The words came out gruffer than I’d intended them to, but with four panicked kids the last thing I needed was for him to go on a bender. If the MRRA came knocking and saw him stumbling around . . .
I gritted my teeth. They could say he was a public health risk since he couldn’t be trusted to stay inside. That could potentially affect all of us.
My dad’s gaze strayed to the kitchen again.
“Dad. Sit.”
My command, uttered through clenched teeth, caused his eyes to widen. Since we were both six-two, we stood at eye level. Both of us had broad shoulders, black hair, and high cheekbones. It was obvious we were related, even though my skin was a lighter shade since I was only half-Lakota Sioux. But the main difference was our eye color. His eyes were dark brown, whereas mine were bright blue, thanks to my mom.
A flash of despair crossed his features before he nodded and sank onto the chair.
The familiar sadness welled up in my chest at who my dad had become. His alcoholism had grown steadily worse over the last five years, but before that, he’d been so involved with us, so present. Growing up, he’d coached my baseball team, had taken Lars and me on fishing trips, and he’d taught Elliot about wood-working.
Even with his problems, he was normally so calm and laid back when we visited. He did his best to stay sober and interact with us, just like he’d done before alcohol ruled his life. But I could already see the change in him. His focus shifting.
The booze was calling.
Taking a deep breath, I did my best to calm my pounding heart. I pulled out my cell phone and had my mom’s number halfway tapped in when a sound froze all of my movements.
A cough.
2 – REALIZATION
“Oh my God! I’m already infected!” Mina’s shrill cry had me stuffing my phone back in my pocket.
She sat on the couch by Aurora. My oldest sister’s hands covered her mouth, a horrified look on her face.
Aurora hovered at her side while Lars and Elliot stood by the far wall, covering their mouths.
“Is she already sick?” Lars’s voice was muffled behind his hand.
I raked a hand through my hair. “No, of course not.”
“But I coughed!” Mina wailed.
Aurora put a comforting hand on Mina’s shoulder.
“Keep your distance!” I shouted the command, which sent Aurora and Mina scurrying to opposite sides of the faded sofa.
Cupping the back of my neck, I reminded myself that they didn’t know any better. Aurora had only been six when Makanza emerged, and Mina had probably forgotten about the quarantine rules. Four years was a long time.
I softened my tone. “Sorry . . . just keep your distance. Okay?”
Aurora nodded, wide-eyed. “Sorry, Davin.”
My hand dropped. “It’s okay. I’m sorry I yelled.”
Only Dad seemed oblivious to the turmoil swimming through the room like thick soup. He kept eyeing the pantry in the kitchen. His long black hair hung past his shoulders. He hadn’t tied it back today.
I crouched on the floor and faced Mina, making sure to stay two yards away. She coughed again and then looked at me with pleading eyes. “What do I do?”
I wracked my brain for what I knew about the virus. Not much. The Makanza Research Institute, the huge government agency housed within the Compounds, was comprised of thousands of scientists working to find a vaccine or cure for Makanza. However, they had never told the public anything about the actual virus. They closely guarded their secrets. I still had no idea why they refused to divulge any facts, but they didn’t.
All I knew was that people had the virus for weeks before they showed symptoms. Those symptoms were similar to most viruses, at least initially: nausea, fatigue, fever, and muscle aches. The news stations had figured out that much.
As for when people turned contagious . . . I had no idea.
Damn government.
But the MRI had released guidelines about how to avoid general viral infections when Makanza first struck, and now, they were doing it again. The problem was, Makanza wasn’t like most viruses.
I turned my attention back to the TV. It was still on, but Lars must have turned the volume down. The reporter continued to speak, but the scrolling banner at the bottom of the screen had changed. It listed the MRI guidelines.
They scrolled by one by one: Stay inside your homes—home quarantine is mandatory. Avoid close contact. Maintain a minimum of six feet of distance from each household resident. Do not touch anyone. Wash hands frequently. Cover your nose and mouth when coughing or sneezing. Avoid touching your eyes, nose, and mouth . . .
