The System (Virulent Book 2)

by Shelbi Wescott

  “You can tell me anything,” she said. “No secret is too big to keep from me. I wish I had known about your mom…I wish so many things. I need you here with me, don’t you understand? And I’m fighting for that, you need to know that. I’m going to get you out of here.”

  Grant squeezed her hand. He winced and coughed to the side. “You’re determined, but Lucy…my fate is sealed. There’s no way you could save me without risking everything.” He smiled a sad smile and then looked away.

  “I’ll risk everything then,” Lucy replied and she straightened her back. She took her right hand and reached over and lifted his chin; then she looked him straight in the eye. “Everything.”

  “Don’t. Not for me. That’s not what I want. Are you going to get in trouble for seeing me?”

  She couldn’t tell him the truth. He had enough to worry about in here. “I’m going to keep seeing you every day until I can get you out of here,” she replied. “I’m sorry if it felt like I’d forgotten…I haven’t forgotten.”

  Grant ran his fingers through his hair and smiled. “I hoped you wouldn’t worry about it. I’ve been happy to dream about you being content…”

  “That’s ridiculous. I can’t be content in this place—”

  He interrupted her. “You’re making it harder for me to come to terms with my future,” he said to her. “Don’t take this the wrong way…but seeing you makes me want to live, Lucy. You make me want to fight. And…with everything that is going to happen to me…”

  “Stop!” Lucy said and she put her hand over his mouth, clasping it tightly against his cheeks. She could feel his lips pushing into her palm. “I won’t let anything happen to you,” she whispered. “Shut up. Shut up about giving up. You should fight.”

  She leaned forward and wrapped her arms around him and pulled him into her. It felt perfect and right to hold him; she knew her ten minutes would be up soon and she didn’t know what she should say that would maximize that time. Grant brought his hands up and placed them on top of her head, running his hands down her blonde hair. Her body relaxed into his.

  As she pulled back, Lucy brushed her lips against Grant’s cheek. It was quick and involuntary. For a moment, her thoughts turned to a real kiss. She thought of leaning in and finding his lips; letting herself finally give in to what she had wanted all along. She exhaled and looked at him.

  He looked at her with longing. She could see it in his eyes—she could feel him evaluating the situation and debating if this was the right moment.

  His look, so clear, so purposeful, seemed to say that her kiss on the cheek was not enough. And it gave her the courage she needed. With a deep breath, Lucy leaned forward into Grant and aimed her lips for his.

  But as she neared him, Grant pulled back.

  “No, Lucy,” he said firmly. It wasn’t unkind, but it was clear. Definitive. He shot her down.

  She sat up, rigid and embarrassed. Her heart pounded in her chest and she didn’t know what to say or what to do. How could she have misread all the signs? Her frustration grew and she shook her head, fighting back the tears that were threatening to come at any moment.

  “Oh, Lucy—” Grant started, his face fell.

  “Stop. Don’t explain. I’m sorry.” She closed her eyes tight. She would not cry; she would not cry over a kiss.

  He reached for her and she let him grab her hand, but he was clammy and cold. “No. I need to tell you that—”

  A rattle and a crash interrupted them. Someone was in the lab and their quick feet were headed in their direction.

  The door to the closet bounced open and Grant and Lucy jumped, still holding each other’s hands. She turned her head and saw her father standing in the doorway. He was wearing a bathrobe and in his hand he clutched his keys. Scott looked between Lucy and Grant and then he marched toward her and grabbed her, squeezing her upper arm and yanking her backward.

  “Dad! No!” Lucy screamed. “You don’t understand!” She kicked and tried to pull against his weight, but he was bigger and stronger than her. “Don’t do this to me! Let me go!”

  Scott spun and with a look of pure anger, he yanked the supply closet door and let it close. Lucy caught a glimpse of Grant’s face; his eyes wide and full of shock and worry, his arms still reaching out for her, and then the wood door obscured her view and Grant disappeared behind it—locked back up in his tomb, alone, and without hope.

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  Despite Ethan’s failing health, date night became a preoccupation for the Oregon survivors. Even Dean and Joey were caught up in the moment.

