Shit. Not something. Someone.
CHAPTER 14
He must have crawled out after us, slithering along the wet surface of the fallen cedar. The skeletal remains of his hands are latched onto my belt, mangled muscle tissue exposed to the elements. Nothing but sinew from the tips of his fingers all the way up to his elbows. Strings of tendons rip free of the blackened blood that’s crusted over his forearms. I don’t want to know what kind of predicament he was in to cause them to eat nothing but his arms.
This isn’t happening right now. Felecia has no clue what’s going on back here. She’s trying to pull herself up to a standing position now that she’s reached the branches, but it’s shaking too much. She can’t regain her balance, let alone look back at me.
No no no no no. It’s bending. The tree’s not in a straight line anymore. The whole thing is bowing. I can feel the wood creaking beneath me, threatening to snap at any second. The force of the water is too much.
I lean forward, until I’m flatter than flat, like Jenny would make us do during our beloved group yoga sessions that no one besides her and Kristen loved. This isn’t natural. It’s like when you’re laying on the couch but the remote’s too far away, so you find the strength to stretch further than humanly possible, just so you don’t need to get up. And that was the only time Jenny’s yoga lessons came in handy, until now.
I wrap my hand around the nearest branch, clearly too far for me to reach, but not everyone had Jennifer Watson as their yoga instructor. It’s enough, it’s working, I’m pulling myself with one hand until the other is close enough to reach.
His fleshless fingers flake and crunch, looped through my belt holes, holding on with everything he’s got. The strain on his muscles is like peeling off a fresh scab, exposing his crusty ligaments to the world. Beneath the calloused tissue is an oozing layer of bloody goop, coated with condensation from the rising river.
The water’s pouring over the top of the log, not just splashing over it, we’re submerged. It’s surrounding us, trying to drag us downstream.
I can’t get to my feet with him holding me back. He just needs to let go already. Come to terms with the fact that he’s not eating me, it’s not fucking happening.
I wrap myself around the branch like me and Max used to do with Dad’s legs. See, this is why I have trouble calling Maxwell, Max, it brings up stupid memories like this that I don’t want to remember. Now’s not the time to get all nostalgic.
That’s not what’s happening, is it? This isn’t me reliving repressed memories, this is my brain telling me to cling to Dad’s leg with everything I have.
Wrapping myself tightly around the branch, I yank my blade from its sheath on my back, like this is second nature to me. Like I’ve been doing this more than the five days I actually have. Like I actually have a shot in hell at making it out of this alive.
The tip of the sword slits his throat, too dull or too far out of reach to take his head off. Blood dribbles from the incision as I swing again, stretching my arm back even further. It’s just too awkward of an angle. I can’t get enough momentum.
The second swipe hacks off the majority of his jaw but it’s not enough. I can’t reach, I can barely even see what I’m swinging at. If I give myself anymore slack, I’m getting swept away.
Max is on Dad’s leg beside me, laughing so hard he gave himself the hiccups. I don’t know how Dad did it, he wasn’t exactly a man of muscular stature. He must have worn himself out, walking around with child size weights on his calves. But that’s what fathers do.
I don’t know if I’m thinking about him in the past tense because to me, he died years ago, or if it’s because we left him at the hospital and he’s probably succumbed to the flare gun wounds I inflicted on his chest. Or, if it’s because it’s all in the past tense now. Him. My brother. Myself.
My mind’s trying to take me back to that happy place. It’s trying to protect me from the harsh reality that’s sweeping me away. I’ve got news for you, thoughts of them don’t put me in a happy place.
That was a lifetime ago. That was a lifetime ago before that life was a lifetime ago. Those smiling faces, they’re dead to me, not because I wanted them to be, but because they wanted it. I held on, like I always do, for longer than I should. I let them hurt me in ways that make me ashamed to say I let them hurt me.