I snorted. Like any of that will actually help if one of us has Makanza.
Mina clutched her chest, her brown eyes wide with worry. “Am I going to die?”
I suppressed an eye roll. Just because our world had drastically changed in the past four years, Mina’s teenage drama had not. “It’s fine. You’re not sick. You probably just coughed ’cause something tickled your throat.”
From her terrified gaze, she didn’t look convinced.
I stood back up. My heart pounded, but I couldn’t let her know that. “You’re not coughing now, are you? See? You’re fine.”
She took a deep, shuddering breath before nodding.
Outside, the alarm continued to blare. It had been going on for so long that I’d almost tuned it out.
I retrieved my cell for the third time. Just as I was about to tap in our mom’s number, the phone rang.
My mother’s picture appeared on the screen. With auburn hair, pale skin, and bright-blue eyes, she didn’t look like any of us, except for the eye color. Aurora and I had both inherited that. But my brothers, sisters, and I resembled our dad more. The five of us reflected his Lakota Sioux descent, which was evident in the various shades of our reddish-brown-hued skin, and we all had black hair.
Only Mom needed sunscreen in the summers, if she was lucky enough to find it in the stores. Items like that were getting harder and harder to come by. And now it will be even harder if there really has been another outbreak.
That sick feeling in my stomach returned, but I pushed it down.
I swiped to answer my phone when the second ring shrilled. “Mom. Hi.”
“Davin? Are you okay? Are your sisters and brothers okay? The alarm just sounded in Rapid! I turned on the news and they’re saying there’s been a potential outbreak on the reservation!”
From her distraught tone and rapid-fire words, I could tell she was on the verge of losing it.
“Mom, it’s fine. We’re all okay.” I tried to slow my pounding heart. More than anything, I wanted to pace and run a hand through my hair. The alarm still sounded. Are they ever going to turn that damned thing off?
But giving into the temptation to worry wasn’t an option.
Mom was freaking out.
My brothers and sisters were all looking to me for help.
And Dad was about two minutes away from pulling out the whiskey. He’d inched his chair closer to the kitchen, as though I wouldn’t notice.
I closed my eyes and reminded myself what I needed to do. Stay calm. Keep them safe. Stay inside. Don’t get infected.
Before my dad could move any closer to the kitchen, I stepped between him and the pantry as Mom continued to pepper me with worried questions. Faded linoleum, peeling up in the corners of the kitchen floor, rubbed against my bare feet. I brushed the bottom of my foot over it again and again.
“Mom, it’s fine. Really, it is. We’re all inside. Dad and Mina just got back from grocery shopping—”
“They were in public? Just now?”
I rubbed my foot against the linoleum faster. “Yeah. We’ve all been out in public since we got here.” I said the words quietly as the implications of that set in.
“Oh no,” my mom murmured. “Oh no, Davin.”
My gaze returned to the TV with its ominous banner scrolling along the bottom of the screen when I realized something was differe
nt.
The alarm’s off.
Silence filled the prairie. I stepped to the window. Sometime in the past few seconds, they’d finally turned off the Makanza alarm. The thirty minutes had passed.
The sound of a chopper flying overhead filled our home instead. My siblings bounded into the kitchen from the living room. Everyone crowded in front of the window at the back of the house.
I groaned at how closely they stood. “You guys! Keep your distance!”
Lars took a quick step back.
“Is that really a helicopter?” Mina pushed long strands of black hair behind her ears and pulled the faded curtain aside.
Thin arms wrapped around my waist. Aurora buried her head into my stomach. I didn’t have the heart to push her away. Not yet.
The pantry door creaked open.
I flashed a dark look at Dad, but he was too consumed with finding the whiskey. A second later, he had the top off the bottle and was swallowing the amber liquid down like a parched man who’d just found an oasis.
