"Hey, you." Suddenly concerned, I forgot all about the reason I was looking for her, and crossed the room to seat myself on the edge of her bed.
"Hey." She gave me a pathetic look, and nuzzled miserably at her pillow.
"What’s wrong?" I reached out to her instinctively, and brushed a strand of hair off her cheek.
"I feel like crap." Her answer was blunt and without embellishment. "My head’s been hurting for days and I feel like throwing up all the time."
Concern twisted like a knife in my gut.
"Have you told Doctor Cross?" I whispered the question, fighting down the urge to panic.
She shook her head. "I don’t want to worry anyone…"
"I’m sure you’ll be fine." I tried my best to sound reassuring, then leaned down to plant a kiss on her forehead, just like Mum used to do when we were little. The memory made her smile, but it was a weak smile. I straightened up again and looked down at her worriedly. "Let me get Doctor Cross anyway, just in case."
She nodded softly, and that was permission enough for me. I patted her head one last time, then rose and went off in search of the doctor. He was exactly where I last saw him, so it didn’t take much effort. When I told him what she’d said to me, he nodded thoughtfully.
"Pregnancy comes with many aches and pains and mysterious illnesses all the way through, particularly towards the end," he said in that self-assured way of his, the doctor’s voice that says everything will be just fine. "I’ll go check on her anyway."
"Thank you, doctor." I gave him a smile to mask my own worry, and watched him leave to check on her. Maddy skipped along after him, singing quietly to herself, and left me alone.
‘I don’t want to worry anyone.’
Something about the way she'd said that bothered me immensely. Skye was never one to mince words when she was feeling slighted or unhappy about something. Why would she suddenly change her mind completely?
Unless she knew in her gut that it was something serious.
I shook my head to dismiss the thought. If it had been something serious, then the doctor would have picked up on it before. He’d been watching Skye like a hawk through the last few weeks of her pregnancy. It seemed unlikely that something serious would miss his attention so completely. She was probably just feeling hot and bothered in the humidity, like the rest of us.
I decided that a present was in order, to cheer up both the parties involved, so off I went to get my things. Once I had my taser and my radio safely in my pockets, I set off on a scavenger hunt to find the perfect gift for my little sister.
In my head, I ran through the list of appropriate things that I’d seen over the last few weeks. Something for the baby would be best, but the question was what?
There was a home not far away that had once housed a young family. I remembered that there were toys and children’s books scattered all over the living room. That seemed like a logical place to start. I broke into a jog and headed off towards the building in question, feeling a surge of simple joy over the fact that I could run again.
It was a quaint little home, surrounded by small gardens and what was left of a white picket fence. Once, it had been someone’s dream home. Now, the paint was cracked and peeling, baked by ten years' sun with no maintenance, and the garden was a jungle just like all the others. The gate shrieked in protest when I opened it and then I picked my way along the remains of the garden path towards the front door.
I had left it unlocked when I last visited, and everything was exactly the same as it had been weeks before. To my left, a tiny kitchen and dining room stood beneath a thick layer of dust. To my right, an archway led to a small living room, with cheap, overstuffed couches in front of the television. Toys still scattered the floor.
I bent to examine the toys, searching for something suitable, but none of them seemed quite right to cheer up Skye today. Perhaps when the baby was old enough to play then I could come back for them, but for now they stayed where they were.
A narrow staircase led to the second floor. I scampered up it, feeling light-footed and agile. Doorways flanked the hall leading to a couple of bedrooms. The first one I opened had obviously once belonged to a young girl. Dolls lay discarded where they fell, stuffed animals lined the bed; everything was pink and pretty, all ballerinas and fairies and princesses. It looked just like Skye’s room before the outbreak. For once in my life, that thought made me want to laugh instead of cry.
The second room I cracked open was more promising; it was the baby’s room. It was hard not to think about the fact that both of those innocent children were dead now, but I tried to ignore that as I crossed the room to peer into the crib.
A little pink blanket lay folded across the foot of the bassinet. I reached out and touched it, marvelling at its softness. Upon it sat a little matching teddy bear, waiting to receive the newest addition to the family, the one that would never come.
It will now, I thought, and that cheered me up. These were just perfect. I gathered up the teddy and the blanket, and gave both of them a gentle shake to rid them of the dust, then I hurried out of the little house and headed back towards my home.
