ARES Virus (Book 3): Phoenix Rising

by O'Brien, John

  When she places her weight onto the branch, it nearly vanishes under the rising current. Another small step, carefully securing her feet, and the turbulent waters rise suddenly up to her knees, then past. The current is so strong that she’s afraid she’ll lose her footing and there will be nothing she can do to keep from being swept away.

  A thought enters that she’s making a bigger mistake retrieving her pack than the one she made staying in the tunnel and losing it in the first place. But, she’s almost to the pack, the thought leaving as she refocuses.

  With one hand holding the branch, and the current making her footholds tenuous at best, she reaches out and is able to grab one of the straps. She works it loose from the fork in the branch where it’s caught. Once free, the strong current threatens to rip it from her grasp. With relief, she pulls the heavy pack out of the water and hurriedly turns to make her way back to shore. The current sweeps her feet out from under her.

  Emily is only able to give one small yelp of surprise just before her head goes under. The full immersion into the freezing water nearly stops her heart, the cold waters pushing strongly against her face. The current pulling on the pack crooked around her elbow threatens to rip free the grasp she is able to maintain on the limb. If she loses the tentative grip she has, she’ll be swept away into the larger river just a few yards away. Desperately, Emily tries to lift her head above the water, but only manages one brief gulp of air before being thrust under again.

  She struggles to get her feet under her, but the current is too strong. Her pack pulls against her like a sail in strong winds. Emily’s head is alternately under and above the wave-like surface of the stream. When she feels her head clear, she gasps for a solitary breath before being sucked under. The stream is relentless, her thoughts confused, her only drive to take the next breath, thinking that it might be her last.

  An internal scream tells her to let go of the backpack, but with the confusion, she doesn’t heed that voice. Her single focus is to get her head above water. With a surge of terror-infused strength, she manages to get one knee under her. The stones drive into her kneecap, but the pain is barely noticed. Fear reigns; holding onto the branch and fighting to survive for another moment are her only actions. Placing all of her weight and attention on her knee, she drives upward.

  Her head clears the surging waters while the current drives against her chest and the waves splash up and over her head. Crooked in her elbow, the drag of the pack lessens. With the waters surging over her, she still has trouble getting a breath, but it’s easier than it was. Fighting the current, she forces her other arm forward and manages to get a second hold on the branch. Using it to keep from being swept away, she inches on her knees toward the bank. At the edge, she throws herself onto the bank, rolling onto her back.

  Rain streams onto her face as she gasps for breath. Awareness slowly returns, and along with it, the absolute cold. Rolling to her knees, Emily eyes the pack lying on the bank beside her.

  “Got ya.”

  Exhausted, cold, and still afraid, she can’t believe that she managed to live through what just happened. She knows that it was stupid, her whole decision-making process not well thought out. But, she’s also a little proud that she was able to retrieve her pack. However, she’s still in a predicament. She’s alone, wet, cold—but at least she has food and water.

  Emily looks at the torrent racing by as if nothing had happened, as if it hadn’t just attempted to pull her more deeply into its grasp. As she watches the waters tumble over and around the stones, there’s no menace emanating from the rapids. There’s danger within those depths, but only for those who ignore the warnings and venture into them. They don’t care about those walking along the shores, but step into their territory and the beast will awaken.

  Shaking her head at the thoughts, Emily rises and makes her way back through the bushes and across the road, hauling her pack on her non-sore shoulder. Her entire body aches and is so cold that it feels like her joints aren’t working right. Across the road, she walks into the tree line, finding a semblance of shelter under some boughs near the edge of the woods. The rain continues to pour, larger drops gathering on the limbs above to plop down on her. Pulling the wet wool blankets out of her pack, she throws them over her and huddles with her arms wrapped around her legs. A semblance of warmth returns.

