Tainted Cure (The Rememdium Series Book 1)

by Ashley Fontainne

  Reed’s mouth dropped in shock. Two houses down, he saw Stephen Sikes stumble on the walkway from the front door and fall onto the pavement. The boy had been blind since birth, and relied on his mother to guide him. His guide dog, Rollo, had died six months prior, and Stephen’s family couldn’t afford to purchase another. A fundraiser to help with the costs was ongoing, but slow to reach the amount needed.

  Stephen’s dark sunglasses were gone, his useless eyes nearly solid white. His movements were jerky and odd, and as he tried to stand, a soldier closest to him raised his weapon and fired. The bullet tore through the boy’s head. His frail body flopped backward, landing at an odd angle on the ground.

  The air filled with screams of agony and fury from the lips of his mother.

  “Oh, my God! Stephen! No! Why? Oh, Jesus, why did they shoot him? He’s blind for God sakes!” Turner yelled.

  “They killed poor Stephen! What in the world?” Jesse shrieked. Her sharp fingernails dug into Reed’s arm as she clutched him in fright.

  “You sorry bastards! That ain’t right! He’s just a kid who can’t see! He posed no harm to anyone!” Turner added.

  Reed felt the tip of the rifle press against his back, urging him forward.

  “If y’all don’t want to suffer the same fate, get in. We won’t ask again. As I said before—mind your own business.”

  Jesse was crying so hard, Reed and Turner had to help her inside the vehicle. Once settled in, the doors slammed shut, they began their journey to the high school.

  Reed wondered if that was truly where they were heading as he watched the remaining neighbors scurry inside the other Humvees. They looked just as frightened on the outside as Reed felt on the inside. In all the years he’d worked for the government, Reed never, ever thought he’d see the day where they treated fellow Americans in such an atrocious way.

  With his left arm around Jesse’s trembling shoulders, Reed kept his gaze on the men in front of him. They were all busy staring out the windows, watching the chaos as it unfolded on the streets. One of the soldiers yanked poor Mrs. Sikes away from her son’s body and shoved her into another Humvee. Reed realized things were much worse than he could imagine. They were in serious danger—and not just from whatever disease lurked about. He inched his hand inside his pants pocket and pulled out his cell. With one click, he turned it to mute and then pulled up the most recent text he sent the night before to Regina. He pushed the microphone button on and started recording.

  “Sir, what exactly are we being tested for at the school? Any idea how long the process will take and when we can return home?”

  “Not in my job title. I’m instructed to round up everyone. Plain and simple. I’m sure someone higher up the chain will be able to answer all your questions, if they feel like it.”

  Reed felt Jesse stiffen next to him. He swallowed hard and asked, “Why did your men shoot and kill Stephen Sikes? He wasn’t sick—he just couldn’t see and needed his mother’s help!”

  “If you want to remain conscious for the remainder of the trip, keep your fucking mouth shut. Got it?”

  Reed fought the urge to lunge forward and beat the cold-hearted bastard to death, or say anything further. He needed to keep his cool and protect Jesse and Turner. There was no telling what awaited them at the school. Worry spread through his mind. He wondered exactly what sort of testing needed to be done to determine if they’d been contaminated with whatever the hell had turned the world upside down in less than twenty-four hours.

  He gritted his teeth and nodded. The vehicle turned onto the main highway and drove on the opposite side of the road toward downtown. Reed was shocked by the amount of cars and trucks lining the road. Panic welled up inside him when he saw a Rockport PD Charger with its lights on blow by them. Though it passed by quickly, Reed could tell it was his sister. He stole a glance over to Jesse and breathed a sigh of relief. She was looking out the back window toward the freeway and missed her mother race by.

  With the attention of the men otherwise engaged, Reed clicked stop on the recording then hit the send button. He said a silent prayer the phone lines would work long enough for the message to make it to Regina’s cell.

  Thoughts of whether the cell towers were working vanished when Reed heard Jesse scream, “What the hell is that?”

  Turner and Reed both turned their heads to peer out the back window.

