The Plague Box Set [Books 1-4]

by Jones, Isla

  Mac climbed out the window first. The two soldiers in the alleyway took point, and the civilians stumbled out after Mac. Cleo nuzzled snugly against the nook of my neck as I clumsily climbed over the windowpane, but she didn’t make a peep. For that, I was grateful—Leo watched us like a hawk observing its prey, waiting for us to slip up. I wondered in that moment; would he leave us behind if Cleo yelped?

  Now I know the answer, but back then I didn’t.

  We reached the alleyway safely.

  The soldiers ahead gestured for us to follow onto the main street.

  I was terrified to walk out onto the open road of the city centre; there were hundreds of the rotters lurking around every corner, waiting to catch our scent if even for a second.

  As we walked, I felt Leo’s presence directly behind me. Vicki was in front, and I shadowed her every step.

  We reached the main street where the sun washed down on the scorched asphalt. Further down the road, was a line of vehicles. There were plenty of abandoned cars and vans in the city. The boots were open, doors torn off their hinges, windshields smashed to ruby shards. But the line of vehicles we were headed to were perfectly intact.

  They were in a straight line, parked in the centre of the road. Survivors broke off from the group. My gaze chased after them, and I noticed that they carried rubber hoses and canisters. They moved like automatons, following silent orders. Vicki stopped at the edge of the row. The others syphoned fuel, and I wondered if I should help instead of standing there with Vicki, doing nothing of use. Leo’s hot breath down my neck didn’t help ease my uncertainties.

  Leo moved around us and looked at me. “First RV,” he said. Vicki turned and marched to the RV. Leo’s gaze raked over to me, lingering over Cleo, then he jerked his head. “You, too.”

  I nodded, clutched Cleo closer, and followed Vicki. My sister calls them caravans. A term she picked up when she studied at Oxford University in England by scholarship. I wonder if England is plagued, too, by the epidemic.

  As I went to the vehicle, I met the eyes of a striking woman, so striking that I was almost stunned for a moment. She was about my age, perhaps a couple of years older. The golden river that was her hair flowed down her back, and her clear blue eyes resembled the cloudless sky above. Textbook ‘America’s Sweetheart’, I thought.

  She glowered at me, but I didn’t know why. I ignored her and went into the caravan. That word sounds nicer than RV, I decided. I wonder if it means ‘carry’ and ‘van’. A silly thing to ponder in such circumstances, I know. But in years to come, if there are any survivors left and the infectees rule the world, what happens to the words we use? What happens to the origins of these words, our origins? Does it simply disappear? Will we?

  Will I?

  In the caravan, I felt safer. The four walls and roof offered me an illusion of protection. My naivety welcomed it. There was a door to the left of the steps I climbed up, and two seats to the right—the driver and passenger seats. A tiny kitchenette separated me from the door, which led to a bedroom. I assumed there was a toilet in that bedroom.

  A table flanked by two cushioned benches faced me, and Vicki settled herself there. She didn’t speak to me, but observed me curiously with what she thought were sneaky side-glances. They weren’t inconspicuous; I noticed them.

  The door shut behind me with a soft click, and I felt safe enough to let Cleo down on the floor. The interior of the caravan was tacky. Or if one was partial to false and embellished compliments, it could be called ‘retro’. The carpets were mouldy and brown, the walls were panelled with chipped wood, the kitchen was orange, and the upholstered seats were pattered with gold spirals amidst an orange backdrop. I wasn’t complaining, though. It was a vehicle, spacious enough, and it kept me away from the horrors outside and the harsh sun of Santa Fe.

  Cleo tottered straight to the kitchenette and had a vigorous sniff-search for scraps of food. Guilt twisted in the pit of my stomach. I’d given our breakfast tin of beans to Vicki, instead of sharing it with Cleo. To distract myself from the pity pulling within my chest, I joined Vicki at the bench table as she closed the dusty curtains.

  “So, this is … nice.” My voice was strained, I heard the awkward tug of it choke in my throat. “Makes getting through the city easier?”

