The Plague Box Set [Books 1-4]

by Jones, Isla

  Zoe’s lips twitched and she hummed shortly. “I heard someone,” she said. “Just came to check who else was out here.”

  “And now you know. So go mope somewhere else,” I snapped. “This is my spot.”

  It wasn’t my spot. It wasn’t a playground where I could declare my turf. But after the way she spoke to me in the corridor, I couldn’t stand her. And after my encounter with Leo, I truly just wanted to be alone.

  “Is Leo down there?”

  The whispered vulnerability in Zoe’s voice shocked me. I turned my head to face her. Her back was curved and her head bowed as she toyed with the bag-strap in her hands.

  “I thought I saw him—I came up here before I could find out,” she said. Her eyes lifted to meet mine. “You said he died.”

  My jaw clicked. Like everyone else, she would think me a liar.

  Cleo burped. I glanced down at her and saw that she ate blades of grass that hadn’t yet withered. I turned my gaze back to Zoe.

  “He’s there,” I said. “But I don’t know how he’s here, or how he’s even alive.”

  Zoe smirked. It wasn’t a cruel smirk, but a secretive one. “They’re not who you think they are,” said Zoe. The smirk turned bitter, matching the coffee-brown of her eyes. “You should be careful with them.”

  I studied her, like one would do cockroach standing on its hind legs. Swirls of disgust and intrigue obscured my vision. Castle had told me that Zoe had been a part of their group—their inner group, as if she was one of the deltas. She knew what the cargo was, she knew secrets I didn’t. And in that moment, the clues to those secrets were etched into the pensive gaze aimed my way and the sour smirk on her lips.

  “Who are you?” I asked.

  Zoe sighed; her body heaved and she placed her palms on her knees. I watched as she pushed up from the boulder and pulled the bag-strap over her head. The satchel rested on her hipbone, above her holster.

  Did Castle give her that holster, like he’d given me one?

  “I was an official at the base,” said Zoe. Her hand rested on the satchel. Something long and black stuck out of the gap—like an antenna or a toothbrush handle. “That’s where I met them.”

  “The base?” I said. “Area 53?”

  Zoe froze. A grey tinge marked her skin as she stared at me with wild eyes.

  Oops, I thought. I wasn’t supposed to talk about Area 53. It was ‘classified’. But, Zoe would already know of its existence—she said herself that she worked at the base. And that’s where the cargo came from.

  “Who told you about that?” she hissed. “Who told you about the Area?”

  I shrugged, trying to downplay my major error. Castle would be furious if he learned that I blabbed about his mission—any detail of it.

  “I’ve known for a while,” I said. “My sister works at the drop-off point. That’s why I’m travelling with the deltas.”

  Zoe looked as though I’d slapped her with a rotter hand.

  “It’s not like I know what the cargo is,” I added, glancing down at Cleo. She rubbed her head on the tree trunk. “That’s above my clearance.”

  Zoe’s face softened. Pieces of a private puzzle fit together behind the chestnut of her eyes. “Now I understand,” she said quietly, as if to herself. She shook her head, just as a hybrid snort-laugh jolted her shoulders. “I get it.”

  “Get what?”

  Zoe smiled at me, the gentle curves of her lips offering sympathy—no, it was pity.

  “You want to know who I am?” said Zoe. “I was an employee of the pentagon, assigned to the case before the deltas arrived to transport the payload. It was my job to ensure that the payload reached the point of drop-off. But when the country went to shit, my loyalty to my job went with it. It lost importance.” Her eyelids lowered, giving her a dangerous look. “I wasn’t the only one to abandon the mission. The thing is,” she added, “I walked away completely.”

  Zoe stepped on the frozen tufts of grass. She stomped down the slope, towards me.

  As she neared me, she kept my gaze and said, “Remember what I said about them. Woman to woman, don’t let your guard down. Because the second you do is the second they’ll break you. And trust me when I tell you, it hurts.”

  I nodded, wary eyes glued to her shadowed ones.

  Zoe patted my shoulder and left.

