The System (Virulent Book 2)

by Shelbi Wescott

  “You can’t,” he said. “It’s suicide. You can’t,” he repeated.

  They heard the footsteps on the stairs.

  “My child—” Darla started and she spun again. Dean grabbed her and dragged her backward. The men were upstairs. One door banged open. Then another. She looked at Dean, her eyes pleading. “My boy.”

  “I lost my boy too,” Dean whispered, his eyes darted back and forth, staring at her. He was fierce, intense. “We’ll get them back. We’ll get them back. We’re no good to them dead. You hear me? You’re no good to Teddy dead.”

  Darla shook her head. “No,” she turned to bolt again, but Dean held her. “Please, let me go.”

  He shoved her to the floor and pushed her toward the bed. “You have to hide. Hide. Hide!”

  With silent sobs convulsing through her body, Darla forced herself under the King’s California King. She tucked her body between two plastic bins of clothes and tried to picture Teddy’s face. He would be so scared. He would be so worried. He needed her and she needed him. The door to the master bedroom banged open, shots were fired into the open room and Darla covered her ears with her hands. She couldn’t tell if she screamed or if she was only screaming in her head. Then the firing stopped, the footsteps retreated.

  After a long minute, someone yelled that the upstairs was all clear. Her ears rang and she didn’t know if she should move or stay. Then Darla felt Dean’s hands latching around her ankles and he rolled her out from under the bed.

  She was about to ask him where he hid, when they heard the boom. The foundation of the house shook with violent fury. Then a second boom rocked them and Darla tumbled to the ground. They rushed to the window, Dean’s hand still holding Darla’s arm. Outside, they saw the men pouring from the house, stomping back down the street in tight lines. Two men in uniform worked together to carry an unconscious Ethan from the house; Ethan’s body seemed tiny in their hands. When they reached the sidewalk, one of the men took over—cradling the twenty-year-old like a baby. His head flopping as the soldier picked up his pace.

  And then Darla saw her son.

  He was crying, tears streaming down his face. And he kicked and flailed at the young man carrying him away from the house, running back toward the way they came.

  “Teddy!” Darla yelled and she pushed off from Dean before he could grab her and rushed into the hallway. The smell of smoke was overpowering and as she reached the stairs, she knew then that the house was on fire. Flames licked up from the basement and were already growing, lapping at the first set of stairs. Darla ignored the inferno, didn’t question where her houseguests were, and she bounded down the steps and out the door.

  When she reached the landing, she skidded to a halt. Joey’s body lay in the same position as before; his eyes wide-open, staring up at her, vacant and void of life.

  She pushed the image aside and bolted down to the grass and out onto the street. Already the men were like dots in the distance, rounding the corner toward their waiting helicopters. Darla sprinted after them, pumping her arms, her lungs aching and ready to burst. She had never run so fast in her entire life; it felt like she could takeoff and fly. But as she neared the park, she saw the first of the machines rise and circle with a steady whack-whack-whack of its propellers.

  Then the second helicopter lifted. And Darla sank to the ground, her chest heaving. All the air had left her body and she gasped for breath.

  “Teddy! Teddy!” she yelled between gasping breaths.

  Teddy was gone.

  She screamed and rose to her feet; then pushing herself with all her might, Darla began to follow the helicopters, chasing them across the sidewalk, cutting through yards, until they were nothing more than tiny spots in the sky.

  “Darla! Stop!” She heard and she turned.

  Running after her, his big body thumping along the paths she had taken, was Dean.

  “They’re gone,” he breathed. “They’re all gone.”

  “I tried to get him,” she sobbed and gulped. “I couldn’t run fast enough.”

  “No,” Dean shook his head and he put his hands on his knees. When he looked up at her, he had tears in his eyes. “At the house. Back at the house.”

  His meaning dawned on her and she paused. “Everyone?”

  “They shot everyone,” Dean answered. “God Almighty, Darla, they shot everyone.”