Scowling in disgust, I tried to listen to my mom’s questions as two more helicopters flew above. They were all flying low, headed toward town.
My heart pounded so hard. It felt as if it banged against my rib cage.
“Davin?”
“Yeah, Mom?” I peeled Aurora’s arms off and gently pushed her back. “I’m still here. There’s just a lot going on. Helicopters are flying overhead.”
“Please, sweetie, just do whatever the scientists tell you. Stay inside. Keep the door locked. Don’t open it for anybody who’s not in a biohazard suit. Are you all keeping your distance from each other?”
“Yeah, we’re trying, and I know. I remember the drill.”
When Makanza had first emerged, billions of people died. Country borders had closed. Life as we knew it had ended with the virus.
Amazingly, our entire family had survived. Part of that was due to living in a more rural portion of the country. We hadn’t been hit as hard as the coasts. Tens of millions had died out there.
“I’ll call you later tonight, okay, Mom?”
“Okay . . . okay. . .” My mom took deep breaths between each word. Her anxiety breathed through the phone, like a living force that threatened to pull me into its grasp. “I love you. I love all of you. Never forget that.” She sounded close to tears.
I closed my eyes and tried to stop the bile churning in my stomach. “I love you too.”
I pocketed my phone as a fleet of MRRA vehicles appeared on the horizon. They drove single file on the highway. Dread made my stomach drop.
Mina gasped and pointed. “Look!”
I barely had time to process any of it before a sharp knock sounded on the front door.
“Davin?” Lars looked up at me with wide, scared eyes. “Someone’s here.”
3 – MRRA
Through the front window, I saw three people waiting on the porch. It was obvious they were government officials. All of them wore the signature white biohazard suits. Masks covered their faces, and dark goggles shielded their eyes. They could have been aliens for all I knew. None of their faces were visible. Not even an inch of skin.
Elliot’s small hand grasped the door handle. “Should I open it?”
I shook my head. “Let me, buddy. Why don’t you all stand back with Dad? And remember, don’t touch and keep your distance from each other.”
“Yeah. Why don’t you all come over here.” My dad’s gruff voice filled the room. At least he’d stopped drinking. He currently sat on the couch with a glaze coating his eyes. By the looks of it, he’d drowned himself in the entire bottle of whiskey. But he appeared calmer and, at the moment, calm was what we needed.
Let’s just hope he doesn’t have more bottles hidden anywhere else.
The knock on the door came again, more prominent this time. “Open up! Makanza Research and Response Agency!”
Swallowing tightly, I pulled the door open.
Three officials, or scientists, or government employees, or soldiers—hell, I had no idea since they all looked the same—stood on our creaking porch. I studied their suits. My eyes settled on the guns strapped to their waists.
Soldiers, not scientists.
“Are you Chayton Kinder?” the tallest one asked. His voice was gruff and no-nonsense.
My heart pounded, but I managed to keep my voice even when I responded, “No. That’s my dad.” I nodded behind me at my father.
I forced myself to stop looking at the soldiers’ guns. The entire situation felt surreal. Only three hours ago, Nick and I had been planning to go to a movie tonight. Now we were in quarantine.
The soldier cocked his head. “Our records show only one person resides in this house.”
“That’s right. My brothers and sisters and I are just visiting our dad. We normally live in Rapid City with our mom.”
“Can you tell your dad to come to the door?” the shorter one to the right asked. His voice sounded young. He probably wasn’t much older than me.
“Dad? They want to talk to you.”
My dad staggered to his feet. Lars reached out to steady him but, at the last minute, seemed to remember the new rules and pulled his hands back.
“Mr. Kinder?” the tall soldier asked when my father approached the doorway.
I stepped aside to make room.
The soldier leaned forward and peered at my dad through his dark goggles. “Sir? Are you all right?”
Fruity alcohol smells puffed on my dad’s breath. Even from a distance, I could smell it. I had no idea if the MRRA soldiers could detect it with their masks on. Probably not.