I swing my sword at the memories, cutting the ties that I’ve allowed to bind us for all these years. They were family. I tried. I tried to keep us together. I wanted everything to be what it had always been, despite the fact that Dad wasn’t Dad anymore. My brother and sister weren’t themselves, poisoned by that imposter’s infectious ways. Buckley wormed his way into my father’s morals, corrupting him, altering everything that made him who he was.
Insecurity creates weakness. Men like Buckley can spot that a mile away. They can take away your father. They can influence your family based on sheer proximity. They can alter your world. Force you to give up track. Turn your friends against you. They can hijack your one shot to escape this hell. And all you can do is sit there and watch.
I sever ties with the past that I no longer need. My blade cuts through the memories. That life isn’t this life. They may be days apart, but there’s an entire lifetime between them.
He tries clawing at me with his ravaged stubs but can’t, his hands are dangling from my waistline like they’re part of my attire. The blade broke through the bits of bone peeking through the exposed muscle, once covered by skin, splintered fragments of his forearms reaching for me. I didn’t even know I was doing it. I wasn’t swinging at him. I was swinging at something else. Something I can’t sever with a sword, but somehow have.
There are two more coming up behind him, sliding themselves along the log, water crashing over them as they hunch down, trying not to get washed away. It doesn’t work. The second in line gets ripped from the log, her fingers digging into the wood until the very last second. If the top of our failing bridge wasn’t submerged beneath an inch or two of water, I’m sure I’d be able to see claw marks left behind from her fingernails.
I strap the sword in place, finally able to get the breath that’s been evading me since I was in the position they’re currently in. It feels good to unwrap myself from Dad’s leg. To be rid of the past. To watch it get washed away. I can feel it cleanse my soul, like a weight has been lifted.
Suddenly lighter on my feet, I grab the next branch, yanking my foot from the waves trying to swallow me whole. I can’t even see the log anymore, it’s all whitecaps, reaching for me, inching their way up my legs. If it weren’t for the branches protruding from Mom’s cedar, I wouldn’t know where to step. But she’s here, guiding me. Letting me let go of them all.
Her branches brush against my face, telling me it’s alright. Reassuring me. They sway left and right as the river knocks the fallen tree loose just a little more. But through the evergreen needles, I can see Felecia, waiting for me, making sure I’m still behind her. She lets out a sigh of relief the second I come into view. She was coming back for me. It’s okay Mom, you left me in good hands.
The tree begins to splinter, I can feel it popping beneath my feet. She’s trying to hold on just a little longer. Because a little longer is all we need. For all the times I held on too long, karma’s finally coming around.
I race between the branches, ducking and weaving, waves flowing over my feet. We rise and fall with every surge of water pouring through the ruptured dam.
The trunk gets narrower with every step, I’m not even sure my feet are landing before I’m onto my next one. Pine sap coats almost every inch of my hands as I pass through the branches so fast I’m breaking half of them.
Felecia makes a jump for it, bursting through the thick layer of greenery and onto the cliffs that don’t look much like cliffs anymore. You’d never guess that half an hour ago, this was the top of what seemed like a bottomless gorge.
The tree snaps. Somewhere behind me, no more than a foot or two, I can f
eel it split. It’s like banging rocks together underwater, I can’t quite hear it but this tingling sensation shoots through me, starting in the pit of my stomach and traveling up through my ears.
I’m still a few steps out, but the tree doesn’t wait for me. It bends until it can’t bend anymore.
An explosion of wood and water send both halves of the giant cedar bursting from the clutches of the swollen river. With no say in the matter, I’m launched into the air. There’s nothing to do but brace for the landing and pray I’m close enough to make it ashore.
Fuck me! I’m doing my best to jump but I’m not even sure my feet are touching, the ankle deep water had me mostly using my hands to pull myself along the flimsy branches. Five steps! If that son of a bitch hadn’t held onto my pants, I’d be bursting through the foliage right now.
The water leaves my feet as we’re thrust over the surface of the river, barely skimming the waves.