  Ethan spent a great deal of time outlining his wishes, scribbling out instructions on one of his father’s yellow legal pads, and asking his helpers if they were possible. And suddenly the whole house, with the exception of Spencer—who disappeared to his own home with misgivings and grumblings about not aiding stupidity—seemed to reluctantly cater to the idea that the date would happen whether they wanted it to or not.

  Darla had even agreed to be in charge of the food.

  And then they rushed about: raiding houses for items they hadn’t needed before, decorating the backyard, and reminiscing about their best dates.

  Joey recounted a particularly fun evening people watching in downtown Portland, sharing a blue cheese and pistachio ice cream cone, and then happening upon an arcade nestled between apartment complexes. They played skee-ball and drank beer until the owner kicked them out. The girl’s name was Maggie and their relationship never peaked beyond that night.

  Dean talked about the process of re-dating his ex-wife and then surprising her with a trip to Vegas. Moved by the location and their bonds for each other, they were married a second time by some heavyset man in a knight suit in front a castle facade at the Excalibur Hotel. They laughed through the entire ceremony and then ran down the strip shouting to everyone that they were newlyweds.

  “She died about a year later,” Dean added and he rubbed his eyes. “There’s nothing like a little perspective to make you realize who you love the most.”

  Ethan watched everyone turn from grumpy naysayers to excited party planners, buoyed by their own memories of romance, and he couldn’t help but smile. Two things had unified them: getting their food back from Dean and now this date.

  “I’m only doing this because I think Teddy will have fun,” Darla had said. “We’re cooking together. Understand that. It’s purely selfish.”

  Doctor Krause, who had accepted that her wishes would be ignored no matter what, and Joey, helped Ethan into a change of clothes—Dean was needed to help tie his tie—and then they got him settled into the wheelchair; then the men grabbed the chair by its sides and lowered him to the backyard, where everyone had been hard at work. The Oregon weather cooperated with blue skies and a warm spring breeze. The cottonwood trees were shedding; large white cotton capsules drifted around the yard like snowfall.

  “Hey, Ethan,” Dean said standing next to his generator. “She’s coming…you just give me the signal.”

  Ethan nodded and spun his wheelchair to face the patio. The screen door bounced open and then shut; behind it he could make out Ainsley’s silhouette.

  “I feel stupid,” Ainsley said from behind the door. “I didn’t go to prom for a reason. This seems like a huge effort for a fake date.”

  “Just come out,” Ethan called and he kept his arms on his wheels. “Nobody is going to laugh at you.”

  The screen door opened and Ainsley stepped out. She had slipped out of her regular outfit of jeans and t-shirt into a long striped cotton dress; it went past her feet and draped along the floor. Ethan didn’t recognize it as belonging to Lucy or his mom, so he guessed that Ainsley had raided someone else’s closet. She crossed her arms over her chest and smiled.

  “Someone told me I should wear a dress,” she said as she started toward the steps.

  Ethan nodded to Dean, and Dean yanked the cord to start the gasoline-powered generator. It started to
hum and then the backyard lit up with strings of tiny white sparkling lights, which were layered back and forth across the yard. Ainsley’s eyes lit up and she pointed toward the burning bulbs.

  “Thank you, generator,” she said. “Let there be light!”

  “Have a seat,” Ethan instructed and he pointed to a white upholstered chair at the table. She sat and folded her hands in her lap. Ethan rolled over across from her and picked up a lighter, leaned over and lit a series of candles in the middle of the table. The flames danced and licked at the air.

  “You should have been a producer on those dating shows that all my friends used to watch,” Ainsley said. “You’ve got a knack for ambiance.”

  “New reality show. Post-apocalyptic dates. The end is just the beginning.” Ethan replied as he waved his hand over the tablescape; complete with cut flowers and fine china. With the entire neighborhood at their disposal, they had spared no expense. The empty houses were always the best ones to steal from—it still felt wrong to take something from somebody when their body was in the next room. Ethan hadn’t done any of the actual procuring, but he’d directed well from his wheelchair. And it gave him something to focus on, something to temporarily numb him from the increasing fogginess.