A few minutes later I bounded up the stairs towards Skylar’s room with my prizes clutched to my chest – only to find myself confronted by a small group of people standing outside the door. Everyone was there, except for the doctor and Skye. Concern returned like a sledgehammer, and this time it socked me full in the jaw. I hurried over to join them, my gifts forgotten.
"What’s happening?" I whispered and tried to push through them to get a better view. No one had an answer for me.
Panic swelled up in full force, so I squeezed my relatively small frame between the men and burst into my sister’s room. I found the doctor bent over her, so intently focused that he didn’t notice my arrival until I was right beside him. Skylar lay unconscious on the blankets, her skin so pale and waxy that there was no way that this could be normal.
"She appears to have contracted an infection." Dr Cross’ soft voice broke the silence as he checked a small thermometer resting in my sister’s mouth. Even I could see that the fever burned painfully high.
"But how? We’ve been so careful to keep her safe." Tears leapt unbidden into my eyes, blurring my vision.
"Pregnant women are just more susceptible to infection than any other normal, healthy adult." The doctor’s frown was more intense than usual. The last time I'd seen his scowl etched that deeply was when he was tending to poor Dog. That expression did nothing to reassure me. "It may have been something she ate. Sadly, we do not have the facilities to run blood tests to figure out exactly what it is. I am giving her the strongest broad-spectrum antibiotic we can safely give her in her condition, and we’ll just have to hope that it’s enough."
I felt an arm creep around me and realised Michael had joined me. His support was very, very welcome. As soon as I felt him there, my strength drained away. I sagged against him and let him lead me away from the bed so that we weren’t in the way. There was only one chair in the room, so he sat and drew me into his lap, then held me close while we waited.
Darkness fell, and Skylar still didn’t wake up.
***
Late that night, a scream tore me from my doze; a terrible, bloody scream of unbearable pain.
I was up a second later with Michael right behind me, and we hurried to the bedside where I found the doctor struggling to hold my sister down. She was writhing in agony, and I realised with horror that there was a terrible red stain spreading below the waist of her nightshirt and inching across the blankets beneath her tormented young body.
"Help me," the doctor begged us for aid, and we both leapt in to try and hold my frantic sister. She was oblivious to us all, and her body seemed to hold an unnatural amount of strength. A third set of hands joined us; I glanced up, and saw Ryan’s ghost-pale face join us while we struggled to control her convulsions.
Suddenly the doctor was holding a syringe, and while we controlled her
he injected it into Skylar’s pale, sweating arm. It took a minute before she relaxed as the painkillers took effect, but even once the convulsions stopped she was whimpering and her eyes rolled in her head. It was a terrifying sight.
The blood was spreading.
"She’s going to lose the baby." I clung to Michael for support through the shock and horror of that realisation. The doctor blew out a short breath, and a look of regret pinched his brow.
"Yes." His shoulders slumped, and he looked at me with the kind of expression that made me want to run and hide rather than hear what he was going to say. "And I’m not sure I’m going to be able to save her, either."
I felt like I’d been punched in the face, or the gut, or maybe both. I had found my baby sister, alive after all these years, and I was going to lose her again after just a few short weeks? It seemed impossibly cruel and so terribly unfair.
"No… no, no, no, please – you have to save her!" The words tumbled out of me without control, pleading, as if through sheer force of will I could save my sister.
"I have no intention of giving up, Ms McDermott, but you need to understand that there is a strong possibility that she may not make it." The doctor shook his head regretfully, then seemed to steel himself. "Please leave the room; I will call you if I need you."
Although the doctor’s voice was soft it felt like he’d yelled at me. Michael had to drag me bodily from the room. I fought to stay even though I knew there was nothing that I could do, driven by primitive instincts that have no real name. Eventually I gave up and sank into Michael’s arms, my emotions surging with such strength that I couldn’t figure out which one of them to respond to first.
It was all a matter of time, and hope. I had no choice but to put all my faith in Dr Cross’ skills, pray that they would be enough.
***
It was breakfast time but no one felt like eating. My sister’s screams were raw and primal. Every time one of us relaxed, another scream would come and put us all back on edge.
I managed to doze for a few minutes with my head lolling against Michael’s shoulder, but it wasn’t enough to actually rest. I felt wrung out and exhausted, emotionally drained and tense to the point of snapping.
At one point, Ryan rushed out from the sick room and summoned Michael for his skills as a blood donor, leaving me alone with little Madeline.
She had no wisdom for me today.
