Kevin squinted. “How the hell do they get heavy equipment like those hovercraft in and out of an underground city with a damn ocean above it?”
“They don’t need them down there.” Amaranth smiled. “All of their Wildlands operations personnel are in the Quar.”
“What about drones?” asked Tris. “Specifically the ones that distribute viral agent?”
Amaranth shot a frustrated glare at the wall. “We’ve only seen a few drones big enough not to be local area patrols come and go. All from the Quar as well.”
Kevin clapped once. “Sounds simple enough to me. Anyone got a spare nuke lying around? Just drop it on this quarantine area and we pull the coyote’s fangs right out.”
“Great plan.” Amaranth frowned. “Don’t suppose you’ve got a nuke with you?”
A blonde woman in a black Enclave jumpsuit walked up behind Amaranth, whispered a few words and handed her a silver cylinder about the size of a pen.
“Thanks.” Amaranth nodded at the woman and offered the object to Kevin. “You’re probably going to need this.”
“What is it?” Kevin took it, turning it around in his fingers. Aside from a small hole at one end, the device appeared featureless and smooth.
“An automatic injector with one dose of a vaccine that will, after about four hours, make you immune to Agent-94.”
“What’s―”
“The Virus.” Amaranth exhaled. “You should take it and then I suggest you get some rest. We’ll give you some Enclave uniforms so you don’t stand out. Naomi and Zoryn will help you get as far as the tunnel. My people are more wanted than you two, so they can’t even set foot in the Quar.”
Tris nodded.
Kevin stared at the silver thing in his hand. Every momentary flash of terror he’d had at Infected from the day he’d first seen them as a child until an hour or so ago replayed in his mind as a rapid series of still images. One small device could eliminate all that worry.
He spun it over his fingers, thinking about how it would feel not to have to worry about becoming Infected ever again.
Tris’ wide-eyed, somewhat open-mouthed smile made her look like someone had mainlined sunshine straight up her ass. He had to look away, and found himself snickering. “What?”
“That face.” He grinned.
“You don’t understand.” Tris stared at Amaranth for a second. “He’s phobic.”
Amaranth raised her eyebrows. “Isn’t everyone?”
“I mean clinical phobia. Freezes up, blacks out, screams like a small boy.”
“Gee, thanks.” Kevin flicked his thumb at the device.
Tris grabbed his arm. “Why are you not jabbing that thing in your thigh?”
“Well, for one thing, I’m not in the habit of injecting myself with something a person I’ve only known for a half hour gives me…”
“It looks authentic.” Tris squeezed his arm.
“No one is forcing you to take it.” Amaranth smiled. “I should probably warn you that the tunnels may have a significant Infected presence.”
Kevin gazed into the warped reflection of his face, stretched into a slender line of tanned beige upon the narrow cylinder. The woman seemed honest enough, and the injector looked ‘Enclave’ enough, that he felt inclined to believe her. Still, as he thought about taking it, he couldn’t help but picture Abby, and how terrified she’d been when the people in Amarillo believed she’d become Infected.
“Hey…” He looked up. “You got any more of these?”
“Not here. Everyone in the Resistance is from the Enclave. We’re already all inoculated. We didn’t have any pressing reason to stock up on it. We had a few on hand for outsiders who stumbled in and joined the cause, but… that’s the last of it.”
“I think I’m gonna hang onto it then. Someone needs it more than I do.”
Tris gawked at him. “We’re going into a tunnel full of those things. Take it.”
He traced his thumb back and forth over the metal. “I’d rather give it to Abby. She’s got a lot more years ahead of her than I do… and hey, if we don’t mess this up, maybe no one will need it anymore.”
Tris wrapped her arms around him and sniffled for a few seconds before she had to fight not to cry. “I don’t want to lose you. You’re too damn caring for your own good.”
“Yeah.” He tucked the vaccine injector into his jacket pocket. “I got that from Dad.”