  Ainsley picked at the corner of the tablecloth. “What about…Not if You Were The Last Man on Earth: When Dating Meets Doom.”

  “That’s a good one,” Ethan said.

  “Love is a Battlefield.”

  “In our case, love is just a barren wasteland of dead bodies.”

  “We really should have capitalized on this idea sooner,” Ainsley added.

  They were interrupted by their waiter.

  Darla had dressed Teddy in a cute white jacket and a black bowtie. He ambled up to the table and held his head up high. Then he spun and shouted back up to the porch, “What was I supposed to say?”

  Ethan and Ainsley turned to see Darla and Doctor Krause standing in the shadows; the Christmas lights sprinkling them with dim light.

  Teddy rushed back and Darla crouched down and whispered in his ear. Then the child scampered back and cleared his throat. “Good evening. I am your server. May I start you with a glass of juice?”

  “Juice?” Ethan scoffed. He looked across to Ainsley, “I’m sorry. I heard good things about this place…I didn’t know it was a dry restaurant.”

  “Doctor’s orders,” Doctor Krause called from the porch.

  “Are we seriously going to have an audience all evening? I feel like I’m participating in dinner theater and I’m the entertainment,” Ainsley called to her mother with a withering look.

  Doctor Krause put up her hands in surrender and disappeared back inside.

  Teddy looked back and forth between Ainsley and Ethan. “Juice?” he asked again. And the duo nodded at him and he ran back up to Darla. “They want the juice, Mom!” Darla handed him two cups and he tiptoed back, watching the dark liquid closely, careful not to spill. They took their drinks and Teddy rushed back.

  “I did it, Mom!” he screamed, with unbridled giddy excitement.

  Ethan raised his juice and leaned forward. “To surviving. To doing things that feel normal. To fake dates and nights that make us forget that we have to start all over again in this world tomorrow morning.”

  Ainsley cleared her throat, “To midget waiters.”

  They toasted, clinking their glasses together.

  “Tell me about your best date,” Ethan said as he sipped the juice. He swallowed it down, wishing it were something harder. He’d been inspired by everyone else’s stories and it seemed like a good icebreaker.

  Ainsley stared at him. “A real date?”

  “Yeah. Tell me I’m doing okay with this…”

  “Sure, I mean,” she looked down and tapped her fingers against her glass. “I’ve never really…I had a boyfriend in high school. Do dates with him count?”

  “Of course.”

  “Glow in the dark mini-golf?”

  “That was your best date?” Ethan asked.

  “We toilet-papered his ex-girlfriend’s house once. That was fun,” she said with a sly smile.

  “So, he was a romantic?” Ethan laughed.

  Ainsley laughed; she tilted her head and flashed her wide-mouth, full of white, straight teeth. “He was fine. Nice. Attentive. Even our breakup was boring.” She took a sip of her juice. “I’ve wondered about him…where he was…when the virus hit.”

  “New rule,” Ethan said, putting his glass down on the table. “No virus talk.”

  “Even your toast—”

  Ethan reached out and touched Ainsley’s wrist from across the table. “New rule.”

  They watched as Teddy approached the table. “Your dinner is served,” he said and then he turned to Darla and beamed. Teddy ran back to his mom, who handed him white bowls, and the child delivered them, struggling to lift them to the table. Liquid splashed the tablecloth. Ethan bent down and sniffed at the red and brown mixture.

  “Excuse me, waiter?” Ethan asked and Teddy stopped and smiled. “What are we having for dinner tonight?”

  “MOM!” Teddy yelled to Darla. Then he lowered his voice to a loud whisper, “What are they eating?”

  “Taco soup,” Darla answered and she wandered to the table. “Canned tomatoes. Black beans. Kidney beans. Pork and beans. Corn. Taco seasoning. Dinner of champions. Pantry soup. You complaining to the management?” She narrowed her eyes.

  “Good sell,” Ainsley said and she dipped her spoon in and brought it back up, watching the red liquid run down the silver.

  “Three different kinds of beans. On a date,” Ethan added and he nodded to Darla. “Thanks, Mom.”

