Across the street, ducking behind bushes and decorative foliage around the bank, Ryker and Margie paused. They breathed deep, their footsteps crunching the lava rocks in the flowerbeds around the building. If only they could get inside the bank, there’d be safety inside. Should be.
They took a break, adrenaline spiking and enhancing their senses. There was no sound of barking dogs or rough-voiced men.
A gun shot rang out, enhanced with an echo like from inside a cave. Jumping and pressing her back to the brick wall of the bank, Margie covered her mouth with one hand and scraped her other palm down the rough face of the exterior.
There was nowhere for them to go. They couldn’t go inside any of the buildings without facing the danger of some unidentified shooter or something else and they had someone on their tail that relished killing with their dogs. Margie didn’t even want to think about Manson and what he was doing. That was a train of thought better left alone.
They were stuck.
Margie turned to Ryker. She searched as much of his face as she could see. “What do you want to do? I don’t want to risk our lives without your opinion.” She didn’t have any ideas and needed a second to think. With how tired she was, she had a feeling that her judgment was altered and who knew if her decisions were anywhere near sound.
The teenager nodded. “Let’s go. It looks like there are more trees that way. If we can get there, maybe we can hide.” He motioned further north, past the strip mall, the shooting, the empty ocean of blacktop.
Margie glanced to the north. In the dark it was hard to see just where they were going and what lie in the trees, but they didn’t have a lot of options. Walking to Cady’s was the only choice they had. Unfortunately, a break wasn’t in their list of options.
She readjusted the backpack on her shoulders, letting the weight of the contents snug against her lower back. Tucking her chin, Margie hardened her resolve. It’d be better to die on the move, than there in the deep shadowy skirt of some bank. “Let’s go.”
They dropped into a crouch and ran toward the hulking line of dark trees.
Please, don’t see us. Please, don’t see us.
Chapter 3
Cady
Escaping in the truck with her daughter by her side, Cady still couldn’t avoid the truth. The vaccine hadn’t worked like Jackson had promised. Not only that, but the vaccine created a situation with more variables than what the virus presented on its own.
If Bailey got the virus without the vaccine on board, Cady would know what to expect – to a degree. But since she had the vaccine, there was no way to know just what symptoms she could have or even what the duration of the sickness could be.
Jackson hadn’t seemed fatigued when he’d gotten out of the van. He’d just seemed… Cady hadn’t examined what it had been like seeing her friend from so long ago – not only putting a face to the name, but also knowing he was the reason so many people had died. He was the reason she was constantly in fear for her daughter.
All she wanted to do was protect Bailey. Even from the grave, Jackson was going to prove Cady couldn’t even do that.
The dashboard lights glowed on Bailey’s skin, giving her an eerie greenish tinge. Her wide eyes stared out the windshield and she hadn’t released her grip on the armrest of the door or the chest seatbelt.
Choking back a desperate sob as reality rushed over her, Cady concentrated on keeping them on the road. She wasn’t worried about other vehicles – the only one she’d seen was that white van and those survivors were long dead, probably strung up on the barb-wire fence.
The road wound and curved, leading to long stretches of straight road and then a sweeping curve to the right. Cady nor Bailey said anything, as if they could keep the truth at bay.
Her daughter was going to get the virus. To what degree, Cady wasn’t sure. She couldn’t know any of that or even if she would survive it. Jackson hadn’t died of the virus. He’d died because Beth had shot him. Had Jackson known he’d been infected? Had he somehow come to warn them? No. Cady wasn’t that naïve. He wasn’t altruistic by any means. Cady gripped the steering wheel so tight her fingers hurt.
They turned east off Clagstone, headed toward Athol. As Cady’s headlights illuminated the area by the overpass where she’d dumped Kent’s body, she tried not to see if his remains were still there. She hadn’t been able to get his body far off the road.
