Free Outbreak by Tarah Benner Page B

scrap of metal rattles against the wood siding. It’s the loudest thing for miles.
    The last time we were here, we left five dead drifters behind. There’s no reason the Desperados would leave the base unguarded. It feels like a trap.
    “Do you see anyone?” Harper whispers.
    I shake my head, staring at that loose license plate.
    “No one?”
    “Nope. And I don’t like it.”
    “You think it’s a setup?”
    “Could be.” I flip off my interface and do one more scan of the deserted restaurant. “Let’s go around back.”
    Harper rises into a crouch and surveys the wide stretch of concrete where the crumbling parking lots meet the road. Then she takes off at a run.
    I brace myself for the crack of a rifle, but nothing happens.
    We skirt around the dumpsters and the old rusted-out pickup truck and reach the back exit without incident. I try the door handle, expecting it to be locked, but I’m surprised when it turns in my hand. 
    My heart rate picks up a little. I glance down at Harper. She meets my gaze unflinchingly, which gives me the strength to draw my gun and fling the door wide open.
    The sudden gust of air stirs the dirt lining the kitchen shelves, and for a moment, it’s impossible to see anything through the cloud of dust shimmering in the late morning sunlight. 
    I step inside, keeping my gun aimed at head height, and Harper takes my other side.
    The cramped kitchen looks just the way I remember it, except for the pots and pans lying on the ground. Then there’s the trail of smooth tile gleaming through the layer of dirt where someone dragged the dead bodies up from the basement.
    Harper closes the door behind us, and it takes a few seconds for my eyes to adjust to the dim lighting. I listen hard, but I can’t hear anything going on down below. 
    Nodding at Harper, I inch toward the basement door and pull it open. It creaks a little, but there’s nothing I can do about that.
    As soon as I step onto the narrow staircase, I can hear Harper’s ragged breathing in my ear. It mixes with my own thunderous heartbeat and becomes a single frantic cadence as we make our way down. 
    When the wall dips and opens onto the landing, I flatten myself against the battered drywall and take several deep breaths.
    This is it.
    In one motion, I whip around the corner and take aim, but there’s no one to shoot.
    Behind me, Harper lets out a disappointed sigh.
    Everything is gone. The wooden tables from upstairs are still scattered around the basement, but all the drifters’ computers and equipment have disappeared. 
    Other than the dried blood staining the dirty floor, a few bullet casings, and the chair lying on its side where Owen was bound, there’s no evidence that the drifters were ever here.
    “Back to square one,” I mutter. “Jayden isn’t going to be happy.”
    “Their new base has to be nearby,” Harper says in a tired voice. “Why else would they still be hanging around this town?”
    “It doesn’t matter. It could be anywhere. It would take us weeks to check out every building.”
    “Do you think Owen is still around?”
    The sound of my brother’s name causes a painful tug in my chest, and I drag in a deep breath to alleviate the dread building inside me. “I don’t know.” 
    I don’t want to voice my worry that Owen is gone for good. The thought of having a brother out there whom I’ll never see again is almost worse than thinking he was dead all these years. Seeing him again stirred some long-buried hope inside me that maybe I could have a family again. I don’t want to face the horrible possibility that Owen is just the Desperados’ cowardly yes-man.
    “Let’s check out his house,” I say, eager for a new plan to focus on. “We can’t exactly start poking around random buildings with all these drifters around.”
    I can tell Harper thinks it’s a long shot, but she nods and leads the way up the stairs and out the back exit. 
    As we make our way down the street toward the