“S’I’s fine,” my dad slurred.
The soldier on the left looked at the other soldiers before turning back to my dad. “Are you intoxicated, sir?” I could tell she was a woman from her tone, but her voice sounded weird and distorted after coming through her full-face mask.
My dad smiled lazily.
The woman shook her head and muttered a sound of disgust. “How old are you, young man?” she asked me.
“Eighteen.”
“Who’s in this house?”
“My brothers, sisters, and my dad.”
The tall soldier peered over my shoulder. “How many kids total?”
“There are five of us.”
The female soldier pointed at my dad. “He’s obviously in no state to be in charge here, and he could pose a flight risk. You’ll have to come with us. We’ll move you to a quarantine facility. However, we can’t guarantee that you’ll all stay together.”
I jolted back. Not stay together? The quarantine facilities? Horror stories about those places had circulated four years ago. “No! We can’t go there.”
“You can’t legally stay here without the care of an adult.”
My thoughts raced. “But I’m an adult. I’m eighteen.”
Silence met that statement.
My heart pounded. “I’ll take care of everyone. I’m legally old enough to do that.”
“For an entire family?” she countered. “Are you really able to take on the responsibility of keeping your family inside?”
My hand tightened on the doorknob as my jaw locked. “I’ll be in charge. We’ll all stay here and stay inside. You don’t need to move us.”
The three soldiers shared a look.
“Really, I can do it. You have my word.”
“All right,” the female soldier finally replied. “We’ll be by weekly to check on you. If there’s any indication you’re not up to this task, you’re all moving to the quarantine facilities.” She handed me a flyer and made sure to avoid touching. “These are guidelines from the Makanza Research Institute. Follow them. It will increase your chances of survival.”
I took the paper, which fluttered in the breeze. I stuffed it in my pocket so it wouldn’t blow away.
The male soldier on the right thrust an electronic tablet toward me. “You need to sign this.”
“What’s that?” I asked.
“The outbreak roster. Since you don’t live here, you’ll need to look up your information in the national database. Locate the full names of everyone residing in this house and verify that the birthdates and birth locations are correct. Check the boxes next to your names. Keep in mind this is a legal document. Any falsification will result in arrest and prosecution.”
The outbreak roster? That meant there really was another outbreak. None of this was a false alarm. My hand shook when I took the tablet.
Using the electronic pen, I looked up the names of my brothers, sisters, and me and verified that the information was correct. I then checked the boxes by our names. It’s official now. We’re listed as potentially contaminated residents in the midst of an outbreak. I then checked the box by my dad’s name.
“Do you have masks and gloves?”
I shook my head.
The woman retreated to the truck and returned with boxes of both. “Wear these as much as you can. Remember to wash your hands frequently and keep your distance from one another. It’s the best advice we can give you since the MRI still doesn’t fully understand—”
I waited for her to continue, but it was as though she’d stopped herself from revealing something she wasn’t supposed to.
I opened my mouth to ask more questions about the virus, but the woman’s head dipped lower.
Startled, I looked down to see Aurora had sidled up next to me again. I immediately put more distance between us.
“Stay inside,” the female soldier commanded. “The MRRA will bring fresh food next week. Do you have enough to survive on until then?”
“Yes.” My word was clipped.
“All right, then.” The third one took the tablet and pen. He sprayed it with a solution clipped to his belt before slipping it into a bag.
Before they turned, the woman eyed Aurora. My youngest sister still stood too close. I had no idea what the woman was thinking since I couldn’t see her expression behind her white mask and dark goggles.
When she finally raised her head and spoke, her voice was thick. “Good luck.”
ALL NIGHT, THE female soldier’s words whirled around in my mind like a tornado. Good luck. It sounded so ominous. So foreboding. As if our future was predestined and the outcome wasn’t pretty.
The Complete Makanza Series: Books 0-4 Page 2