20
Survival
A lone tree branch wobbled in a patch of moonlight on the angled ceiling. Abby stared at the motion, swishing her feet back and forth under the blanket. Deep swirling shadows lurked at the edges of the loft bedroom, making her feel even more like a stranger in someone else’s home. Her stomach churned with the same heavy sickness that began as soon as she’d spotted the drone. Every time she tried to close her eyes, the horrors of her old home filled her thoughts. Her hands had barely stopped shaking since she’d been carried in from the roof.
Fuzz, the teddy bear, remained tucked under her left arm where Zoe had put it hours ago, a matter-of-fact, ‘here, you need this’ gesture before she climbed over Abby to get in bed. Had she been able to peel her mind away from dreading what the drones were about to do to Nederland, she might’ve been insulted. Zoe meant well, but she’d basically called her a little kid who had to clamp on a stuffed animal to be able to sleep.
Not that she could sleep.
Amarillo had erupted into chaos in the middle of the night. Dad hauled her out of bed in such a rush he’d almost pulled her clean out of her dress. She didn’t remember the mad run to the shelter of the army building, or the old fire station after that. One second she’d been in bed, the next she sat on cold concrete clinging to her father’s side and shivering, not knowing why all the adults were screaming and shooting outside. The worst had been huddling with other children in a crawlspace for hours while her father went with about thirty others to take back the town. Seven returned.
Over five hundred people became one hundred in two days. Fifty in another six hours. A week after being dragged out of bed, fourteen people remained… and they all thought her the next to die. She squeezed the bear.
Any second now, she expected her dad or Bill or some adult to rush in, haul her out of bed, and drag her into the middle of Amarillo all over again. The second she closed her eyes and let her guard down, everyone would die.
Nederland was doomed.
Abby forced herself to cry in silence so the Infected wouldn’t hear her. All the kids from Amarillo had figured that out quick. Every thump in the floor or clatter outside became death on two legs coming for her. The more she tried to stop thinking about it, the more her heart raced.
Zoe emitted a soft sigh in her sleep.
Abby looked to her right. The younger girl appeared every bit the little angelic blonde in her sleep; no one looking at her would ever imagine the tiny spitfire with a rifle who shot at people, a little girl who’d hidden inside a suitcase while Infected tossed her around. Abby’s heart grew heavier.
I guess we’re all broken.
Zoe’s close call had frightened her so much she forgot how to ‘child’ properly. Abby had been so scared in Amarillo (and still was) she couldn’t do anything but lay there worrying. The town she had at first thought so welcoming and safe had―in the matter of days―become a deathtrap. Remaining here terrified her as much as being handcuffed to a metal bedframe with Infected crawling in the windows. She couldn’t let that happen again. If Tris and Kevin survived and came home, she had to be here for them. Imagining Tris’ reaction to finding her sick for real got her near to throwing up. Not even knowing her for five minutes, the woman had seemed so heartbroken at the chance she’d been Infected. Would Abby even be able to recognize Tris if she turned? Would enough of her remain inside the mindless creature the Virus created?
Would Tris be able to shoot her?
Get out of here. She closed her eyes. I gotta get out of here.
Abby sat up, leaving th
e bear on the mattress. She slipped out of bed and pulled off the sweatshirt before grabbing her new dress from the floor, putting it on, and stepping into her moccasins. Zoe murmured in her sleep and shifted. Abby glanced back at her.
Should I wake her up and bring her with me? It seemed cruel to leave the girl here knowing what would happen to Nederland, but…
No. Zoe doesn’t know what it’s like. She doesn’t know. Abby cringed at the memory of people shooting each other for sneezing or coughing. Brothers killing brothers. A mother shooting her son because he ‘looked too sluggish and might be one of them.’ Maybe he had turned, but Aaron had always been a little slow.
She’ll try to stop me and yell for Bill or Ann. Abby grasped at her throat, struggling to breathe as fear built to a point the room spun around. She grabbed the bed to keep from falling. Deep breaths. Air in. Air out. Abby opened her mouth and shut her eyes. The drones aren’t here yet. I can get out. I gotta go.