  “It does,” she agreed cordially. I must have done something to upset her. Or she simply didn’t like me. “It got us this far, but we ran out of gas. We were syphoning it from the cars on the street when the herd found us.”

  I picked at an old coaster. “That’s why you were in the department store,” I said.

  “The soldiers chose to take shelter and wait it out,” she said. “A better option than leaving all our vehicles behind. Did you see the white van?”

  There had been a white rusted van in the centre of the vehicle line. I nodded and pushed the coaster away from myself.

  “It’s full of supplies,” she said. “We couldn’t leave it behind. There’s too much food and water in there. We picked up a few medical supplies, too, from a pharmacy outside the city. That van is our lifeline.”

  I was at a loss for words. To have a van filled with so many supplies was something I couldn’t imagine. I had been lucky, in my five months alone, to find food that hadn’t expired already.

  The cliché ‘struck gold’ echoed in my mind.

  The door swung open; it was Leo and Mac. Mac winked at Vicki before he went to the driver’s seat. Vicki had smiled back, and I sensed the sweetness in the gesture. It was genuine.

  Leo lit himself a cigarette. My attention was pulled to him. Where did he find cigarettes? Were there more in the van? Were they currency, like tampons? And why did he light it inside the caravan without asking if anyone opposed? I did—oppose, that is.

  I hate cigarettes. They kill. But even when people know this, they still smoke. Why? Do they think that cancer will never happen to them? Because it will. Chances are, it will come after you and poison you from the inside out. Just like the infection.

  Leo joined Mac at the front of the caravan. They chatted quietly as the vehicle purred to life, shaking slightly. We idled. Through the windshield, I could see the line of vehicles ahead. The van was a few station-wagons up, and a pick-up truck led the way with the second caravan behind us.

  We took off slowly. Despite being inside a caravan with two armed soldiers, a bubbling pit of anxiety brewed within me, climbing up to my throat. My eyes stayed on the windshield, my breath caught in my throat. The sound of the vehicles should’ve woken the rotters—they should have come racing out of alleyways and dens. But it was day-time; they didn’t come out in the day so much. When they did, they stuck to the shade and moved slower.

  After a while, I looked away from the windshield. The rotters weren’t coming after us. It was an hour into the drive before I finally spoke; “Why are we in here?” I asked.

  Vicki didn’t meet my gaze. “In the RV?”

  “Yeah. Why aren’t we in the station-wagons? All the other survivors are in them.”

  Her brow arched and she considered me. “Would you rather be?”

  “No,” I admitted. The station-wagons were teeming with people. But that was why I questioned it. “It just seems like special treatment. Which is weird, because I just got here, and you said you met the soldiers not long ago.” I ended my explanation with a lazy shrug and stared at the back of Leo’s head; his dark hair curled at the back of his neck, telling of too long between haircuts.

  Vicki sighed and shifted on the bench-seat. “Mac and I have something. That’s why I’m in here.” Her voice was soft; weak. Like there were claws underneath it, trying to tear it apart. “And since you were with me when we went back to the cars, you were let into the RV, too.”

  “Oh.”

  Was Vicki’s intimacy with Mac equivalent to workers sleeping their way to the top of an industry? Were the morals and rules blurred in an apocalypse? Was Mac using her? My lips parted to ask a delicate version of my internal parade of
questions, but static interrupted me.

  Leo fiddled with the radio. All that came from the radio was loud static, quiet static, and broken static. No voices, announcements, music, or commercials. I suspected he’d anticipated that, but he flicked from station to station anyway. Radio transmissions had ceased long ago, now conveying eternal white noise. Before the transmissions had stopped, I listened to the final broadcast in my car. It had ended in the savage roars of the rotters and the terrified screams of reporters. I had cried, hunched over my steering wheel, with Cleo on my lap.

  There was no fate worse than being infected. Yet, chances were we all would be infected eventually. The virus was transmittable through various methods: blood, bites and scratches. Essentially, if one of the dead got their rotten hands on you, it was safe to assume that you would be one of them in a matter of hours.

  It was inevitable.

  I looked at Vicki. “Where were you when the virus broke out?”