  The rains begin to subside. Emily is still cold, but without the frigid shivering she had upon entering the tree line. Pulling the cover from over her head, she drapes it around her shoulders. Her one shoulder really aches, as do her knees. Her clothing is soaked, and she knows no way to dry them in the near future. She looks at the stream as it gushes out of the trees, racing along the bed and through the culvert, filling it nearly halfway. She’s thankful that the thunder woke her before she was swept away. From now on, she knows that those won’t be good for shelter. If she has to use a bridge and it has a stream, she’ll make sure she’s able to stay far away from the water.

  The rain stops; the clouds part to show bits of blue sky. Soon, rays of sunlight streak through the breaks, glaring on the wet landscape. Emily emerges, her entire body stiff and sore. Retrieving her bike, she sets out, wondering whether her seat or her jeans are wetter.

  * * * * * * *

  It takes a little while for her muscles to warm up, the going slow. With each turn of the pedal it feels like her knees are going to seize up. Her shoulder and neck hurt like never before. She knows her elbow should be hurting as well, but the other pains outweigh it. The cold still envelopes her and she knows that she needs to find somewhere to dry her clothing. She won’t last long in the night if she starts off chilled and wet. Everything in her pack is soaked, including the matches. And the wood in the trees will most certainly be wet after the drenching downpours. The last two days haven’t been kind ones, and she doesn’t see that improving anytime soon.

  As she rides along the highway, her thoughts take her to dark and depressing places. She feels that she was just lucky for the first few days after she left her aunt and uncle’s place. That the troubles of being out in the wilderness have caught up to her. Last night, after building the fire, she felt like she had surmounted a major hurdle and had a jump on things. However, reality hit her hard, waking her to the truth of her situation.

  She feels like she’s merely biding her time until the end. She doesn’t have the right skills to survive on her own. Just when she thinks she does, the world shows her how wrong she is. Just when she gets comfortable, the world comes crashing down around her ears. In the heroic stories she acted out with her friends, the hero would rise above a tragic situation and come out triumphant. She’d like to think that was the case, but in fact, the opposite is true. She misses the carefree times as she pedals along the highway with the emptiness of the plain under the warmth of the sun.

  * * * * * * *

  Showers sweep through, bringing heavy rains amid rare moments of sunshine. Emily hunkers over the handlebars, the rain hammering on the pavement and her coat. She has her hood pulled far over her head, staring at the ground just ahead as she pedals. She could take to the trees to try to stay drier, but what’s the use. She might as well try to get further down the road. Although, toward what, she’s not sure.

  She shivers under the onslaught of water, feeling absolutely miserable. She pulled over a while ago and looked at her knees. They were swollen with bruises showing that would only get worse. She’d made a good effort, trying to emulate the soldier who led them out of Pineville. But she doesn’t have what it takes and is deeply aware of it. There is only the empty road, the rains, and the rushing river by her side.

  The splattering rain on the highway is almost hypnotic. She stares at the splashes, unconsciously turning the pedals over…again and again. The density of the rain doesn’t allow her to see very far, but that isn’t a factor as she keeps her head lowered to shield her face. Her pants are so soaked that they leak water, the rain no longer able to wet them any further. She wonders if thi
s is how it ends—if she just pedals until she falls over, too cold to get up. Maybe she should have taken that first off-ramp in the valley, taking her journey in a completely different direction. Perhaps it would have turned out the same, perhaps not. She thinks of one cartoon she watched.

  I should have taken a left at Albuquerque. What was the name of the rabbit? Bugs Bunny? I think that’s right.

  The thought that she watched the cartoon in the warmth of her own house, with her parents still alive, depresses her even further. She tries to quit thinking altogether, but her thoughts keep drifting back to her parents. Emily begins crying, tears mixing with the rain streaming down her face.

  “Child! What are you doing out in this weather?” a voice calls, interrupting her miserable thoughts.

  Emily startles, looking quickly around her. To one side, she sees a woman by a muddy driveway, her coat held above her head. Emily smells smoke, something she wasn’t aware of while lost in her thoughts.