  The rumble of the Humvee’s engine, the sounds of the cars, trucks, and people outside, disappeared. For a minute, Reed felt his head swim with terror as he watched, his mind pulled into the vortex of horror. A million thoughts raced through his brain, each jockeying for control.

  This isn’t real. There’s simply no way!

  The Humvee screeched to a stop at the same time the familiar pop-pop-pop of gunfire exploded all around them. The sergeant barked orders to his men, who seemed just as freaked out as the rest of the vehicle’s occupants. For a second, the other three soldiers froze, their gazes nothing more than a blank stare of sheer unbelief.

  “I said move out! Now! Take these dead bastards out!”

  In a flash, Reed, Jesse and Turner were alone in the Humvee. They watched the men join a group of other soldiers about forty yards away. The sound of multiple people firing their weapons was deafening.

  Reed turned back and faced the front. He scanned the area and saw Regina’s car skid to a stop about two hundred yards ahead. Black smoke rolled from the tires as the car turned sideways. The second the unit came to a full stop he saw Regina jump out from the driver’s side. Fury barreled through him when she was yanked away from the vehicle by a soldier as another sprayed her car with bullets.

  Turner and Jesse were motionless next to him. Fear rendered them mute. Reed glanced at the dashboard. The second his eyes registered he was looking at the keys dangling from the ignition, he went into action. "Hang on!"

  Shutting the driver’s door, Reed pushed the button and locked the doors. He turned the key and the engine rumbled to life.

  “What the hell are you doin’, Uncle Reed?” Jesse gasped.

  “Takin’ care of my business, that’s what.”

  “About fucking time,” Turner added.

  Ignoring the upstart, Reed slammed the vehicle into gear and gunned the engine. He dodged numerous people scrambling for cover. In seconds, he stopped next to Regina’s unit.

  “Stay here,” Reed instructed. “Keep the doors locked and don’t move until I get your mother. I mean it.” Reed snatched the biggest knife he’d ever seen from its sheath next to the driver’s seat. He leaned over the seat and hugged Jesse’s neck and swiped her forehead with a quick kiss. “I’ll be right back, honey. I love you. Turner?”

  “Yes?”

  Reed took a deep breath. “If things go sour, you take my niece to safety. I mean it.”

  Turner nodded and slid into the driver’s seat. “Yes, sir.”

  “Stop talkin’ and go get Mom,” Jesse muttered, shooing Reed out the door. “I need you both.”

  Knife in hand, Reed exited the Humvee and stepped out into utter chaos.

  TIME TO LEAVE - Saturday - December 20th – 7:35 a.m.

  Walt Addison crumpled the note Turner left in the middle of his bed. He forced himself to stay calm, yet he really wanted to punch his fist through the wall. Better yet—smack his impetuous son upside the head, knocking some sense into his young brain. Part of him felt a sense of pride at his son’s insistence on taking care of someone he loved. A smaller part was furious he’d left to save a former junkie.

  Walt never liked Jesse Parker even before she got strung out on drugs. She was too headstrong and mouthy—just like her mother. Walt hated Regina Parker. Their falling out went all the way back to when she was Regina Newberry in grade school. She’d humiliated him at recess one sunny afternoon by kicking him in the nuts after Walt tried to kiss her. Walt had doubled over and threw up, then pissed himself in front of the entire school. He carried the nickname “Wee-Wee-Walter” for years, until he beat
the shit out of enough people no one dared say it to his face.

  The biggest part gnawing inside his gut was how Martha would take the news about her only child’s departure. He doubted his wife would pack up and leave without Turner.

  Walt exited the room after ensuring the windows were secure. He shut the door behind him and took a deep breath while making his way downstairs.

  “What’s keepin’ Turner? We need to go, and I mean like right now. Lamar radioed in that troops took over the jail. Saw a few Humvees headin’ this direction.”

  Knowing they didn’t have time to tiptoe around the issue of their AWOL child, Walt said, “He’s gone.”

  Martha let out a deep sigh, shoulders sagging. “I assume to get to Jesse?”

  “Yes,” Walt moved past her and grabbed the bags next to the stairs.

  “Can’t say I’m surprised. Turner loves her.”

