Jackson cleared his throat as he followed behind the threesome. “Can I get something to eat?”
The man who had argued with Bret the most seemed to be second-in-command. He stopped walking and glanced back, tilting his cowboy hat to the side. “The fact that you’re not sick gives you more leeway than if you were. I’m going to ask you a bunch of questions. The more you answer while Bret and Stan are gone, the more food you’ll get. Does that sound fair?”
His eyelids were swollen. Small red arteries looked about ready to burst in his bloodshot eyes. The rash was close, judging by the red splotchy area along his forearms. He didn’t wait for an answer from Jackson, but turned and continued walking.
Jackson would get to watch another one of his masterpieces. His apocalypse was turning into utopia for him. He smiled at their backs, wincing at the sudden pain in his split lip. He wasn’t worried. He wouldn’t get sick.
Those men were going to get theirs and Jackson was going to watch while eating a sandwich. Or whatever they had that was good. What he wouldn’t give for a pan of brownies right about then.
Chapter 12
Cady
The quiet of the coop was only interrupted by the breathing of the four people and the soft sounds coming from the baby. Cady clenched her jaw as she realized she’d never told Bailey that the vaccine was a secret. She hadn’t covered that part of her bases. She’d never considered her daughter would even say anything about it.
And why wouldn’t she? The vaccine was different, special, and it had to give Bailey a sense of invincibility where her health was concerned. For a girl who always wanted to prove she was tougher than anyone thought she was, this was the perfect scenario for her to be in.
Cady hadn’t considered she’d tell anyone because Cady hadn’t been able to tell anyone.
Scott narrowed his eyes, watching Cady closely. “Cady, what does Bailey mean she took a vaccine?” His voice was filled with disbelief and betrayal – all the things Cady didn’t want to hear from him. The angle of his jaw sharpened as he stared down at her, waiting for a reply.
He had no idea how glad Cady was to see him. She finally wasn’t facing this alone. But with his presence was the introduction of the virus to their lives. Bailey was holding the baby, standing close to Jason.
There was no going back. Forget about the vaccine. Forget about the suicide of their neighbor. Nothing mattered now that their exposure had been confirmed.
There was no going back and Cady didn’t want to face that. She shifted her jaw off-center, anxious to break away from Scott’s hold, but also desperate for him to never let go. She’d let him down and she hadn’t had a choice. Bailey was her daughter, Cady’s only option was to keep her child alive.
She met his gaze, staring into his eyes with a challenge as she spoke haltingly. “I… There was a vaccine. Jackson… He sent me one.” She shook her head at the injustice of what he’d done on top of destroying the world. “One.” Her voice cracked as the weight of everything she’d been running from and managing to hold at bay crashed around her. “That jerk sent me one dose. I had to choose between me or Bailey. There was no other choice. I chose my daughter.” She lifted her chin, taking a deep breath. “You’re upset because I didn’t choose you, aren’t you? That I didn’t offer it to you or at least tell you about it, right? Well, it wasn’t an option. For me, the vaccine would always have gone to Bailey.” She sought for understanding on his features, her eyes flicking back and forth as she tried to read him.
He shook his head, anger tightening his mouth. “I would never have taken it from you – even if you offered it. What about you?” He accused her with his eyes as he stared down at her from his height.
“What about me? No. Never me over Bailey. Ever.” She shook her head at the absurdity of it. Hadn’t Rachel proven just how awful the loss of a child would be? There was no way Cady could face that, not without a rending of heart and soul. She’d had her problems with her daughter, but who didn’t. Cady could still see Bailey the way she’d been as a small child, she could imagine her as a new-adult. The teen years were a stepping stone to the greatness Bailey could be as whatever she chose in life.
Cady refused to let the virus get in the way.
Scott grabbed her shoulders, clenching her flesh with the tight grip of his fingers. He softly shook her, incredulity echoing off the walls of the coop. “Dang it, Cady. You need to think. Who will take care of Bailey? Who will take care of you? If you die… You should’ve taken that vaccine. You could have helped Bailey through it. I know you could have.” He searched her face, reaching up to brush her hair off her face. “Who is going to take care of you?”
“You will.” But as Cady studied Scott’s face with tenderness, the red-rim of his eyes dissolved the hope in her chest. She chewed on her lower lip as she studied him. “Are you having hot flashes, Scott? Are you feeling okay?”
He’d left about three days ago, maybe more, maybe less. Time was running together and who knew how long the virus needed anymore. Cady could count that day as a definitive starting point for herself. How long did the symptoms last? How long would Scott have? How long would Cady?
Inevitability screamed through her. She’d been so blind, so dumb. Why had she thought she could avoid it? The end was coming and there was nothing she could do to stop it.
Scott pulled on the cloak of evasion, shifting his gaze from her face. “I’m fine.” He dropped his hands from her biceps and ran his fingers through his hair. Glancing back at the house, his shoulders slumped in defeat. “The house is messed up. I can’t stay in there with the window broken and the kids.” He rubbed his eyes. “I need to think about this. Just a second, guys.”