We make the leap. I’m saying we because I know it’s just me on here, but I feel Mom beside me, and I’m not merely me as long as she’s here. It’s more than Mom. I can feel them all around me. Hands guiding me. Doug. And Jenny. Dad. I feel Caylee and Tyrone pushing me on, the ghostly support of those I hope are still alive.
I don’t know if I’m losing it or what’s going on. Maybe it’s because I’m so close to death, they’re there, waiting for me, welcoming me into the light. Or it could be because, in their own way, they all helped me get to this point. Things they taught me, the things they did for me, it got me here.
The people in our lives all serve a purpose. Their love, their hate, their words of guidance and wisdom. Their disdain and apathy, all of it, it makes us who we are. Their hands shape us, whether we want them to or not. In the best of ways. In the worst of ways. We’re a product of those around us. We choose what to do with their input, we always have a choice, but for better or worse, they give us the tools to build ourselves.
I’ve been running along the sidelines of death for days now. Depending on who you listen to, if the scientists who started all this are right, I am dead. Maybe that’s why I feel the presence of those who passed before me, I’m closer to them than I know.
But in these dying days, I feel like I’ve found not only myself, but my purpose. It’s not something I can put into words, it’s just one of those things that when you know, you know.
I thought I was done, that I couldn’t go on like this any longer. And every time that I think that, I go just a little bit further. If this is what life is from here on out, maybe it’s not so bad. The people waiting on the rock slabs for me, hands raking through their hair as they watch in terror, praying to whoever they pray to that I’ll make it, they make this worth it.
They say you don’t know what you have until it’s gone. This means I’m gone, doesn’t it?
CHAPTER 15
I’m not dead. Not yet.
My legs are on fire, burning from the jump, using muscles I didn’t think could possibly work anymore. You don’t think of jumping as hurting more than just your legs but my whole body feels it, from my aching arms to my bruised stomach.
It’s hard to tell how long I’ve been in the air. I’m guessing roughly thirteen minutes but considering the tree trunk I’m riding was only a foot above the surface, it probably hasn’t been quite that long. Definitely no less than nine though.
My friends’ desperate eyes are locked on me, clearly amazed that I’ve made it this far, knowing there’s no way I can pull this off. They don’t see the hands guiding me. They don’t know I’m not alone.
Felecia breaks away from Norwood holding her back. Before she has a chance to do something stupid, I crash into the cliffside.
I made it! I landed on the rocks. I’m not in the water. It fucking worked!
Even over the deafening rumble of the river, I can hear Mom cheering me on. I don’t need to see her to know she’s ‘whooting’ with her spinning fist pump, always on a quest to embarrass me, especially in front of pretty girls.
Jenny’s screaming like a middle aged woman at a Justin Timberlake concert. Look, don’t ask me about it, okay, Mom’s friend got sick, she didn’t want to go alone. Never seen so many tipsy MILFs in my life. I must say, it wasn’t a bad night. The amount of boobs that grazed my face, I’m surprised a nipple didn’t poke my eye out.
Doug’s screaming at the top of his lungs right along with her. It’s hard to tell because he just sounds like another girl but I know it’s him, just like I know he’s got his arm around both of their shoulders and– hey! Hands off my mom you pervert.
I hit the ledges hard, landing on my side and rolling, waves crashing against my battered body. Did I seriously just springboard off a log being swept away by the rising waters of the broken dam? Damn! All I see is the world spinning around me but I’m pretty sure I’ve stopped rolling.
Felecia collapses against me, wrapping me in her chilled arms. I think we’re both shivering but it might just be the adrenaline coursing through our veins. There is no way we just survived that.
Yet, here I am, on my back, watching the sun set behind the mountains, Felecia on top of me. Head resting against hers, finally able to stop spinning, I close my eyes and breathe. I’m alive. I don’t know how, but I am.
“Caylee doesn’t hear a word about this,” she shouts in my ear, barely audible over the raging river. “She will so ground us.”
I laugh, pressing my lips against hers. I can’t tell if she’s laughing or crying or both, but her mouth meeting mine means it doesn’t matter. All that matters is we’re both here.