  They ran back to the fire. The flames now burst through the second-story windows; orange and red, they danced toward the sky. And black billowing clouds of smoke followed the colorful hues into the air above the house. Soon, the entire neighborhood was painted in a thin blanket of white and gray.

  “Ainsley…Doctor Krause…” Darla said trancelike. She tumbled to the ground when the heat of the fire touched her skin. Her thoughts next went to Teddy’s toys. The action figures he had come to love; she resisted the urge to go back into the fire to salvage them. He would be so heartbroken to learn they had burned; her desire to save the toys overwhelmed her. She turned away and let the tears fall.

  “Doctor Krause was gone for sure. I saw her as I left. Execution style. Ainsley…I don’t know…” Dean replied. “The fire moved fast…”

  Darla nodded, but she wasn’t listening.

  She scanned the grass and then jumped. Sitting upright against the shrubs in the far corner of the yard was Spencer. His shirt was stained red and splotches of blood stuck to his neck and his chin. His face was pale, his eyes closed, but Darla could see the rise and fall of his chest.

  “Son of a bitch,” she grumbled and crawled forward.

  “Darla—” Dean said, but he let her go, following on her heels.

  “You gave them my son,” Darla screamed over the roar of the fire. “You told them where he was…this…this death…this is on your hands!”

  Spencer kept his hands pressed to his belly, but blood still seeped through his fingers. The men had shot a hole into his stomach and left him to die. Joey, Doctor Krause, were killed instantly—Spencer was dying slowly, bleeding out with each painful intake of air.

  They had wanted him to suffer most.

  Darla felt Dean’s hand on her arm. Her lips trembled, her limbs shook, everything inside of her was cold. The heat of the fire radiated toward them, but Darla was freezing, her teeth chattered together.

  “I wish, I wish,” she breathed, “that they had left you for me.” And she rocked her body forward, with Dean’s hand still wrapped around her wrist and she spit on him. Her saliva rolled down Spencer’s cheek and nose.

  “I was never the enemy,” Spencer said in a whisper.

  “I don’t have to choose,” Darla screamed. “It’s not you or them. It’s you and them. He’s all I have left! Can’t you understand that? He’s all I had left!”

  “Trying…to save…”

  “Yourself,” Darla cried. “That’s all everything was ever about. You. You. You. Their blood is on your hands. All those people…who trusted you…”

  Something within the house crumbled and crashed; wood and debris began to tumble inward. The crackling of the fire was deafening and the heat became more intense.

  “We have to get away from the house,” Dean said and he tugged on Darla.

  “Gun,” Darla commanded, but Dean shook his head.

  “We have to go, Darla, now,” he said.

  “Gun!” she said again and Dean reached into his waistband and pulled out a second small shotgun.

  She raised the gun and held it to Spencer’s head. Another crash; sparks and smoke flew upward into the sky.

  “You took away everything that mattered to me,” she said as the tears spilled down her face.

  “I’m…already…gone,” Spencer muttered with his eyes closed. “You’re…doing me a favor. I want you to…shoot me.”

  Darla’s hand trembled as she held the gun in front of her. Then she dropped it to the ground and kicked it away toward the house.

  “I want you to suffer,” sh
e said and Spencer did not reply. Blood began to pool at his sides.

  Dean marched back through the heat and whisked Darla away, grabbing her around the waist, and pulling her toward safety. She kept her eyes trained on Spencer—the principal followed her gaze and then closed his eyes, his breathing slowing.

  “Rot. Rot. Rot in hell…murderer…” Darla screamed at him and then she crumpled into Dean’s arms and let herself get dragged to the opposite side of the street. “He took away everything I had,” Darla said again. She sobbed and watched as the King house succumbed to the fire.

  Dean lugged her to the neighbor’s porch and he lifted her up, rested her against the steps. With the burning house in the background, he cupped his hands around her chin and looked at her.

  “We’re getting our sons,” he said. “Do you hear me?”

  “I hear you,” Darla answered. “I hear you.”

  “Grant and Teddy are okay.”

  “Okay.”