  She smiled. “Fake date. And hey…the butcher was fresh out of steak. I thought I was being fancy.”

  “You’re dismissed,” Ethan said and he waved his hand.

  “Jeez,” Darla said under her breath and she rolled her eyes. “The peons and I are going to have our soup inside.”

  Ethan turned and watched as everyone crowded inside. Dean stopped to pressed play on an old stereo, which was also hooked up to the generator. One of his dad’s old Frank Sinatra CDs started playing and Ethan smiled softly. He remembered his father playing Sinatra in his den on quiet summer nights; during the rare times he’d allow himself a cigar. Something in the music wiggled into him. The punctuated rhythms of the horns, and the swooping strings, and Old Blue Eye’s lyrics dripping with romance—Ethan didn’t want to be lonely.

  He didn’t want the world to feel so empty.

  Darla set down a bowl of soup in front of Dean. He bowed toward the warm liquid and inhaled; when he came back up, he was beaming.

  “A warm meal,” he said. “Makes the running around for this silly little thing worth it.”

  “You’re welcome,” Darla answered. Teddy rushed through, his bowtie askew, heading for the screen door. “Where are you going, young man?” she asked and her child halted in his steps.

  “To eat with Ethan,” Teddy answered.

  “Ah-ah-ah,” Darla snapped her fingers. “The waiter eats inside. Go on. Get. Leave them alone.” Teddy slumped his shoulders and retreated to the den, where his toys awaited him. Peering out of the dining room window, Darla spied outside, with the shades drawn, she and Dean had a perfect view of the glowing backyard and the young couple slurping their soup and engaging in cheerful banter. Ethan and Ainsley both smiled—an act that seemed rare compared to the duo’s grumpy way through life.

  “To be young,” Dean replied, catching Darla’s gaze and turning over his shoulder to look outside. He turned back to her and grinned, “You want a beer with your soup?”

  “Cold?” Darla asked with incredulity.

  He nodded. “Lukewarm. I hooked the mini-fridge up to the generator and ran an extension cord into the kitchen.” He hopped up and returned a few seconds later with a barely cold beer can.

  “Not much of a beer drinker,” Darla started, b
ut she cracked open the top, “but I’ll take it. Thank you.”

  “Ethan shouldn’t have all the luxuries tonight, right?” Dean said and he tipped his can against hers.

  “I’m impressed,” Darla said, sipping her soup slowly. “You’re a good sport, with all of this.” Someone outside said something funny, and the laughter carried inside. “I figured you to be aloof. You know, withdrawn.”

  “Don’t lump me in with your other middle-aged houseguest,” Dean replied and he set his drink down with a smack. “I have no ill-will. Just trying to live, you know? Hoping to reunite with Grant…”

  It was the first time Dean had really mentioned his son. She paused, debating about pressing further. She was reassured to hear him say his son’s name. Grant had been a kind kid, in the short time she spent with him, and she’d been fond of him—he was polite, eager to help.

  “The morning they took off in the balloon…” Darla started, unsure of herself. She watched Dean’s face, looking for a reason to just shut up and leave it be, but he waited and watched for her to continue. “Didn’t you hear it? The fan?”

  “I’m not proud of it,” Dean answered. “I was self-medicating. Look, I thought Grant was dead…first my wife, then my son. I was a mess. And I was afraid, you see. What kind of life is left when everyone you love is gone?”

  “None. No blame there.”

  “Thinking I lost Grant messed me up. When I saw the balloon…I don’t know,” Dean ran his hand through his hair, and he sighed. “He didn’t come in, you know? Didn’t check. We both thought we were the only ones left. I figured…this is what letting him go feels like. It’s numbing.”

  “I can’t imagine losing Teddy,” Darla shuddered. She closed her eyes and the images of Grace, her love, her life, and that moment in the airport when she realized she was losing her forever, danced before her. It didn’t feel like she was gone. It felt like she was away, on vacation. Everything about their lives had been so disrupted it was easy to pretend that in a few short days she and Teddy would pack up, head back to Southern California, and everything would be as it was.