After two steps toward the ladder, she looped back to grab Fuzz. Another idea hit her and she swiped a small knapsack from the closet before creeping down the ladder. Bill and Pete’s snoring almost shook both bedroom doors. It had to be a miracle that Cody could sleep in there with his father so loud.
Baby steps got her to the kitchen without waking anyone up. She swallowed a trickle of vomit sliding up the back of her throat and knelt by the cabinet. After a few breaths to ward off throwing up, she grabbed random canned goods until the knapsack wouldn’t hold any more. Abby stood, slinging the burden over her shoulder. Cringing at the clattering bundle, she crept to the door and made her way outside.
The moon glowered at her from a cloudless indigo sky. Full and round, it painted Nederland with blue-tinged light, more than enough to see by. Abby eased herself down the three steps of the porch and tiptoed over the driveway to avoid making too much of a crunch in the gravel. On the road, she paused. Going to the right would bring her to the open area where they’d had the meeting, and eventually, the dump truck gates. She’d surely be spotted that way. Plus, she didn’t want to go to another city, even an abandoned one like Boulder. Nothing good happened in cities.
Going left would take her by the lake. No one would be swimming at this hour, probably past midnight. With luck, she’d be well off into the forest before the drones arrived with Virus. She adjusted her grip on the bear, shifted the weight of canned goods closer to the middle of her back, and set off following the road to the west.
Abby refused to look to her right as she passed her house. Barely two months there, and she already felt possessive of her bedroom. She hesitated a moment, debating hiding out in there, but as much of a sanctuary as it had become, it couldn’t stop Virus. Head down, she trudged away from the home she wanted so badly to return to.
The road looped around a hairpin turn up ahead and doubled back, running behind her house as well. Before realizing what she did, her gaze followed the curve and she wound up staring at the place again. All the windows were dark; no car parked next to it. It made no sense how much she wanted to hide in her room, but death would fall from the sky.
The want for Tris and Kevin to come back brought tears again, though she dared not make noise.
Wiping at the annoying wetness gliding down her face, she stomped onward. If they came back―no, when they came back, she’d be alive for them… even if no one else survived. Nederland, population: one.
I should’ve taken Zoe’s gun. The Infected will come after me. She bit her lip. A momentary shiver of dread rattled her bones at the thought of shooting someone, even Infected. No… I’ll just go up a tree. They can’t climb.
At the hairpin, she continued straight onto grass, heading toward a modest hill covered in pine trees rustling in a gentle nighttime breeze. How far should I walk? Wait… I’m going west… that’s the way the drones are coming from. I should turn south. Cans at her back rattled as she leaned forward, grabbing dirt and roots to climb the stiff incline. Dammit. She stopped, head hung in the universal pose of ‘I’m an idiot.’ I didn’t bring a can opener. She stood straight and dusted dirt from her hands, debating between dropping the cans and fleeing or going back for a means to open them.
“Hold it,” said a man.
“Eep!” squeaked Abby. She whirled around.
A man and a woman in camo approached from behind, both with rifles trained in her general direction. Air stalled dead in her lungs; her body refused to breathe in or out. Her heartbeat pounded in her head.
“What are you doing out here at this hour?” asked the woman, sounding annoyed.
Abby, mute, stared at the end of the assault rifle. Moonlight gleamed from its wood parts. The echo of Warren’s voice roared in the back of her mind. If they thought her Infected, they’d kill her.
The woman edged closer, her rifle pointed at Abby’s chest. Dark hair hung long and straight along a Kevlar vest decorated with two knives, a few magazine pouches, and old bloodstains.
Suffocating fear shifted to hyperventilating in an instant. She whimpered, clinging to Fuzz. The baleful moon overhead started to look more like a harsh electric light bulb. Abby stared into the muzzle of the rifle, woozy.
“It’s a kid,” said the man. Short, pale-brown hair caught the light, almost glowing.
The woman lowered her weapon. “You’re not supposed to be out here after dark. What are you up to?”