  “They didn’t take Teddy to hurt him. They took him to save him,” Dean said. “If they wanted to hurt him, they would’ve left him to die. Right?”

  Darla nodded. She didn’t know if she believed Dean, but she understood the logic. She nodded again. Then she wiped her face, aware that she was covered in dirt and grime and sweat. With her insides feeling like gelatin and her brain still reeling, she turned and bit her lip.

  “I’m ready,” she said. “Let’s go.”

  “Right now?” Dean asked. “You okay? You need a moment?”

  She shook her head, her raven hair flying. With her hands on her hips, she shot a look to her new unlikely ally. “I don’t need anything but my child.”

  “Where are we headed?” Dean asked. “You lead the way.”

  Another boom and crash exploded behind them, Darla flinched, but she didn’t move. Her thoughts went to Ainsley, whose body was still out there, probably buried in the house. She wondered what her last moments were like…if she fought, if she sacrificed herself in those final seconds before they took Teddy. Darla pushed the thoughts away; her mind gravitated back to Teddy and the look on his face as they carried him down the street.

  They took him away.

  “The men knew Ethan was here. And they knew about my child. Which means one thing…Grant and Lucy made it to Brixton. So, we go to Brixton.”

  “Nebraska,” Dean said. “Into the lion’s den.”

  “You can stay if you want,” Darla spat, turning to him, her eyes flashing with betrayal. “But nothing…nothing…will stop me from going after my son.”

  “Hey,” Dean said and put his hands on her shoulders, pulling her into a brief hug; her body stiffened as he embraced her. “You’re the boss. I’m with you. Let’s go get our kids back.”

  He let his arm linger on her shoulder for a second and then he grabbed her hand and gave it a squeeze; then, mechanically, they both turned to the pyre and stood frozen on the sidewalk, as the home tumbled downward, crashing to the earth in a pillar of smoke and ash and flame.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

  Lucy felt light. Like a weight had lifted off of her shoulders. She kept looking at Grant like he was going to flit away, but every time she stole a glance he was there, smiling back at her.

  The sun beat down through the skylight. It was a cloudless Nebraskan day and soon the light would dip below the glass and they could experience the joy of a bright sunset. They were waiting and watching the sun: something that Grant had not seen since they had first arrived in Brixton. He blinked and stared up at the glass, in awe, and giddy.

  “This place…it’s awesome,” Grant said. “I hope they never find it. I hope it’s ours forever.”

  Ours. Lucy loved the sound of that.

  After Grant was given a tour of the System—which included a trip to the Center and a special glimpse into the Sky Room—Cass had brought them up to the special room as a treat.

  “I’ve got the real Sky Room. If you want,” Cass had enticed and then they wandered through the intricate labyrinth of hallways and sneaked through the fake wall, and rode the elevator to the top. Grant’s face was frozen in admiration.

  Once settled, Cass reached into the mini-fridge and grabbed a bottle of champagne.

  “To celebrate,” she announced and slid out the cork with a small pop, a stream of white gas escaping out of the top. Then Cass poured them each a glass into small plastic cups and handed the bubbling drinks to her guests. “A toast,” Cass continued. “To Grant’s freedom.”

  “To health,” Grant added.

  “And forgiveness,” Lucy contributed.

  Cass pointed her glass to Lucy and then to Grant. “To new beginnings and new friends.”

  “Cheers,” Grant replied and they rose their plastic cups and pushed them together before taking small sips. Lucy took several strong gulps and then rubbed her head and smiled.

  “I’ve never had champagne,” Lucy mused looking into her cup. “Were you keeping this up here for a reason?”

  Cass shrugged. “This is a good reason, no?”

  “I’m not complaining,” Lucy added quickly. Then she rose the cup to her lips and finished off the rest.

  “Easy there, partner,” Grant warned with a smile.

  They spent the rest of the time in relative silence, and then Cass abruptly left them alone. Slipping into the elevator without fanfare, the doors closing behind her, she sent Lucy a subtle wink before she was lowered out of sight.