  *

  The cars on the lot had been organised into a parked line of size. The compact caravan was parked beside the RV at the dirt path that wound into the woods, and the other vehicles in a row down to the back of the shop.

  My experience with the deltas told me that the order was based on priority. The motorhomes were closest to the path at the edge of the woods—close enough to escape first. The last time the vehicles were set up like that, we were attacked by the defected deltas and slaughtered. I hoped that this time would be different.

  We hadn’t encountered them in a while. But now that I knew the cargo had been moved to the small caravan, the realisation that the defected deltas were still after us came with it.

  On top of the large RV was the delta I’d seen reading a magazine before. Her fiery red hair told of box-dye, and I wondered who had the time to do that these days? I don’t even shave my legs anymore, let alone colour my hair. Then again, Oscar wore coloured contact lenses. I guess we each have our methods to feel somewhat normal in a world in which we lose ourselves.

  As I trudged across the crisp lot to the shop, I spotted Zoe on top of the garage roof. She must’ve taken watch. I found it odd that she, of all people in the group, would be assigned head-watch. There were real deltas in the group. I figured that the deltas were meeting to catch up on what has happened in the time we were separated, and what their next move would be.

  Zoe watched me for a moment before she turned her back on me, and stared out into the fog that enveloped the main road. I shrugged and trekked ahead. As we neared, Cleo sprung forward and raced ahead. I watched her bound towards the back door where a shadow lingered. It was curvy and plump—as I drew nearer, the shadow cleared.

  “Hey, Vicki,” I said. “What’re you doing out here?”

  Vicki lifted Cleo into her arms and planted a chaste kiss on her tiny head. Over the Chihuahua’s prickly fur, Vicki’s diamond-blue eyes watched me.

  “Waiting for you,” she said. “I thought you should know before you go in there.”

  I couldn’t stop the sigh that escaped me, or the huffy way I spoke; “What now?”

  “The room you were in,” said Vicki. “Some of the group have taken it over—Castle moved your things to the lounge.”

  “Oh.” I relaxed. I’d already suspected that I’d have to move to make space for the new arrivals. “Is that it?”

  Vicki ran her teeth over her lower lip.

  I climbed up the concrete steps. “What’re you not telling me?”

  “Adam moved into my room,” she said. “And Zoe’s in with Charlotte.” Her blue eyes shifted over to the RV. I assumed the red-head was Charlotte.

  “And?” I said, arching my brow.

  “We all have to cram in together,” she said. “Just for tonight—we’re leaving tomorrow.”

  “Vicki!” Impatience pulled my voice into a tight strain. “Just spit it out.”

  “Leo’s in with you and Castle,” she blurted. “And so is Tatiana.”

  I chewed my lip. I gnawed on it so hard that I cracked the skin.

  “That’s awesome,” I said after a pause. “Just great.”

  Not only did I have to endure the tension that radiated from Leo all night, I’d have to deal with that damned secret door. I had no doubts that the deltas would be in and out of the cellar at all hours to have their little private meetings—and by ‘meetings’ I mean, they would use that as an excuse to play pool and darts. Then again, the thought of Leo staying in the cellar until sunrise wasn’t so bad.

  “Right,” I said. “I better get set up.”

  I had to check that Castle had gotten all of my things
from the other room.

  I reached forward to take Cleo from her, but Vicki pulled away. Her arms caged my dog against her bosom, and her eyes warned me off taking her.

  Outrage flamed up inside my belly; my eyes narrowed on her.

  “I miss her,” said Vicki. “Would it be all right if I kept her until dinner?”

  The word ‘no’ clung to my tongue. But Vicki had saved Cleo from the farmhouse and protected her during the weeks that we were separated. I owed her.

  “Sure,” I said. Vicki beamed down at Cleo. “Just … don’t let the others touch her.”

  I have jealousy issues. You might have noticed.

  It’s not that I don’t want others to play with her. It’s more that I don’t want them to accidentally hurt her, or drop her, or have her when rotters come and leave her in the chaos. I only trusted Vicki with her.

  Vicki nodded and dipped back through the doorway. I followed, but then she veered off into her bedroom. As I walked the corridor alone, the door ahead—that opened to the shop-front—was ajar, and out of it came the laughter and chatter of the others.