She slowed her rumble into town, sticking to the speed limit even though there was no one demanding that she obey the laws. No trains to watch for at the railroad crossings. No reason to stop at the stop signs. No reasons other than to feel normal for a second.
No lights but the stars and moon as they shown through the meandering clouds. Was a storm approaching? Usually that heavy of clouds preceded a storm in that area. They hadn’t had heavy rain in a while.
Cady leaned forward to glance up into the sky for a better look. She squinted. “Do you think it’s going to rain?”
“Maybe?” Bailey searched the sky herself, moving her hands to the back of the baby and leaning to the side. They’d brought Scott’s niece with them and Cady was sure it was a bad idea. She was sure they were just setting themselves up for failure – either the baby would die from something or they would all end up dead because of the weakness having the baby with them caused.
Bailey loved the child though. Cady couldn’t take it away from her. Not to mention, Scott hadn’t been completely with it before they’d left. He couldn’t take care of an infant in his state of mind. Cady wasn’t going to abandon a child to something out of her control.
Reaching over, Bailey grabbed Cady’s arm. “Mom! Stop, what is that?”
Cady slowed reluctantly. She didn’t want to stop. Stopping would leave them vulnerable. They didn’t need to be more vulnerable than they were. But she had to agree with Bailey’s concern. She killed the lights and stared straight ahead. Lights on the other side of the highway shined north and south of the road like cars were in some kind of a face off. They were far enough off that they might not have seen Cady’s truck. Maybe.
“What do we do? We need to get on the ramp there, right?” Bailey half-turned toward Cady, worry in her face.
Cady needed to think. The cars were set up like a gauntlet. She had to somehow get through them to get on the highway. Going the opposite way up 95 wouldn’t work. At least she didn’t think so. She wasn’t sure where it would take her or if there was a spot where she could cross. The exits were different, everything would be too different. She was having a hard time thinking.
She really was too tired and not completely better from that virus. There wasn’t time to decide right there. Cady turned off the main road, down a side street behind the park. She parked the truck in front of an older looking house with painted shutters and flower boxes.
They weren’t safe. She had to face the fact that they’d never be safe again.
Bailey studied the area around them. She reached up and rubbed at her lower neck absentmindedly.
Unable to miss a tell-tale sign like that, Cady worked to smother her anxiety. “What’s wrong with your neck?” Cady dug her fingertips into her palms. Was Bailey already facing the disease? Had everything Cady dealt with since Zach’s death been in vain? She hadn’t needed her husband to die. It seemed like ever since the car accident, she hadn’t been able to get a firm grip on reality.
She’d done so much to keep Bailey safe and now… She reached up and shut off the engine, turning the key in the ignition.
“It’s been itching lately. I think stress or something.” Bailey’s voice seemed loud in the sudden quiet.
“How are you feeling? Tired or anything? Does your throat hurt or do you feel like you have a fever?” Cady scooted on the bench seat to face Bailey. Would it give her concern away, if she reached out and felt Bailey’s forehead for a fever? Cady squinted in the dark to see her daughter but couldn’t see anything.
“No. Well, I’m tired, but who isn’t?” Bailey half-laugh
ed. After a second of silence, she whispered. “Mom, we can’t stay here. We need to go.”
Why not? They were as safe there as anywhere. But Cady knew what she was talking about. “I know. You’re right. Do we just head north on 95? Take the exit instead of the onramp?” Cady was running out of energy. She was running out of courage. As much as she hated leaning on her daughter for her strength, that didn’t stop her.
“Let’s do it. We can cross the divider when there’s a cross street.” Bailey nodded, patting the dashboard with her hand. “If not, then let’s go back home. We can’t just sit here in a random neighborhood.”
They weren’t going home. There was nothing for them there and with the men chasing them off the property, they couldn’t be sure it was safe to return. No, in fact, they could be certain it wasn’t safe. But sitting there wasn’t safe either. Bailey was right. Cady restarted the engine. “Okay, let’s go.” She left the headlights off and crept forward. Once they got on the main road through Athol, she wouldn’t get another chance to go back.