She gets to her feet, pulling me up with her. The tree’s gone, no evidence it was ever there. It’s not floating downstream like a boat, or tangled up in the river’s edge. It’s just gone. Swept underwater, swallowed by the tidal wave flooding the enormous gorge, almost taking us along with it. I don’t know if I’ve ever been that close before.
Norwood’s hands land on my chest, shoving me hard enough to knock me over, but he grabs the velcro straps of my vest to hold me up. I can’t hear him but he’s yelling at me. It looks like he’s saying ‘you are the fucking man Britton’. I’m pretty sure that’s what he’s saying because now he’s bowing to me, shaking his head in disbelief.
They each drape an arm over my shoulder, leading me up the far side of the gorge. I can’t even be sure my feet are touching the ground, I’m so sore I can’t feel them. I think these two are kind of carrying me, my knees are shaking too much to be of any help.
The others pull their hands away from their faces and bow just like Norwood was. Neil’s a Buckley, he bows to no man, yet, here he is.
Marty says something but it’s drowned out, all I know is he’s clapping, stopping every couple seconds to point at me and shake his head. I’m getting the impression they all thought I was as dead as I did.
It’s one giant group hug as soon as we’re within arm’s reach.
I don’t need the world we knew. Don’t get me wrong, I’d take it, in a heartbeat, but if this is our world now, these are the people I want to conquer it with. Make a new home, in a new world, with a new family. Somewhere we’re in charge. Where we don’t have maniacal dictators ruling over us, making questionable decisions.
It looks like Maxwell is calling an end to this little group cuddle session, I think she’s pointing towards the dam. As much as I don’t want this moment of peace to end, the water is still rising and we’re in its direct path.
I think I can walk on my own but they’re not letting me test my theory. Every time I try to pull away from Norwood and Felecia, they hang on a little tighter, helping me up the easy grade of the rigid slabs, or maybe that’s just the pinesap that’s covering our hands holding them there. I’ve seriously been hanging out with the wrong people all these years. How sad is it that it took the end of the world for us to realize it?
Hold on, Max isn’t pointing at the dam. There’s a small building beside it, some kind of garage. Maintenance building? I bet that’s what t
he dirt road is for. I know what she’s getting at, there’ll be a truck in there. No way in hell are we all fitting in the cab but riding in the back sure beats walking, or in our case running because let’s face it, how often do we end up actually walking anywhere? Every time I think it’s going to be a leisurely stroll, we end up with a couple dozen hungry hippos chasing us down.
If there’s a road, and a garage with doors big enough to fit a couple vehicles, that must mean there’s a way to get to the other side. There’s no way anyone’s driving a pickup across the dam, I know, we could barely walk across it. There has to be another way. Maybe around the other side of the reservoir.
Sonny Valley’s gotta be empty by now, we can sneak right through and speed down the freeway as fast as our tires will allow. Well, after finding a different mode of transportation because doing a hundred in the back of a pickup is probably a good way to die. But once we find a ride capable of fitting us all, we’ll be out of the Valley before these assholes even realize we’re not in the dam.
The river’s getting quieter, not because it’s calming down but because we’re getting further away from it. The internal voice in my head doesn’t have to scream anymore. He still is, because he’s used to it now, but it isn’t necessary. I can hear myself think, all my thoughts, not just the few I was picking up on before. Do you know how hard it is to hold a conversation with yourself when you both just keep screaming what?
Not gonna lie, I’m kinda looking forward to relaxing in the back of a truck for a while. It’ll be like a hayride around Halloween. Obviously a haunted one but still, I could use a breather. Let the breeze dry the sweat that won’t stop dripping from every pore in my body. I can’t even tell what’s water and what’s sweat anymore.
As one of the founding members of the Peepee Club, I don’t think I need to tell you that the wetness in my pants may be neither sweat nor water. Do what I just did and tell me you don’t tinkle a little. Hell, my mom pees when she laughs too hard and smacks me in the head because apparently it’s my fault.
Blood Type Infected (Book 5): The Departed Page 9