  I turned off the hallway and slipped through the doorway to the lounge. As I closed the door behind me with a soft click, my eyes found the fireplace. The passageway was open; the deltas were down there. And now, I’d been left with nowhere to escape. I was surrounded by people again. It churned my stomach and sent trickles of unease through my body. I was never one to be around others much. I like my space, my privacy, my alone-time.

  And, as I looked around the lounge, I knew I wouldn’t get much of that any time soon. The mattresses were pushed against the wall—in singles, I noticed—and the cushions from the couches had been lined up to form a single make-shift bed. My bags were piled on top of the mattress in the far corner. Castle must’ve known I’d want to be as far away as possible from the sharing-situation. He’d also put the fluffiest duvet on the bed.

  I smiled and wandered over to the mattress. Only a few inches separated mine from his—but still, they were not pushed together. I understood that. I was glad for it.

  As I rummaged through my bags, making sure all of my supplies were still in them, the door opened behind me. I didn’t look over my shoulder. I heard the heavy footsteps moving slowly through the room to the passageway—I felt the sting of the awkwardness that flooded the room. I didn’t need to look over my shoulder to know that it was Leo who entered.

  His footsteps stopped. The burn of his eyes singed the back of my hair.

  My fingers fiddled with a protein bar from my bag. The rustle was the only sound to fill the room. Why was he just standing there, staring at me? I wanted him to leave, to go through the passageway and avoid the uncomfortable situation forever.

  The strain of my inner voice filled my head: Don’t talk to me, don’t talk to me, please don’t talk to me.

  “Winter.”

  The sound of my name on his lips sent a flip through my belly.

  I rustled the wrapper again.

  “What I said to you—it wasn’t right.”

  I stopped playing with the wrapper. I stared down at it instead.

  “For that, I am sorry.”

  “You’re forgiven,” I whispered. “For calling me a slut.”

  I had to be specific. There were things I didn’t forgive him for. The lies he told.

  “I didn’t call you—”

  I cut him off. “You implied it. We both know what you meant. Isn’t that what you’re apologising for?”

  He was quiet for a moment. Then, the silence was shattered by his nearing footsteps.

  I shifted around on the mattress to look at him.

  “It is.” He stopped at the foot of Castle’s mattress and stuffed his hands into his pockets. The moss-green beneath his long lashes eyed Castle’s mattress. “You surprised me.”

  My gaze traced his to the blankets—the blankets I’ve shared with Castle.

  “You surprised me too,” I said. “When you walked out of that caravan in one piece, alive.”

  Our gazes met. He was quiet.

  “I’ve had this conversation before,” I said. “A few times with a few people. And each time, I’ve been made to feel like a liar or as if I’d imagined it. I won’t have that conversation again. Between you and me, the only people in this room, we know who the liar is. It’s you.”

  Leo didn’t waver under my fierce stare. The tips of his wavy, dark hair touched his eyebrows and darkened the gloss of his eyes. His gaze followed me as I rose from the mattress.

  “How are you here?” My words were strengthened with the courage I don’t possess. “How are you still alive, Leo?”

  “You misread the situation in the heat of the moment,” said Leo. “A rotter tackled me, but it didn’t bite. That’s all.”

  My fingers curled; my fists clenched. I was sure my nails dug so hard into my palms that they drew blood. “Stop lying to me.”

  Leo clicked his jaw; drawing on scraps of patience. His hair swayed as he shook his head. “I’m not doing this with you,” he said. “All I owed you was an apology for what I said. I don’t owe you anything else.”

  He turned his back on me. As he strode across the room to the passageway, my whole body tensed up. It was rage. That blinding rage that consumed every vein, every finger and toe—it swarms in your eyes and makes you see white. Not red, like people say; I see a searing hot white, and it clouds my vision.

  Before Leo could reach the fireplace, I lunged at him. He spun back around, but I was already on him; adrenaline powered me, surging through me like battery voltage. My hands snatched his t-shirt and pulled. The fabric tore from his neck to his shoulder. Right where I’d seen him get bitten.