She rumbled forward, turning back onto the main road. No lights on. No turning back. “Hang on.” Cady mumbled, punching the gas. The engine grabbed hold and took off, roaring with intent. Cady barreled down the street and turned left, going north up the exit ramp and accelerating faster.
She couldn’t see if they were being chased. Bailey and the baby were silent beside her. Cady didn’t want to talk about Bailey’s neck and the possibilities. She didn’t want to face her fears which were bigger than any road block.
She had to get them up through Sandpoint. Forty-five minutes of driving before the virus. Who knew what lay between there and their goal now.
Cady gritted her teeth. She could do it. She could get Bailey to Margie’s house. Get there and then her daughter could get sick. All of the oils in the back would help a lot.
They wouldn’t guarantee survival, but maybe… just maybe they would give them a chance.
Chapter 4
Manson
Manson didn’t find the keys, but he found a dead family he would’ve been fine not seeing. The virus had taken its toll and Manson had been fairly sheltered from its effects on society locked in prison for so long. He didn’t mind death at all – decaying bodies, however, not his favorite.
An old cellmate had been so enamored with death, he’d contracted a sexually transmitted parasite that was only accessed by men when having intercourse with animals or dead bodies. He’d worked in a morgue and they’d caught him violating a client. Forensic evidence had turned up multiple clients had been violated by the same man – that weren’t already buried. He’d worked in the morgue fifteen years.
If Manson remembered correctly, the night after the necrophiliac’s confession, he’d been found by the guards with his tongue ripped out through a slit in his neck.
Manson had been applauded the next time out in the yard. No one wanted to be in a cell with someone like that. Manson was the guy to take care of the job – probably why he was assigned the mental case as a cellmate in the first place.
In prison, he was sure he’d faced the worst of humanity. He’d heard rumors there were worse in other penitentiaries, but they couldn’t be much worse than he was. The longer Manson was out during the end, the more he realized he was probably amongst the milder members of society in prison.
Cannibalism had been the last way he’d left things and looking back eating others hadn’t been an option for himself. It had been one of his better suggestions, though, to turn the groups on each other.
Curiosity had him wondering how soon the other prisoners escaped. Had it taken them long to go out the way he’d gone? He was too far away to find out now, but he’d love to know just how many actually survived the desperation on the inside.
Without keys to the car, Manson would have to hotwire the older Ford. Easy enough. He’d had a lacky a few years back who’d done anything for him just to make sure he didn’t get claimed by the larger groups. The nineteen-year-old was in for auto theft and he knew his stuff. He’d talked all the time about how to hotwire vehicles, how to change out plates, how to file of VINs. His automobile knowledge had been immeasurable.
Manson had soaked in some of the things he’d said. Digging into the dash by the steering wheel, he fumbled a few times, but after a bit he sparked up the engine, growling triumphantly when the engine turned over and caught. He’d never been a thief. Not what he was incarcerated for, anyway. There definitely was a thrill in taking something of someone else’s. He wouldn’t deny that.
Was it stealing though, did it count, if the owners were dead?
He grinned. Did he care? He was on the chase and stealing a car was the last thing he really cared about. He needed to kill Margie, but on his own time and his own plan. As he waited for the car to warm up, he settled into the seat. Locking the doors, he kept an eye out for anyone coming toward the car.
Killing Kelsey hadn’t been as fulfilling as he’d hoped it would be. He’d been glad when her annoying voice had stopped screaming, but as Margie had driven away, Manson could’ve used Kelsey to take out his frustration. In his haste, he’d already killed her. No point carving up a dead body.
Manson still hadn’t let go of his crowbar. He stared at it, a tightness in his chest warning him not to let go of it just yet. Okay, he could listen to his instincts. He wouldn’t put it down. No way. Not yet. He wasn’t comfortable enough. Maybe after he got going he’d put it on the seat.