  Walt headed to the kitchen. He could hear Martha follow behind him. “We can’t wait for him to return, if that’s his plan. He’s a grown man who’s made his choice—whether we agree with it or not. We have to go.”

  “He knows the way, right? He can make it to the cave without your guidance?”

  Pausing at the door leading to the garage, Walt set the bags down and turned to face Martha. He cupped his rough, calloused hands around her soft cheeks. “I’ve trained him to the best of my abilities, honey. We both have. If he wants to survive this mess goin’ on, he better recall what we’ve taught him. We always knew the day would come when he would leave the nest—go off on his own, right? Honestly, it’s about damned time he manned up. Just wish he’d done it before the world went to shit.”

  Walt saw a shimmer of tears glisten behind Martha’s eyes. To his surprise, she didn’t say anything else. She simply nodded her head and reached into the bag on her shoulder. Extracting two masks, she handed one to Walt. He could see the tremor of worry in her hands.

  Before securing it around his neck, Walt leaned in and hugged her tight. He closed his eyes and drank in every smell inside their warm, inviting home. The faint scent of Martha’s shampoo mixed in with her cherry body lotion and subtle hints of musk. The familiar fragrances made a lump of sadness form in his throat. A twinge of grief made his heart pound, wondering if they would ever be able to return to the home they built together.

  And whether their son would make it out alive.

  Pulling away, Walt secured his mask while Martha did the same. Without another word, they grabbed the bags and slipped into the garage. After stowing their belongings in the backseat of the truck, they climbed in and locked the doors. In unison, both reached up and slid their masks down.

  Years ago, Walt had cut out another wall in the garage and installed a separate door. Instead of opening to the driveway out front, the new one faced the dense woods of their backyard. He and Turner had worked for two straight months cutting down trees to make a path large enough for the tricked out Dodge Ram to move through.

  Walt started the truck and smiled as the engine roared to life. Pushing the button on the opener, the metal door rose, exposing the brush-covered trail leading deep into the woods. Gunning the engine, the Ram shot out into the bright sun. In seconds, the beams of morning light disappeared as Walt drove them deeper into the thick woods.

  Martha reached over and turned on the CB, fiddling with the button until she landed on the police channel. The sounds of static filled up the truck.

  “That’s odd. With all this mess goin’ on, you’d think the radio would be full of chatter,” Martha said.

  Walt could see from his periphery Martha twist the knob, attempting to locate anything. The odd silence spoke volumes.

  “Try channel CB 3AM. See if you can raise Curt or Lamar,” Walt urged.

  Martha cocked her head and gave Walt an irritated smirk. “I know the protocol, Walt. If silent, I move to CB 37U. If neither channel is operable, I switch over to the ARES to channel 34.90 so we can listen to what the National Guard is up to. I had a thorough teacher, remember?”

  Walt heard the tension in his wife’s voice. Instead of snapping back, he concentrated on the bumpy road.

  They were about one mile away from Bailey Hill, which meant they’d pop out from under the cover of the woods soon. The only part of the journey that worried him was the short jaunt over the interstate. They would be exposed until they crossed over to the other side, and the thought made Walt’s stomach roll. He slowed down as the truck approached an old creek bed.

  “Why don’t you go ahead and switch over to the ham? I’d like to know if the troops are still in transit or already set up in town. I’m hopin’ for the latter, because I ain’t lookin’ forward to tryin’ to sneak past them. Ol’ Bubba here is a beast on the backroads, but sorta easy to spot in the open.”

  “How far are…oh, less than a mile,” Martha responded after glancing up. “There, got it!”

  What they heard made them both blanch in fright.

  “Sector A from Moss through Stone cleared. One casualty to report.”

  A different male voice responded, “Was casualty clear or contaminated?”

  “Unknown. Squadron C handled it. They are right behind us, though their radio is on the fritz. They’ll give a full report upon arrival.”

  “ETA and number of passengers?”

  “Ten, tops. We’re bringing in three—one female, two males. Elder male may be a problem. Former Border Patrol and related to local law enforcement. He’s asking a lot of questions, and I don’t think he’ll remain cooperative for too much longer.”

  “Roger that. We’ll be ready to handle him.”

