Isolation | Book 4 | Holding On

by Jones, Nathan

  Contents

  Prologue

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Epilogue

  Holding On

  Fourth and Final Book

  of the Isolation Series

  By Nathan Jones

  Copyright © 2021 Nathan Jones

  All rights reserved.

  This book or any portion thereof may not be reproduced or used in any manner whatsoever without the express written permission of the author except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

  The events depicted in this novel are fictional. The characters in this story are also fictional, and any resemblance to anyone living or dead is entirely unintentional. While most locations are real some artistic license has been taken in describing them, and some locations are entirely fictional.

  Books by Nathan Jones

  BEST LAID PLANS

  Fuel

  Shortage

  Invasion

  Reclamation

  Determination

  NUCLEAR WINTER

  First Winter

  First Spring

  Chain Breakers

  Going Home

  Fallen City

  MOUNTAIN MAN

  Badlands

  Homecoming

  Homeland

  Mountain War

  Final Stand

  Lone Valley

  ISOLATION

  Shut In

  Going Out

  Starting Anew

  Holding On

  PART ONE

  HOLDING ON

  Prologue

  Fury

  Be cheerful.

  That's what Chet McCleese's mom had always told him, when he was a kid. Our brains can be pretty dumb sometimes, and if you act like you're happy, even when you're not feeling that way, you can fool your brain into believing you actually are. Then you become happy. Pretty neat, huh kiddo?

  And even if that doesn't work, she'd added, everyone feels drawn to happy, energetic people. If you do your best to be cheerful then you'll get along better with others.

  He'd done his best to follow his mom's advice growing up, and it had certainly seemed to help. Ben had usually been better at it, less prone to bouts of gloominess or sudden flashes of anger where he had to fight to keep from saying or doing something he'd regret.

  Or at least, better at keeping that junk to himself.

  Chet didn't know when he'd started being angry all the time. Sometime after the Zolos crisis started, and he'd been forced to stay cooped up in a crowded farmhouse with his and his girlfriend Aimee Mason's families jostling for elbow room. Tempers had been frayed all around, although everyone was doing their best.

  Being with Aimee was usually the happiest he ever was, and since his life had been pretty good before the world had gone to pot that was a high bar. But it had been almost impossible to find moments of privacy with so many people around, especially since she'd insisted they not share a bed while her parents were living with them.

  Which was hard to argue; some awkwardness was better left avoided, especially when everyone was already on edge.

  And then those selfish a-holes Tony and Denna Dryden had gone and grabbed a doorknob, spreading the Zolos that would kill almost everyone Chet loved before going merrily on their way. That was probably when the anger had really become a constant simmer, quick to flash to a boil in spite of his best efforts.

  Like right now; he wasn't sure he'd ever been this furious, except maybe when the Drydens had confessed they'd been the ones who infected his family.

  Ben was swearing a blue streak on the other side of the room, where a bunch of their family photos had been thrown into a pile on the floor and apparently stomped on. As if one bad turn deserved another.

  That wasn't the extent of the damage, either. There were gaping holes in the walls where they'd been kicked or smashed with something, windows had been shattered, the cushions and padding on couches and chairs had been slashed, either searching for hidden goodies or just out of a sheer love of destruction.

  There were clothes strewn across the downstairs hall, and he dreaded going into the bedrooms to see how badly they'd been destroyed. He did anyway, starting with the master bedroom, and his rage ratcheted up a notch as even his worst fears were exceeded.

  Dressers and bedside tables had been upended, drawers smashed. His parents' bed had a huge damp patch in the center of it, and the reek of urine painted a pretty clear picture of why. Peeking into the master bathroom he saw the mirror shattered, the sink and shower fixtures torn out, and it looked as if someone had taken a sledgehammer to the toilet. After taking a dump in it. And wiping with their mom's favorite Sunday dress.

  Her recent death was still a raw open wound of grief, and the sight of that was the last straw. The sheer lack of respect, of humanity . . .

  Chet stormed back out into the living room, where his brother was crouched carefully trying to rescue as many family photos as he could. Several were torn, but even so he gingerly pulled them free of their broken frames and shards of glass and made a careful pile of them.

  “Don't go into Mom and Dad's room,” Chet told him, voice shaking. “You don't want to see what they did.”

  Ben grunted. “I wish we'd been here,” he said bitterly.

  Chet did too. Back when they'd been scavenging with Nick they'd been dropping in on the house every few days in the evenings, after an exhausting day's work. There'd been a bit of worry about the place when they went into their 21 days of isolation, but after Jay had ruined that with his biological attack of Zolos-contaminated water balloons they'd decided that they finally should go and check the place.

  Only they'd waited too long.

  “What're we going to tell Dad?” Ben mumbled, setting aside the photos and dropping his head into his hands. “Losing Mom already hit him so hard, and now this? They put their lives into building this place, and Grandma and Grandpa before them.”