  “Well, come on girl, get over here,” the woman shouts, waving her arm for Emily to come to her.

  Emily stops her bike, wondering if she’s hallucinating.

  Is this how it ends? With some grand illusion? I’m probably actually lying on the pavement.

  Emily continues staring at the woman, rain thundering on her coat, streams running from her hood. She’s not sure if it’s make-believe, her mind fooling her. Surely no one would willingly be standing out in this rain. There’s also a certain amount of anxiety. Her last run-in with people didn’t end well and she doesn’t want that kind of letdown again. However, her predicament doesn’t really leave her much choice. She’s wet and chilled to the bone with very little hope of surviving through the night. Setting her foot on the pedal, she pushes off and rides to where the woman is waiting near a puddle of water formed in the muddy driveway.

  “What in the world are you doing out in weather like this?” the woman asks as they both walk briskly up the lane, the woman’s coat held over Emily’s head.

  Emily doesn’t answer, her mind and body numb.

  “Well, come on. Let’s get you inside and dry you off in front of the fire.”

  A thought of being ushered into a place that seems safe at first but is actually filled with sick people enters Emily’s mind, causing her to hesitate.

  “Are there sick people here?” Emily asks.

  “No. No one is sick here,” the woman replies. “I’m Megan. What’s your name?”

  “Emily.”

  The roaring patter of rain hitting the ground follows them up the driveway. All around, fir trees encircle small cabins tucked in their midst, the deep red walls the only splashes of color among the shades of gray cast by the clouds. The woman guides Emily to a larger cabin, needle-lined boughs brushing the shingled roof. Lights glow from windows along its length, giving a picture of warmth and comfort in contrast to the misery outside.

  At the top of slippery wooden steps, the woman shakes the coat free of water and opens the door, warmth and light fighting with the gloomy gray cold. The woman’s hand presses against Emily’s back, urging her inside. Several others are seated on benches, gathered around one of the long tables that fill the large room. At one end of the room is a kitchen and lining one of the walls is a table with giant coffee urns lines. In one corner stands a woodstove, roaring flames showing through the glass.

  The door shuts behind Emily and the heat immediately drives away some of the cold residing deep within her.

  “Claude, grab that bench and take it over in front of the fire,” the woman says.

  One of the men jumps up and complies.

  “Emily, this is Jess, Sharon, Claude, Charles, Bill, and Mike,” Megan says, pointing to each individual in turn. “Everyone, this is Emily.”

  Emily self-consciously smiles as she’s ushered toward the woodstove and the bench now set before it. The woman named Megan removes Emily’s coat, spreading it out on the bench to dry.

  “Emily, do you have any other clothes?” the woman asks.

  Emily nods. “In my pack, but, they’re all wet. The river got them soaked.”

  The woman stares at her, knowing that there’s a story in there. Nodding, she bends to open the backpack that Emily shrugged off. She takes out clothing, arranging everything along the long bench to dry.

  “Sharon, would you warm up some of that soup and bring it out?”

  Emily huddles in front of the fire, shaking as water drips to the floor, the heat radiating from the stove slowly erasing the bone-deep chill. It’s not long before she’s handed a brothy soup with thin noodles in a large coffee cup.

  “Drink that down slowly. It’ll warm you up from the inside as well,” Megan says.

  Emily does as instructed, the heated soup almost like fire as it runs down her throat. Instant warmth radiates from her stomach and she feels the chill in her bones begin to leave as if forced out from where it has taken residence. She tips back the cup, surprised to find it empty. Emily hadn’t really noticed how hungry she was. The cup is replaced by another.

  “Slowly now,” the woman gently admonishes, turning the clothes laid out on the bench. “But, have as much as you want.”

  “How long have you been out in the rain? And why were you out there at all?” Megan later asks.

  “I was trying to find someplace to stay,” Emily answers.

