she didn’t reach John soon, she might not make it in time to help him.
    She might be too late already.
    Back at the Sheila’s house, she’d gotten a taste of what she was up against, but that was nothing compared to what she assumed was out there. It’d been difficult enough fighting for her life against Ben and Marcy; she couldn’t imagine it getting any worse.
    The furniture shop was only a few miles away. Before she knew it, she’d rounded the last curve that stood between her and the building. She could see the building on the horizon, now—a square, wooden structure that dotted the landscape. From here, everything looked just as she remembered it. She could even decipher the outline of John’s blue pickup in front of the store.
    Please God let him be all right.
    She repeated the words in her head, her stomach turned upside down with nerves.
    When she got closer, her heart began to hammer. There was movement outside the building. Too much movement. She squinted her eyes and lowered the visor, hoping what she was seeing wasn’t real. At the same time, she knew that it was.
    The furniture shop was surrounded by a mob of people.
    About thirty people— infected people—crowded the walls, banging and kicking to get inside. Hands and limbs flailed, bodies toppled over one another. Above it all, a chorus of moans and hisses wafted into the air, sending needles of fear through Meredith’s body.
    She weaved to a stop in front of the building, leaving a thirty-foot buffer zone between the vehicle and the horde, and fumbled for the rifle. When she had it in her hands, she reached for the door handle. Then she stopped short.
    What was she planning to do? With that many of the infected, her weapon was as good as useless. She only had a few