  Chet sighed, sinking down next to his brother and wrapping a heavy arm around his shoulders. “At least they didn't burn it down. Most of this can be repaired or replaced.”

  “How can they do it?” his brother demanded, rage breaking free across his normally cheerful features. “They act like we desecrated graves or a church or something because we scavenged their houses and took only what we needed, and then they turn around and trash other people's homes? At least we were respectful of their property, as much as we could be!”

  “Screw them,” Chet growled. “We already know they're hypocrites. They just want an excuse to destroy and terrorize while pretending they're the good guys.”

  Ben shook his head. “You know, I actually felt sorry for Jay back when he crashed our campsite and told his little sob story. Now, I just want to find him and break a few bones.”

  Chet pushed to his feet with an angry grunt. “I'd say we shouldn't sink down to their level, but honestly I'm glad we're patrolling so I might have a chance to get him in my sights.”

  “Too bad Nick missed Jay when the guy tried to sneak up on us.” His brother gathered up the photos then also pushed to his feet, glaring around their ruined home. “Well, whatever damage those SOBs are going to do is mostly
done, unless they burn the place down. And we can't spend all our time guarding here 24/7 when Dad and Aimee and everyone else are back at camp, in danger. So should we go?”

  “In a minute,” Chet said. “I could use a second.”

  Ben nodded and headed for the front door. “Take your time.”

  Chet went the other way, through the kitchen. It had similarly been trashed, forcing him to pick his way over the kindling Jay's thugs had made of the dining table and chairs to get to the mudroom.

  The back door was still locked and apparently undamaged, confirming the looters hadn't got in this way. He pulled it open and stepped outside, closing it behind him as he looked at his mom's garden, cleared in preparation of spring planting she'd never get to now.

  Gritting his teeth, he turned back to the door and stared at the knob, so familiar and innocent-looking. He'd turned it thousands of times in his life, going in and out, and in all that time it had helped keep his family safe.

  Until it killed them.

  Chet almost wasn't aware he'd been searching for a rock until he ripped one up from the loose stone wall running alongside the garden. Then, screaming his grief and helpless fury at the world, he smashed the rock into the doorknob with all his strength.

  It dented and warped slightly, but proved to be surprisingly strong. At least until he smashed it again, then again. Over and over again, screaming the entire time.

  By the time he was done the door had splintered free of the jamb, the doorknob a shapeless blob in the ruined wood. Chet stared at it, chest heaving, and abruptly dropped the stone as shame replaced his anger.

  Hadn't their house already been trashed enough? Now it would be open to the elements and pests on top of all the other destruction it had suffered, and he had no one to blame but himself for that.

  Struggling to get his breathing under control along with his anger, he did his best to close and secure the ruined door. Then he shoved his hands in his pockets and headed for their truck.

  Ben was leaning against the front of it when Chet circled back around the house to the driveway. His brother didn't say a word about him going berserk, just silently climbed into the passenger seat and picked up his rifle to cover them on the return trip.

  Chet climbed behind the wheel, feeling drained and sick to his stomach, and started the engine. “We'll have to let Nick know Jay's ransacking houses in the surrounding area,” he said. He tried for casual, but his voice was ragged and shook slightly.

  They radioed ahead to let the Zolos survivors patrolling the area around Stanberry and its quarantine camp know they were coming; a smart precaution, since everyone was jumpy after the recent firefight that had left a man dead.

  Thankfully it had been one of Jay's thugs and not any of their friends, but even so the town and camp had been shocked that things had gotten to this point.

  The survivors' camp was quiet at this time of morning, between breakfast and lunch. While everyone was doing their best to stay busy, and there were certainly plenty of things that needed to be done to protect the camp and ensure their all survival, there were more hours in the day than things to do, and plenty of idle hands to distribute the labor among.

  The scavengers' camp, so named in spite of the fact that they weren't scavenging anymore, and also that they'd almost tripled their number with family and friends, was quiet, a lot of people out working or on patrol. Nick probably had a lot of them out on the western side of town, patrolling the section he had responsibility for.

  Chet was relieved to see that his dad and Aimee were at the fire, at least. His dad was washing up the breakfast dishes, while Aimee read a picture book to Nick's daughter Tallie as she kept an eye on a pot of something or other over the flames.

  The sight of his girlfriend immediately took the edge off Chet's fury; even gaunt and weakened after surviving Zolos, she was beautiful. Not least because she always glowed with a tireless optimism that inspired him to keep going no matter how bad things got.

  As she looked up and smiled at him in greeting, he felt a surge of some emotion he couldn't easily describe. He should tell her how much he loved her, how much he needed her. Losing their families to Zolos had been crushing, but if he'd lost her, too . . .

  Well, he didn't know what he would've done. Whether he would've even been able to continue.

  “What's wrong?” Aimee demanded, smile fading as she noticed their expressions. “What happened?” In her lap Tallie looked between them all with wide eyes.