  “Where did you come from?” Megan queries, purposely not mentioning parents as it is quite obvious what must have happened.

  “Pine…Springfield,” Emily responds, catching herself as she remembers the soldier saying that she should never mention that she came from Pineville. “I was staying at my aunt and uncle’s place.”

  “Springfield!? That’s a long way away. Did you ride all of the way here on that bike?” the woman asks, incredulous.

  “I had another one, until the tire went flat. Then I found that one,” Emily answers.

  Megan just looks at Emily, amazement in her eyes that such a young child could have survived such a long journey on a bicycle. Megan calculates how many towns Emily must have gone through, each one filled with infected.

  And on a bike nonetheless?

  The others around the table all look on with the same expressions of bewilderment.

  Megan shakes her head. “Well, you’re safe now. You can stay with us and stay in my cabin.”

  * * * * * * *

  Cabins, South of Pineville

  October 20

  Emily sits alone at a table in the large dining cabin. A fire burns merrily in the woodstove, an effort that took little time. Outside, rain patters against the windows as it has off and on for the past few days. Occasionally, the building shakes as a strong gust blows through; the fire stirs as the wind reaches down the wide pipe leading from the roof.

  She’d begun to relax over the past few days, enjoying the company of the others. The cabins were small but comfortable, and it was nice to be able to sleep on an actual bed. They had plenty of food in the freezers and on the shelves, plus water was still coming from the faucets. And, working bathrooms. It wasn’t the place she’d left, but it was far better than sleeping under bridges and in culverts. Even more, the people were nice.

  She stares at the can of food she opened and dumped into a bowl, the contents untouched. Her thoughts aren’t on the food, but rather on her predicament and depressed mood.

  Yesterday, the seven people inhabiting the cabins barely made it out of their beds, coming only into the large cabin to get some food before returning. Today, no one moved from their rooms, all lying in their beds, sick. Megan tossed and turned all night, constantly moaning. Once again, Emily knows they are sick, with the very real possibility that they’ll turn into bad people.

  Emily isn’t sure what to do. She doesn’t have a gun, and even if she did, she is sure that she couldn’t go through with the promise she made to herself that she wouldn’t be chased out of her next place by sick people. She may be able to envision herself shooting them, but that’s far, f
ar different than actually being able to pull the trigger, even if she knew how to use a gun. She may be forced yet again to head out on the highway, forever seeking help and a place to stay.

  Is it me? Am I doing something wrong? Why does everyone I meet get sick?

  She knows that the man’s wife at the last place arrived sick, but she can’t help the feeling that it’s all her fault somehow. Emily had truly thought that this time, she’d found the help she’s been searching for. If the people here turn bad, she won’t be able to stay, yet she doesn’t have the strength to face the road again. The last time nearly ended her. Each day brings winter closer, and eventually she’ll run out of options.

  Maybe I can just stay in here and avoid them if they turn, Emily thinks, knowing that solution isn’t really viable.

  Emily returns to the cabin she shares with Megan, fills the pack with her stuff, and returns to the dining hall, spooning down her food with little notice that she’s eating. Outside, the morning rains lift, the sun peeking through the trees with large drops still falling from their sodden limbs. A miniature rainbow forms in one of the streaks of sunlight, the rays seeming overly bright against the wet backdrop.

  Almost numb and acting without any true thought, Emily rinses out her dish. She empties and refills the water bottles she’s been carrying with her. From the shelves, she selects several cans of food, removing any junk food in her pack before filling it with what she’ll actually need to live on. The sleeping bag she brought from the cabin lies by the table, along with the wool blankets. She knows that she’ll need to keep her stuff dry, so she removes a small tarp covering part of the woodpile outside. Leaving the building, she sets the items in the basket, tying the tarp over the top.

  Standing in a beam of sunlight, she looks to the cabins dotting the woods, wondering if she should tell anyone that she’s leaving. She can’t stand staying only to watch them turn, again experiencing the fear of being around the bad people.