He shifted into park and settled back into the driver’s seat. The car was responsive and solid. Exactly what he needed. He didn’t smother the hot pride coursing through him. He’d killed again, he’d hotwired a car, things were getting back on track. He was out of prison and there was no one left to take him back. He didn’t answer to anyone.
The end of the world was turning out to be the best thing that had ever happened to him.
Yeah, he was going to get Margie and then she would wish she hadn’t tried to get away. As he settled into the comfort of the drive and the safety of the car, Manson set the crowbar onto the bench seat beside him, the hooked end opposite him on the vinyl.
She’d gone north. If he wanted to catch Margie, he’d go that way, too.
“Life could be a dream, if I could take you up to paradise up above…” Manson sang softly, his hands resting comfortably on the steering wheel. Euphoric, he bopped his head along to the song he had in his mind.
The headlights barely penetrated the complete darkness, the shafts slicing through the night. He turned the steering wheel the slightest to the left then to the right as he rolled smoothly from one side of the road to the other. He wouldn’t find anything just driving straight. He had to zig-zag to catch anything in his beams.
Through three different traffic lights on major intersections Manson studied the area. He didn’t go too fast, but he wasn’t sure what he was looking for.
A flash caught his eye as his lights bounced off the back of a minivan. Was it the minivan he’d ridden in with Margie and her crew? He couldn’t know for sure, but the odds were definitely in his favor since they’d headed up this way and they were very low on gas.
Manson beelined for the parked car, slowing as he got closer and closer. He pulled over behind the van parked on the highway, keeping his distance about ten feet.
What if they’d set up an ambush? Were they smart enough for that? Brave enough? He knew they were low on gas, but low enough to die only a couple miles up the highway?
Manson killed his lights and sat there for a minute, the gentle rumble of the idling car more lulling than he wanted to admit. He was tired, but he was going to rely on adrenaline to get him through. Margie had to be more exhausted than he was. She’d driven straight through and judging by the comments she’d made in Ritzville, she’d driven the entire day as well.
Were Margie and Ryker inside the van? Were they sleeping? They hadn’t seemed stupid when he’d traveled with them. Sitting in a parked car on the side of the road in the
open like they were would be pure idiocy, especially considering the fact that they had to know he was coming after them. Wouldn’t they know that? He hadn’t been subtle when he’d killed Kelsey or hit Margie over the head with the bar.
If anything was likely, it was that Manson was subtle. But too subtle? He furrowed his brow. What if he hadn’t been clear in his intent and Margie didn’t know he was coming after her? That didn’t sit well with him. When he found them, he’d have to be very clear about what he was going to do. Part of the appeal of the chase was the prey knowing they were being chased.
Brushing that aside, Manson stared hard at the dark interior. Had he really caught up to them that fast? Grabbing the smooth grip of the crowbar, Manson left the engine running, and climbed from the driver’s side of the car. He looked all around. They could be hiding at the front of the van, waiting for another car to drive by with gas.
Hyper alert, Manson smoothed his breathing out. Studying the windows for any sign of movement, he approached slowly, crowbar gripped tightly in his hand.
At the driver’s side he squinted. No one was inside. The reflection of the moon on the glass had him ducking and cupping his hand around his eyes to see better. Nope. No one was inside. He slid around the back, looking through what they’d left behind. Not much. So, they would have their bags and some of the food.
If they’d left the van, then they were on foot. There was nowhere to get a car for a ways. Unless they’d tried to get a car from the parking lots at the stores around there. He wasn’t sure about neighborhoods, but he wouldn’t be surprised if people had lived amongst the commercial zones of the area.
He moved to the front of the van, pressing his free hand to the top of the engine compartment. Warm. It wasn’t hot, but there was lingering warmth on the metal. They weren’t gone that long. They couldn’t be too far. He’d give them a couple miles at the most.
Fit In Page 2