  “Home,” she said. It was an automatic response. Emotion was void in her tone and eyes. “I lived with roommates. We were watching the news when we heard it.”

  “Heard what?”

  “Them,” she whispered. I knew what she meant. Who she meant. “They got into our apartment building, and they made their way up. Renee, one of my roommates, was bitten. I left her behind and climbed down the fire escape. Sarah was right behind me, but when I looked back, she was … gone.”

  “Do you think she left you?”

  Vicki mulled it over. “I don’t know,” she said after a pause. “Maybe she did. I didn’t hear her scream or anything. She was just gone. Vanished.” Her hands raised and imitated an explosion. “Poof.”

  A loud rumble came from under the table. From the bubbling sensation in my tummy, I knew it came from me. My hunger would have to wait for later.

  “And you?” asked Vicki. She leaned forward, only an inch or so; but it soothed my nerves. She seemed to be relaxing in my company, and if I wanted to stay in the R.V., I needed that. “Where were you?”

  “Like I said, I was driving to see my sister. I remember watching the news before I left. I tried to call her—her name is Summer, by the way.” I smiled as I said it aloud. It had been months since I’d said her name.

  Vicki looked surprised. Her brows raised and she blinked at me. There was a familiar stir of humour in her eyes; one that I’ve seen many times before. Winter and Summer weren’t common names to give a pair of sisters, but they are our names, and they fit us. I am Winter; harsh, cold and the unwanted one. She is Summer; bright, radiant and the one who everyone likes. Our names suit us.

  “That’s a nice name,” said Vicki. I heard the lie in her voice. She was trying not to laugh, but that didn’t bother me. I was immune to that now, the mockery of our names.

  “Anyways,” I said. “I figured when I didn’t hear back from Summer that she was working, so I left on schedule and … Well, nothing happened until I got to Albuquerque.”

  “Did you hear from her? Summer?”

  “I got a text a few hours after I left. She said she was busy at work, and would call me when she got the chance. I guess the phone lines went down before she could.”

  “Why didn’t you fly?” asked Vicki. “Driving across the country alone seems a bit … dull.”

  “It is,” I said with a laugh. “Besides,” I added, “I hate flying. My parents died in a plane crash when I was young. Since then, I’ve been terrified of it. Even now, I think I chose the safest option.”

  With her brows furrowed together, Vicki asked, “How so?”

  “Well, what if I was on a flight and the virus spread through the cabin? You can’t run anywhere. You’d just be … trapped. Trapped with a pack of wild animals that want to cave your skull in and then eat you when they get hungry.”

  Vicki looked over her shoulder, glancing at Mac. Her fingers shook slightly, but before I got a good look, she ducked them under the table. Then, she touched her gaze back to me. “I’m sorry about your parents,” she said. “And you’re right. A plane is the last place you’d want to be in the outbreak.”

  I made to reply, but Cleo caught my attention. She coughed beside the cabinets. I shimmied off the bench seat and slumped down against the miniature fridge. Cleo pounced onto my lap before my bum even touched the floor.

  The static eventually stopped rustling from the radio. It startled me at first; I’d forgotten it was playing at all. The white noise had become one with the background. Now, the caravan seemed too quiet. I could hear Vicki’s fingernails drum against the table and the quiet murmurs of Leo and Mac at the front of the caravan.

  Cleo and I fell in and out of sleep against the fridge, until the caravan came to a stop. There were hushed curse-words from the cabin, followed by the sudden silence of the engine turning off. They’d stopped.

  “You’ve got to be fucking kidding me,” snapped Mac. He slapped his hand against the steering wheel.

  I climbed to my feet and stared out the windshield. All I saw was smoke billowing out from beneath the hood of the RV, which almost masked the landscape ahead: A highway layered in cars.

  Not only had the R.V. broken down, but there was no way through the abandoned traffic ahead. We were stuck.

  3.

  The survivors congregated at the front of the supply van. I stood a little farther away from the others, close enough to hear, but distant enough that anyone who looked at me would see my discomfort. Cleo was in the caravan—the road was too hot for her paws.