  Chet started to answer, then had to swallow a new surge of fury. Ben glanced his way and then answered for him. “They trashed our house.”

  Their dad set down the bowl he'd been rinsing and pushed weakly to his feet, looking stricken. “You mean ransacked, or trash trashed?”

  “Trash trashed,” Chet growled. “Like they were having fun with it.”

  “Oh no.” Aimee left Tallie on her chair and hobbled forward at the best pace her weakened body could manage to throw her arms around him, hugging him as tightly as she could. As if trying to lend him some of her own diminished strength in his time of need. “I'm so sorry, honey.”

  He hugged her back, taking comfort in her familiar warmth, and somehow in her arms the dam of his anger gave way to grief. He felt tears burning in his eyes and closed them quickly. “As if we haven't lost enough already,” he whispered.

  Her breath caught, but she didn't pause in comfortingly rubbing his back.

  “It's just a house,” his dad said, although his own voice was thick with weary grief; he was probably thinking of his wife and the years they'd spent in the place. Even so, he forced himself to sound confident as he continued. “What's important is you three. Maybe we can repair the place once things settle down, but all that matters is that we get through this. And we will . . . together.”

  Ben stepped past Chet, briefly resting a hand on his shoulder, then pulled their dad into a brief hug. “That's right, Dad. We will.” He stepped back, jaw clenched, and glanced across the camp. “I'm going to see if I can find Nick or Denny and report this. They'll want to know.”

  Their dad nodded. “Good idea. Maybe our house was one of the first, and we can protect the others. Spare our friends in town that sort of grief on top of everything.”

  “I'll go with you,” Chet said, reluctantly pulling back from Aimee. He gave her a brief but heartfelt kiss and a strained smile. “You okay to hold down the fort here?”

  “Yeah.” She smiled back, although she was slow to let go of his hand, and she had that familiar crinkle between her eyebrows that hinted she was worried. “It's just stuff,” she murmured for his ears only. “We have to remember that. Your dad's right that's important is our loved ones, and getting through this.”

  It was hard to meet those big brown eyes as he realized she wasn't just offering encouragement, but also subtly pleading for him to keep his cool. And that she had good reason to.

  Aimee knew him better than anyone, even his dad or Ben. Chet had opened up with her in a way he just wouldn't have felt comfortable doing with anyone else. But while she'd been as eager as the rest of them to find the people who'd infected their families with Zolos, once she learned it was the Drydens, and what Chet had done to Tony when he found out, her perspective had changed.

  “Screw the Drydens,” she'd told him when they'd talked about it. “I don't care that that selfish little weasel Tony got punched in the face after what he did. He deserves that and more.” But then she'd rested a hand on his arm and leaned in close, looking up at him anxiously. “I just don't like seeing what it's doing to you, being the guy doing the punching. Maybe Nick and Mayor Darby are right, and we should leave it to the courts to see justice done.”

  Chet appreciated Nick going to bat for him, but he hadn't really cared what the man had to say when it came to the Drydens. He didn't feel bad about losing his cool, either. But what he did care about was Aimee; he was willing to accept the consequences to himself for his rash actions, but what he did affected her, t
oo, and he was not willing to let her suffer them.

  She'd already been through enough.

  That was the main reason he'd left the Drydens alone after that, although admittedly once he cooled down he hadn't been planning on doing anything more than cussing them out anyway, if he ever crossed paths with them. And that was why he hadn't flown completely off the handle when he realized they'd fled the camp and escaped justice.

  Chet gently squeezed Aimee's hand. “That's what's important,” he agreed. He gave her another quick kiss, then hurried to catch up to Ben.

  She was right, he shouldn't let his emotions get the better of him and go looking for trouble. Although some part of him, deep down, couldn't help but think that since he was responsible for defending the camp and town from Jay's attacks, he might end up fighting the people who'd trashed his house and disrespected his mom's memory.

  He wouldn't complain if that happened.

  Chapter One

  The Best Defense

  Ellie Feldman was a bit embarrassed that it had taken her all this time to start focusing on her children's schooling again.

  Sure, the fact that everyone had been trapped indoors struggling to survive the end of the world was a good excuse. Especially since she'd been focused on organizing the quarantine camp outside of Stanberry, Missouri, ever since being reunited with her children a few weeks ago.

  Not to mention that teaching Ricky would've been hard while she was forced to stay at least ten feet away from him in quarantine isolation, although that was no excuse.

  Ultimately, though, the main reason she'd decided to gather up her son and Hal's siblings in an impromptu school for several hours every day was because, now that they were effectively pinned down in their new camp outside the entrance of the quarantine camp while Jay was terrorizing the area, there wasn't much else to do. Johnny was managing the quarantine camp well enough, especially with Starr locking things down against potential attacks, so she had less and less to do there.

  Besides, it provided a good distraction for all of them from the constant threat of attack. And it was a great way for Ellie to get to know the children who'd soon be part of her family.