“Clay?”
Nothing. She went inside and methodically walked from room to room, calling his name periodically. But he never answered. The shelter was clearly empty.
She didn’t know what she’d been expecting. Sometimes Clay Michaels had seemed nearly invincible, but apparently even he couldn’t withstand the strange virus that had swept through the city’s population.
Fighting back panic, she headed to the room she knew had been designated as hers. It held a queen-size bed, a dresser, and a small table and chair in one corner. A door opposite the one she’d just entered led to a Jack-and-Jill bathroom.
She looked in the dresser and found stacks of jeans and T-shirts, as well as a drawer filled with underwear still in its packaging and several bras with the tags still attached. Creepy. Or was i