“Nothing to think about. You’ll stay with us. We’re both already exposed. You know I have plenty of room.” She pleaded with her gaze for the chance to make it up to him – the fact that she’d hidden so much from him, that she hadn’t been able to keep Rachel from ruining his home, that she couldn’t help him since he’d become sick… so much. There was so much she’d done wrong, that she would do differently looking back.
Scott searched her face and then glanced at Jason and Bailey. As his lack of options occurred to him, he nodded slowly. “Okay, yeah, that will work. Thanks. I’ll load up what we need.”
Cady licked her lips and turned to Bailey. “Take the ATV back to the house with those two. Get inside. It’s starting to get cold. Maybe you two can unload the baby stuff and put it in my room. I’ll help with her until… well, until I can’t.” She smiled half-apologetically. She didn’t to disappoint Bailey by dying, but she didn’t have any other option.
Bailey nodded with the baby in her arms, quietly leading the way for the boy. Cady kept her comments to herself about Bailey minding for the first time in forever. She’d keep the guys around if only to experience that one again.
As the four-wheeler engine turned over and then moments later Bailey and the ATV disappeared from sight, Cady turned back to Scott. She took a deep breath, but Scott spoke before she could. “This is going to get worse, you know that, right?” Was that humor in his voice? Only Scott could face the end and laugh in its face.
Cady shrugged, offering him a sad smile. “You have no idea.” Neither of them did, and that’s what terrified Cady.
Her timeline had shrunk. There was no going back.
Chapter 13
Phil Staltzman
Phil’s rash had started earlier that morning. His wife and kids had left a couple days ago to stay with her parents in Tacoma, Washington, and Phil had stayed behind to work.
Work. He didn’t work at a nuclear plant or a hospital. People didn’t want him at work because they wanted to see him, or needed his help. No, the population needed him at work. They needed him in the guard office as the prisoners of the Washington State Penitentiary also struggled with the difficulties of the sickness.
He’d been at work all morning and couldn’t figure out the magical combination on the Sudoku page he was
on. Coughing had become as normal as breathing. He moved slower, and didn’t care that he’d missed multiple scheduled times – like letting them medium security inmates out of their cells for socializing. He didn’t care.
He was alone. There were no other guards there to help him. Everyone had called in sick or just not shown up – mostly the latter. Along with that fact, Phil faced the debilitating reality that he couldn’t help the men inside. He wouldn’t leave the main office. He couldn’t face the men who were sick, or who shared a cell with a dead body.
There was nothing he could do by himself. If he went inside the blocks, he probably wouldn’t make it out again.
The prisoners knew something was up. They knew the security was down. How could they not? They hadn’t seen a guard in a few days. Their food had slowed to a trickle. Many of them weren’t waking from whatever the horrible disease was that had spread inside the prison walls faster than discontent.
Phil was at the end of his rope. He glanced up at a security camera and jerked backward, dropping the Bic pen to the floor.
The prisoners had gotten out of their cells. They ran up and down the yellow and gray catwalks with a jerking determination. How had they gotten out and what was Phil going to do about it?
There wasn’t much he could do. He coughed again, reflectively lifting his hand and coughing into his fist. He was really just tired and wanted to go home. There was no way he could control that prison. With over two-thousand inmates and no way to count how many were still alive, Phil didn’t know if it was even worth trying.
How many of the normal population had died outside the prison walls? His own wife was extremely sick and Phil just wanted to join her. He didn’t want to be there.
Phil pushed aside his sense of responsibility. The men had gotten out of their cells. They’d be able to get food and water. If they were lucky, they’d figure out a way to escape, but hopefully not until Phil was long gone.
The chair scraped on the painted cement floor as he pushed back from the table. He stood, so tired. Could he make it to the car?
A knock on the door which led to the inner workings of the pen made Phil gasp and turn. The prisoners had made it to the office. If Phil didn’t get out the collection of doors to his car, he’d never make it out alive.
He froze, staring at the man grinning back at him through the glass on the office door.
Manson Stint. He was in maximum security and known for his brutality.
Phil didn’t shift his glance from Manson’s face as he slowly edged closer to the red button that would lock down the entire prison. Every door would lock and make it impossible to leave. There was no other way.
If men like Manson Stint were released out to the public – sick or not – there would be no standing at the Pearly Gates for Phil. He’d be shunted down to hell like a piece of trash.
He leaned to the left, his gaze trained on Manson’s smile with a chipped front tooth. He kept his hair slicked back and he was wiry, with more muscle than fat, but at only five-foot-two-inches, he didn’t even have a lot of that. Manson’s eyes pinned Phil and then flicked to the side. He widened his gaze and shook his head, jimmying the doorknob with a ferocity that frightened Phil to move faster.