A short time later, Michael returned looking pale and woozy, but he refused to go to his bed. He sat beside me once more and wrapped his arms around me, letting me bury my face against his chest.
Even his warmth couldn’t hide the terrible sound of my baby sister in agony. My sweet little baby sister. I loved her so much that it was unbearable.
Eventually, the screams trailed off to a distant, pathetic sobbing, then they stopped altogether. A few minutes later, an exhausted Dr Cross emerged from the sick room and found us huddled together. We looked at him expectantly, but he just shook his head.
"I have done all I can." His voice was hoarse and regretful, and he wouldn’t make eye-contact with me. "Only time will tell now."
The memory of an identical statement made just before Dog’s death flashed through my mind. I was up before Michael could stop me and dashed past the doctor, back into my sister’s room.
Ryan sat on the edge of their bed, cradling something wrapped in the soft pink baby blanket I had intended as a gift for my sister. As I drew closer, I realised that it was the baby.
It was dead.
The baby’s skin was a terrible shade of blue-purple, and its tiny face was contorted and stiff. Tears ran down Ryan’s cheeks as he looked down at the tiny child in his arms, the terrible litany of loss written clearly across his freckled face.
"We were going to name her Kylie, after her grandmother," he spoke softly when he saw me, and cuddled his firstborn daughter, dead before he had the chance to know her. "Kylie Sandrine Knowles-McDermott. That was going to be her name. She was going to have beautiful blue eyes like her mama, and my freckles, and we were going to teach her to sing and read and play games with us. We were–" His voice broke, and he trailed off into sobs of terrible grief, the tiny body clutched against his chest.
I didn’t know what to say. There was nothing I could say that would make this better. The baby was dead, and with her all their hopes and dreams for a family together.
Behind him, my sister lay unconscious, her breathing shallow and uneven. Her skin was waxy, and so very pale I felt like what little hope I had left would never be enough to save her.
The tears gathered in my eyes and I let them fall unhindered as I knelt beside her bed. In my mind’s eye, she was still that sweet-faced little girl I adored. She would always be my baby sister.
My one living relative.
My best friend.
I took her cold, clammy hand and pressed it to my cheek, praying that somehow, someway, she might hear my words and fight a little harder.
"Please, Skye, please. Don’t leave me."
***
To be continued, in The Survivors – Book II: Autumn.
***
Pre-order your copy of The Survivors Book II: Autumn today, and you can get a free copy of The Survivors: Enigma, only available during the IndieGoGo fundraising campaign!
http://www.vldreyer.com/fundraiser2/
Credits
Concept & Story:
Victoria L. Dreyer
Editing:
Holly Simmons
Cover Art:
Alais Legrand
Graphic Design:
Alyssa Talboys
Financial Support
Prior to the release of this novel, the author ran an online fundraising campaign to help with the costs. Without the generosity of these lovely people, The Survivors may not have been possible.
Adrienne Smith
Clare Stones
Dennis Swanson
Rebekah Andrews
Sarah Hayward
Sonia Rudolph
And of course, the anonymous donators who requested not to be named. Thank you.
Acknowledgements
This book would never have been finished without the loyalty and dedication of my family. Without your eternal faith in me, Sandy's adventure would have forever remained untold.
To all of my fans from my early days as a graphic novelist, thank you as well. Your love and endless stream of inquisitive questions gave me the strength to carry on in the darkest hours, and opened my mind to all kinds of new possibilities.
To Holly, my editor, for her incredible patience and high degree of tolerance to my idiosyncrasies.
And most of all, to Alyssa, for being my Skylar. Where would I be without you? You pick me up when I'm feeling down, smack me down when my ego gets too big, and call me out on my grammar at every turn.
Thank you.
About The Author
Born in Auckland, New Zealand, Victoria Dreyer began her career in the most peculiar of ways – as the writer and illustrator of graphic novels. Although her ultimate dream was always to become a novelist, she spent many years exploring other mediums before finally returning to the one she felt most comfortable with – the written word.
Ms Dreyer is a voracious reader, and in addition to the post-apocalyptic genre she also enjoys reading and writing science fiction, modern fantasy, and the paranormal romance genres. Her primary works include the Immortelle series under the moniker Abigail Hawk, and numerous short stories.
She currently resides in West Auckland with several flatmates, a large collection of books and two very spoilt cats.
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The Survivors (Book 1): Summer Page 29