  It wasn’t the first time Lucy had been alone with Grant: They had those days together traveling and the time in Wyoming. Somehow, though, it felt different: as if everything was leading up to this exact moment.

  They rested on their backs, staring without conversation through the thick glass that separated them from the world above ground; everything had changed. Now, they knew the truth. The searching was over and the dealing with what the future would look like for them was beginning. Lucy took a deep breath and extended her hand, feeling for his body next to hers. She found his hand and took it, intertwining their fingers. Then Grant rolled to his stomach in a sudden move and leaned over her, his face inches from hers, his breath pouring over her like a wave.

  “You saved me,” he said.

  Lucy smiled. “I said I would. I hate breaking promises.”

  “What if you were a coward? Like, what if you were just selfish. Scared?” he asked.

  She turned her head away and closed her eyes, “Come on,” she answered. “Whatever.”

  “I’m serious. You put it on the line…the easy thing would have been to just worry about you. You didn’t.”

  “No,” she said and her eyes snapped open. “Who would’ve have done that? Who would’ve left you to die?”

  Grant turned his head. “Lots of people, Lucy.”

  “I didn’t do anything. My father—”

  “Stop. No.” He lowered his body next to hers and propped his chin on his hand. His brown eyes unmoored her and she looked way. “That was you. You cared. You wanted to save me. You did. You.”

  “Of course.” She couldn’t help but sound surprised. “What else would I have done? You’re my friend…”

  “Stop,” he whispered again. Then he leaned his body forward and kissed her. Their lips met and Lucy remained frozen against the ground, scared to ruin the moment, scared that if she shifted or sighed he would pull away. His lips were raw and chapped, his unbrushed teeth clicked for a second against her own; but all Lucy could feel was the way his right hand reached up and cupped the side of her face, the way his body felt brushing against hers.

  He stopped and looked at her. Their eyes met for only a second before Lucy lifted her head and kissed him again. She raised her body into a sitting position, keeping herself fixed to Grant as she rose—as if when they separated for a second she could lose him again forever. She was cognizant of every action, every touch, every sound. And she never wanted it to end.

  Lucy wrapped both arms around Grant a
nd he tumbled backward. He pulled away and laughed. She giggled too and stayed above him, for a second, looking deep into his eyes. She searched them for signs of sadness, happiness, pain, joy. He smiled, and she shifted her attention to his little dimple and leaned down to kiss it.

  He sighed. “Lucy—” he said and stopped. He had a pained expression, but then he closed his eyes, and turned his head away.

  Her heart melted as she looked at him, and she noticed then that her hands were shaking. “I have thought of kissing you for a long time,” Lucy replied. “I’ve thought of us…of what we could be, if—”

  He covered his face with his hands.

  “I kissed Salem,” Grant blurted. He flung his body forward into hers, straight-down, full dead weight into her shoulder, and banged his forehead against her body. Then he stayed perfectly still, holding his breath.

  “Oh please, sit up,” Lucy instructed and she patted his back. He winced as he rose, looking ashamed and embarrassed. “Jeez, that’s what you say first? The first words after we kiss? A blurted confession?”

  “It’s not a secret I could keep from you,” he grimaced and looked at her exercising perfected puppy-dog eyes. He brought his hands up in front of himself and folded them in apology. “It wouldn’t feel right. We should put everything on the table,” he took a deep breath. “I kissed Salem.”

  “I remember it differently,” Lucy replied and she leaned in to kiss him on the cheek. “Salem kissed you.”

  He pulled back.

  “You saw.” Grant’s mouth dropped open in surprise.

  “I saw,” she answered. “I loved her. She was my everything…but I can admit that she had a way about her…she could be convincing.”

  Grant’s shoulders slumped and he smiled. “I thought I’d have to explain it to you. But I don’t. This whole time I’ve been practicing in my head. If I ever got a chance, I’d just say: Please give me a chance, even though I kissed your best friend. But I don’t have to give you that speech? You have no idea how that makes me feel.”