Slamming his hand down on the button, Phil glanced back as Manson broke through the door with a crowbar. He’d made it through just as the high security locking system did its job. How had a prisoner gotten a crowbar? The metal was rusty and as Manson rushed Phil, raising the tool in his hand, Phil was actually a little relieved.
He didn’t want to die from the sickness and he didn’t want to go out the way he’d heard prisoners could kill guards.
As the crowbar descended, Phil wished he could see his kids and his wife one more time. Maybe they’d be there.
Maybe they’d escape the virus, too.
At least he’d been able to keep Manson locked inside. That was the best thing. No one wanted Manson out.
He might be worse than the virus.
Chapter 14
Margie
How much more pain would Margie be expected to survive? Would she be stuck in a perpetual pit of despair? Since they’d found out about David’s prognosis, Margie had steeled herself to the day he would die. But no amount of preparation had prepared her for his death. Nothing could prepare her for him shooting his brains all over the Bug.
She raised her hand and pressed it against the lower half of the window, the glass cool on her flesh, soaking up her warmth. She couldn’t breathe normally, her breath hitching just at the end of each inhale and double-catching as she exhaled.
Margie had been prepared for his death, but she hadn’t thought he’d die with a self-inflicted bullet. She’d imagined he’d go while they were on the cruise, maybe after having a delicious dessert and he’d tell her what a good life they’d had together. He could have called Cady and told her how much he’d loved her.
Or maybe, when Margie had shifted her plans and gotten them off that ship, she could have gotten him back to their daughter’s place and he could have died watching Cady’s chickens. Something. Anything had to be better than the horror that had just happened.
This way… the way he’d gone out. Margie didn’t even have the comfort that someone else had taken his life to explain the suddenness. He was just gone. He’d gone and hadn’t told her his plans. He just left her with questions like how long had he been waiting for her to leave him in the car? How much pain had he been in to force that kind of move? What had he been thinking?
Kelsey sank to sit on the ground beside Margie, her gasp loud enough to be heard over Margie’s panting. “I… Did he just kill himself?” She stared out the window, her painted lips turned down.
Margie leaned forward, her forehead thumping onto the glass beside her hand as she tried to catch her breath. She nodded, her whisper dragging from her like acid. “Yeah, he killed himself.”
He’d taken his own life and knowing David, it was because he hadn’t wanted to burden Margie anymore. She didn’t care what the reason had been. There wasn’t enough… he hadn’t been work she couldn’t handle. He’d been worth it.
David hadn’t been a burden. He’d been her meaning for going on. What was her reason now?
Kelsey’s hand on her back startled her, but Margie didn’t pull away. The offer of comfort was welcome. She’d pretended to be strong for so long and hadn’t realized the drag on her until then.
Guilt ravaged her as she realized an underlying emotion was relief. She wasn’t responsible for his death. She hadn’t pulled the trigger. She hadn’t lost him to the virus. She hadn’t fallen behind and left him in someone else’s hands.
He’d made the decision which hurt, but at least he’d gone out his way.
Margie reached out and gripped her bag with a desperation she hadn’t known she could feel. Knowing all of that, that it was his decision, didn’t help Margie find her center.
What else was there to live for? Nothing. Not when she was stuck in Easton with no way to get home to her daughter and granddaughter. She had nothing to focus on.
Unsure what to do, Margie winced at the sudden appearance of headlights shining through the glass. She just wanted a break from the pain and there was another car. Was Kelsey going to try to get them inside, like she’d gotten Margie?
Bullets plinked on the glass of the door. Skittering backwards on her rear, Margie ducked with each clunk. She shrieked as she dropped back further. “What are they doing? Can they get in here?”
Kelsey exhaled tiredly. She shifted to her side and lifted herself up, bracing her hands on her knees as she stood. “No, they do this every night. I’m not sure if they’re trying to prove a point or what. Quite honestly, it’s getting old.” She held out a hand, and waited for Margie to accept. “Come on. Let’s go in the back, it’s easier to deal with.” Shaking her head, she walked around to the counter. “I need to turn off all the gas to make sure they don’t somehow coerce the machines to give them more. I’m not sure
how they’re getting their fuel, but who knows.”
Kelsey turned off the backroom lights. “The glass is bullet proof. Most of the store is impenetrable. The owner was from Pakistan and after September-11 he got paranoid. There’s a full studio apartment back there. I haven’t had a chance to leave since this all started, but…” She smirked. “I haven’t needed anything except someone to talk to. You’re the first one to actually make it inside. The last one…” She waved Margie forward and pointed down the aisles. “Pick what you want to eat. I’ll get another cot out. I think he had a couple of them back there. I know he had plenty of blankets.”
Margie clung dully to her bag, walking randomly up and down the aisles, looking for something, anything that might be appealing. Corn Nuts reminded her of David and she squeezed her eyes shut. How long would it take? Certainly, longer than a few minutes, but she needed the pain to numb down now. She picked a chocolate milk from the back cooler, noticing absently that half the alcohol coolers were empty.
Too Late_an apocalyptic survival thriller Page 8