A panicky whine leaked from her nostrils. “Don’t kill me!” She dropped the knapsack and pulled her dress up to her armpits, exposing herself.
“Uhh that’s a new one,” said the woman. “Hey calm down.”
Abby squealed and gave in to trembling when the woman grabbed her hands. “I’m not bit or scratched! Please don’t shoot me!”
“Whoa.” The man slung his rifle over his shoulder and walked closer. “It’s okay, kid. Abby, right?”
She turned so they could see her back. “I haven’t been scratched. I’m not infected.”
“It’s okay, sweetie.” The woman pulled her dress down. “You don’t have to do that.”
Abby struggled to rein in her breathing and coughed on a tendril of snot sliding down her throat.
The man picked up the knapsack. “Looks like someone’s planning for a trip.”
“The Virus is coming.” She bowed her head, holding Fuzz in both hands to her chest. “I don’t wanna die.”
“We haven’t seen anything in the air, sweetie. Come on. You need to go home.” The woman took her hand.
Abby dragged her moccasins as they walked. “I’m not staying at home. Bill is watching me.”
“Nothing’s wrong there?” asked the man. “Why you’re running away?”
“No. They’re nice,” she said in a small voice. “I like them, but I’m scared of the Virus.”
The militia escorted her to Bill’s house and knocked until he came to the door. Half-awake, black hair disheveled, with one eye wider than the other, he appeared older.
“Sorry to wake you up, Mr. Vasquez, but we figured you wouldn’t want this one runnin’ off in the middle of the night.” The man handed over the knapsack. “Looks like she’d packed for a long trip.”
Abby bowed her head, silent tears of shame, guilt, and fear sliding down her cheeks.
“Thanks, Jim.” Bill shook the man’s hand as he took the knapsack. “Erin.”
The woman patted Abby on the head. “Sorry for scarin’ ya. Stay inside at night.”
Bill regarded her with an expression she couldn’t discern. Worry? Annoyance? Sympathy?
She sniffled into the teddy bear’s head as the militia who’d ‘caught’ her walked off.
A moment later, Bill took a step back and gestured toward the kitchen.
Without a word, Abby walked in. Bill shut the door with an effort to be quiet, and guided her by a hand on the shoulder to one of the chairs. She sat. He set the knapsack on the table and pulled up another chair.
“I promised Kevin and Tris I’d take care of you while they were away.” He spoke in a s
oothing, quiet tone.
Abby nodded.
“What are you doing running off?”
She twirled strands of teddy bear fur between her thumb and forefinger, still gazing down. “I’m sorry.”
“Abby… I know you have a… thing about being trapped. If I can’t trust you to stay safe, you might wind up locked in a room.”
She sucked in a breath.
“I don’t want that, and I know you don’t want that.”
“No.” Abby shook her head. “Please don’t.”
“Why were you halfway out of town at two in the morning?”
She couldn’t stop shaking. “I’m scared. If I stay in the town, I’ll die when the Virus comes. I’m scared to be alone too… but more scared of the Virus.” No matter how tight she squeezed it, Fuzz didn’t hug her back. As soon as she thought of her new family, tears burst forth. “I want Tris and Kevin to come home. Why did they have to go? I want them back.”
Bill patted his leg. Abby lunged out of her chair and sat in his lap, crying into his chest for a while as he held and rocked her. When she quieted enough for him to talk over without raising his voice, he shushed her a little more. “They seemed to think they had something important to do. Tris has some information… she said they can stop the Virus. I don’t know whether they plan to destroy the Enclave or what. Doesn’t seem likely that, but maybe they can do somethin’ about the Virus.”
Abby sniffled.
“I got the sense they really didn’t want to go. They wanted to stay with you.”
“Then why didn’t they?” whined Abby.
He squeezed her shoulder, then brushed his hand up and down her back. “Because of this exact thing. They don’t want Virus dropping on our heads and they really don’t want you getting hurt. They went out there to protect you.”
The Roadhouse Chronicles Box Set [Books 1-3] Page 111