  My boots scraped over the gravelly road, kicking dirt up into little brown clouds. Adam, one of the soldiers, stood on the hood of the van, barking orders: “Everything of value must be returned to us for clearance,” he said. “If we decide not to store what you’ve collected in the supply van, you may keep it in your bags or leave it behind. Keep an eye out for anything we might use: flashlights, medicine, tarps, food, weapons. If you think it’s useful, take it. Once a car is searched, push it off the road to make a path for our vehicles.” Adam jumped off the hood of the van. “The quicker we work, the sooner we’re back on the road.”

  Everyone broke off into pairs. They set off to start the gruelling task of clearing an entire highway of cars under the beating sun. As I didn’t know anyone else, I’d thought Vicki and I would team up. But before I could approach her, she and Mac snuck back into the caravan.

  With a sigh, I watched the door close behind them. The timing for their rendezvous wasn’t great, I thought. Then again, they finally had the caravan to themselves; I decided that I’d rather they do that when I’m not in the caravan. Although, poor Cleo was still in the caravan, but it’s doubtful she’d understand what’s happening.

  “Winter!”

  My muscles jumped. I whipped my head around, searching for the one who called my name—it was Leo, walking toward me.

  Fleetingly, I wondered if he was angry that I wasn’t helping with the vehicles. He looked angry—the line of his square jaw was tightly set, his dark green eyes shone sharply against the caramel tone of his skin, his walnut-brown hair gave him a threatening edge, and the black military gear tensed around his muscles. I wonder if he simply looked angry all the time, but was in all actuality, a warm and misunderstood guy.

  I almost laughed at the thought. But I quickly sobered as he neared me. I waved my fingers in an awkward greeting and said, “Hello.” My boots still kicked around dirt and tiny stones. There was a tightness in my chest, one that felt like cling-wrap coiling around my thumping heart. “I was waiting on Vicki,” I said lamely. He arched his brow and the green ponds beneath them washed over my pink face. “That’s why I didn’t go with the others,” I added. “I was waiting for her, but she went with Mac into the caravan.”

  There was a flash of understanding in his green eyes—the unique shade brought the image of avocado skin to mind. I’d never seen green eyes so dark before; so murky and clouded, as if shielding secrets from those who dared look into them.

  Leo’s lips twitc
hed. It was almost as if he’d gone to smirk, but fought the urge. “I had no intention of questioning your actions,” he said.

  The muscles in my body relaxed and the tension drifted from my stiff frame. “What can I do for you, then?”

  “It’s more what I can do for you,” he said. The hardness of his eyes and stony face remained intact, but he fished out a muesli bar from his trouser pocket. “I noticed you didn’t eat this morning at the shopping mall. You were given rations, but you gave the can to Vicki.”

  I took the offered muesli bar. “Thanks,” I said, eyeing him as if he’d snatch it back from me any moment. “I owed her the tin,” I added. “She gave me one to share with Cleo last night.”

  This time, he did smirk. But it was fleeting; a snowflake on the tip a nose. “That ‘thanks’,” he said. “Is that for the muesli bar or for saving your life?”

  Shame flushed my cheeks and my gaze swerved to the scorched road. “I never did thank you, did I?” The nose of my boot tapped against a sturdy boulder, and I briefly wondered what a boulder was doing burrowed into the concrete of a road. “Sorry about that.”

  Leo eyed me—I didn’t see him do it, as I stared at the boulder, but I could feel his heated stare scrape over me. “You still haven’t.”

  My eyes flickered up to meet his, and I tried my hardest to let sincerity slip into my tired voice. “Thank you,” I said.

  It was the truth, but I was exhausted and hungry. I hope it didn’t show in my face. Summer had always said I was a terrible liar, that is shows on my face. But she would sometimes say that after I told the truth. Did that make me a terrible truth-teller, too?

  “You’re welcome.” Leo rested his hand on the strap of a gun that was slung over his shoulder. “Though,” he said, “I should be the one thanking you. You did lure a lot of the infectees away from the alley.”

  I nodded and tugged on the sleeve of my blouse—I only wore it to protect my skin from the sunrays. And already, my skin had sweated through the fabric and it now clung to me in dampness.