  Walt stepped on the brakes and brought the truck to a halt in the middle of the creek bed. He turned and faced Martha. The look on her face told him she was thinking the same thing he was.

  “Moss Street. That’s the one Jesse lives on,” Martha whispered while staring out the window. Walt could tell she was scanning the woods for any signs of movement.

  “Yeah. Looks like Turner won’t be heading to the cave after all.”

  Martha’s jaw clenched and Walt saw her body tense up. She reached behind her and grabbed an assault rifle. Hauling it over the seat back, she turned off the safety. “Like hell he won’t.”

  Walt couldn’t help but smile. Hell, high water, an armed soldier, or the hand of God himself didn’t stand a chance at deterring his wife once her mind was made up.

  Shifting the truck into reverse, Walt backed up and changed destinations. As he drove back through the deep, muddy tracks he made minutes before, he wondered if the trip into downtown Malvern would be the last one they ever made.

  The truck lumbered through the brush for less than fifty yards when the radio crackled to life.

  “Big Bear, you there? Come back.”

  Martha snatched the mic up. “Lamar? Is that you?”

  “Use our codes, Martha!” Walt admonished.

  “Please. Like it matters at this point!” Martha snapped back.

  “Yes ma’am. Y’all already left?” Lamar asked, out of breath. Walt could hear the fear in his friend’s voice.

  “No. We had…a slight detour to make. Why?”

  “We’re about to be overrun by these things. I just stopped to catch my breath from runnin’ up the hill. I ain’t even kiddin’ when I say enough of them monsters are comin’ to fill up the parking lot of two Walmarts! They’re movin’ in from the freeway, headed straight into town.”

  Motioning for Martha to hand him the mic, Walt asked, “You comin’ up Bailey Hill?”

  “Yeah. About a quarter mile from the top.”

  “Stay put,” Walt said. He stopped and put the truck into reverse after handing the mic to Martha. “I’m almost there.”

  “Is that your truck I hear?” Lamar asked.

  “Yep. Can you see me yet?”

  “Praise God!”

  The radio went silent as Lamar burst from a clump of pine trees. Walt stopped and Martha opened her door and let Lamar in. Once seated
, Walt put the truck in drive and headed back to town.

  “All those people stuck in the traffic…Jesus, they were trapped! They overran the emergency personnel, too. The whole lot of them! Ain’t never seen such in all my days!” Lamar said, clearly shaken by the disturbing events.

  Walt and Martha exchanged glances. Though worried, there was a spark of adrenaline-fueled excitement thrumming inside Walt’s body. From the gleam behind Martha’s eyes, she felt it too.

  “What mile marker, Lamar?”

  “Ninety-eight.”

  “How fast they movin’?”

  “For dead people—pretty damned quick.”

  “Dead people? What are you sayin’, Lamar? I thought this was a bio attack? Contagious type outbreak of some sorts?”

  “Ms. Martha, I ain’t no doctor or expert on diseases-n-such. I just know what I saw out there on I-30.”

  “Which was?” Martha urged, doubt creeping into her voice.

  “People who were dead stalkin’ the livin’ then eatin’ them when they caught em. That’s what.”

  Walt asked, “How do you know for sure they were dead, Lamar? I mean, you were quite a distance away. Maybe they just were…”

  “I see just fine through these,” Lamar said, holding up a pair of binoculars. “And I’m pretty fuckin’ sure when someone’s neck is snapped and their guts are hangin’ outta their body, they’re dead. Even if they are still technically alive, I doubt they would be interested in eatin’ the flesh off of another person, don’t you?”

  “Dear God in Heaven,” Martha whispered.

  Walt had made it to the edge of his property line. He slowed and pulled the truck over, shutting it down. Without having to give instructions, they all exited the truck. Walt and Martha opened the crew cab door on their respective sides and grabbed their weapons.

  “Time to change our outfits,” Walt said. He unzipped the large backpack on the floorboard. Inside sat three Kevlar vests and military fatigues. Glancing over at Lamar, he sized him up. “Turner is a bit thinner than you and the vest might be snug, but I don’t think being uncomfortable really matters at this point, right?”