With the sun now making an appearance, my stomach rumbles, and I pull myself up and walk to his bed, saying from a few feet away, “Enzo.”
Soft snoring is the response I get, and I roll my eyes and say a little more loudly, “Enzo.”
He doesn’t stir, not so much as a twitch, and with no little frustration, I kick him in the leg, causing him to sit up swinging, his arms flying through the air as he says, “What?”
Snorting disdainfully, I turn away before he can see my snarl and mumble, “Get up. We need to find food and water.”
Outside the window, I see nothing but blue skies, and so far, it’s quiet. Enzo gets up with a grumble and stretches before going into the bathroom to take a piss. My lips curl when I see that he doesn’t bother to shut the door. No, dick, I don’t want to see your morning wood.
With a growl, I turn to the front door and yank it open, my mood dark with the rise of the sun and the absence of Cole. Either he never made it this way, or if he did, he didn’t think to check the Motor Inn, which I would assume would be his first stop.
I refuse to give up, but dread curls in my belly anyway. Nothing about this feels right and I pray really fucking hard that I’m wrong.
First, we need to scour the known areas to see if we can find Cole or any other survivors who might have made their way here. After, well, I don’t fucking know.
Enzo comes out onto the balcony and without a word, I lead the way back to the truck.
“What’s the plan?” he asks, his ordinarily jovial smile absent. At least he can be serious for once in his life.
“We go back the way we came and see if anybody else showed up, and then we need to find food and water.”