  Leo shoved me. He pushed me so hard that I fell back onto a mattress.

  The fire in my eyes seared up at him, but his anger matched mine. There he stood, a torn t-shirt hanging from his tanned shoulder, his own fists balled up, his chest heaving, with green eyes so furious that they resembled the bottom of a volcano. Yet, I wasn’t afraid of his anger. I wasn’t hurt that he pushed me. I was terrified by what I saw on his bare shoulder.

  My hands slapped to my mouth. The gasp that came from me was muffled.

  I stared at it.

  I stared at it so hard that I thought my eyes would pop out of my head.

  A bite mark.

  22.

  I wanted to look away, but I couldn’t. My eyes were glued to the bubbled, scraped smear of flesh. It marked his flawless skin, like a smudge of red wine on a white carpet. It wouldn’t ever leave him.

  The edges of other scars disappeared behind the pieces of his t-shirt that still hugged him, but I recognised them straight away. They were uncanny. They were just like the one on his shoulder. Bite marks covered him.

  Leo tugged up the t-shirt, as if he could hide them from me. But it was too late.

  “I knew it.” My voice came out in ragged whispers. “I knew it.”

  Leo bowed his head and rubbed his hands over his face. I wasn’t supposed to know. Those bites were something I was never supposed to see.

  I thought of Castle. Each time he’d spoken about Leo, he talked as though he was alive. Or, as though he would come back.

  Castle had known. All along, he’d known Leo would come back—and he’d known that I’d been telling the truth about the rotter biting him.

  “How?” I said shakily. I got to my feet; my legs trembled beneath me. “How is this possible?”

  Leo dropped his hands from his face. His head stayed bowed, and he stared at the floor between us.

  “No one … No one can survive the bites,” I whispered. “You should be dead or one of those … those things.”

  I was silenced when he touched his gaze back to me. There was a warning in his stare.

  My lips clamped together. He could still be contagious, I thought. I slid my boots back against the floor until they touched the edge of Castle’s mattress.

  Leo watched me.

  After a p
ause, he peeled off his tattered t-shirt and dropped it to the floor. He stood bare-chested in front of me. Bites were scattered over his skin like tattoos, some small, some big. But all of them were fringed with teeth marks.

  Leo turned and snatched a t-shirt of Castle’s from the shelf. As he tugged it on, he said, “The virus doesn’t turn me into one of them. Whether that means I’m immune or a carrier, is unclear. I could have the virus in my blood.”

  “You’re the cure,” I said, aghast. My tangled hair framed my horrified face as I gaped at him. He only shot me a sharp look before perching himself on the edge of the table.

  “I doubt it,” he said. “Chances are, I still carry the infection. We’ll know more when we get to the CDC. There, we will learn what is in my blood or DNA that allows me to survive the infection.”

  I stayed by the mattress. I didn’t want to get too close to him.

  “If you’re the cure—or at least the answer to the cure,” I said, frowning at him. “Then, what’s in the caravan?”

  He looked up at me; the green of his eyes flashed.

  “The cargo—if it’s not the cure, what is it? What makes it more important than you?”

  Leo warned me with his stare. “The cargo is none of your business, Winter. Why can’t you just leave things be? Why do you thrive off of sticking your nose everywhere it shouldn’t be?”

  I took a step forward and jabbed my finger against my own chest. “Because I want to know what I’m sleeping next to at night. I want to know that whatever is in that caravan won’t hurt me—that it doesn’t pose a threat to me. I want to know that the people I’m sharing rooms with aren’t diseased!”

  It was harsh. The moment the last words spat from my tongue, I faltered. It was Leo’s face that stopped me—a look of hurt passed over it, but within a second the veil of nonchalance fell back into place.

  My shouts attracted attention.

  A few deltas came out of the passageway in the fireplace. Castle was among them. He swerved his gaze between Leo and me. Mac and Adam hung by the mantelpiece as Castle approached.

  He tried to keep the emotions from his tone, the ones that lit up his eyes in a sharp gleam of emerald. But I heard the tension buried deep in his voice: “Is everything ok, Winter?”