White Horse Read Online Free PDF Page B

it.”
    “He was right.”
    “Do you think we should go back?”
    I don’t answer. My attention is on what appears to be a small grocery store. Neat stacks of preserves in ribbon-wrapped jars fill the lower third of the window display. Fruit and sugar. Our bodies could use both.
    “Do you hear anything?”
    She listens. “No.”
    “Wait here,” I say. Someone needs to protect what we’ve already got.
    The bell barely trembles as I ease the door open like I’m handling dynamite. I’m standing in what passes for a 7-Eleven in this part of the world. Or maybe it’s a souvenir shop. That would explain all the woven baskets and cross-stitchings clinging to the walls inside cheap frames. I fill two baskets with preserves: strawberry, peach, cherry. The other shops are useless. A butcher and a produce store, both with rotted wares. There’s no medicine here—not even an antacid. The houses are just as selfish: they give me nothing I can use to heal. What these people had is long gone.
    Against one wall I find a broom resting, waiting to be of use. So I grant it that wish, twist its head from its neck, assign it a new occupation.
    Outside, Lisa is scuffing her boot on the stone steps leading up to the door. Her mouth droops at the edges as though she’s sinking into darker thoughts.
    “Jam,” I announce as loud as I dare, and imbue the word with what I hope is a smile rather than a grimace. “Who needs bread? We can pretend we’re kids and eat it straight out of the jar.”
    “Can we go? I don’t like it here. It’s too quiet, if that makes sense.”
    A year ago this village would have teemed with life. Tourists oohing and ahhing over the postcard-perfect scenery as they spent too much money for a commemorative trinket that would wind up in a drawer the moment their suitcases were unpacked. Locals smiling at their heavier purses, grateful the road through their village was more heavily traveled,thanks to a popular movie and a spate of wall calendars. Even in her dark world, Lisa would have loved it then. I would have, too. I used to have one of those calendars, and the movie went great with a quart of Ben and Jerry’s.
    “Soon.”
    I hang the baskets on the handlebars before curling Lisa’s fingers around the broom handle.
    “It’s a cane,” she says, lightly tapping the tip on the foot-worn paving stones. “So sticks and stones won’t break my bones. Thanks.”
    My gaze fixates on the church at the village’s eastern edge. Doors bolted. To keep something out. Or maybe in? There could be supplies in there, a makeshift sanctuary.
    “Did you find medicine?” she says.
    I stark walking. “There wasn’t any,” I throw over my shoulder. “I want to check out the church.”
    “I’m coming, too.”
    “Someone needs to guard the food.”
    “I’m blind,” she says. “Not useless.”
    “Okay. But if anything happens, run in the quietest direction and hide.”
    In. Definitely in. Because a heavy beam has been dropped into brackets attached to the door’s frame. What is this village hiding? Who sealed the doors and where did they go?
    I suck in as much air as I can. I already know I’m going to throw them wide, because what we need might be inside, and because I can’t help myself. Knowledge is power. Or maybe it will lead to capitulation. Best-case scenario I get to talk to God. Because we need to have a talk, He and I, though we haven’t done so in some months. And there’s a good reason for that.
    Don’t do it, Zoe .
    Do it .
    Remember the jar .
    Coincidence .
    Words written on a bathroom wall: There is no such thing as a coincidence .
    Curiosity killed the cat. Then it killed the world .
    The thoughts swirl until they’re swept away by my determination. I reach for the makeshift lock that reminds me of the Middle Ages. I wasn’t paying attention in class the day they discussed the history of doors.
    “Tell me what to do,” Lisa says.
    I guide her hand toward the problem.
    “We’re going