Death's Awakening (Eternal Sorrows, #1)

by Sarra Cannon

  Her mom shook her head and lay back against the wet pillow. “I’m sure I’ll be fine,” she said. “I just feel weak.”

  Sweat dripped from her mother’s forehead. Parrish raised her hand to touch her mother’s cheek, then drew in a shallow breath.

  She was burning up.

  Water from the flowers soaked the pink gown she wore, but her hair and neck were drenched in sweat.

  Parrish bit her lip, every muscle in her face tense. She needed to find a thermometer. Fast.

  “I’ll be right back.”

  Her mother didn’t even acknowledge her. She just lay there against the bed, her entire body trembling.

  Parrish ran toward the bathroom, every footstep stinging as her bloody heel hit the ground. Yesterday, her mom would have killed her for getting blood on the expensive rug that covered part of the hardwood floors in the bedroom. Tonight, though, it was the least important thing in the world.

  In the bathroom, Parrish rummaged through cabinets and drawers, searching for both a thermometer and a first aid kit. She needed a bandage for her foot, and she needed enough to cover the worst scrapes on her mom’s arms and legs.

  She found a full box of bandages in a drawer at the bottom of the vanity. Parrish grabbed a handful and stuck them between her teeth. She’d put it on after she found the thermometer.

  There had to be one in there somewhere.

  A strangled cry sounded from the next room. Parrish gripped the drawers tighter, pulling them out so fast some of the contents spilled onto the floor around her. A purple digital thermometer clacked onto the floor and she breathed a sigh of relief.

  She ran it under the faucet for a second, then wiped it off on her t-shirt and rushed back into the bedroom where her mom was now curled up into a shivering ball. She looked tiny on the big bed.

  Parrish sat down next to her mother and lifted her head just enough to prop a second pillow underneath. She stuck the thermometer against her closed lips. “Put this under your tongue.”

  Her mom’s eyes fluttered open, then closed as her head rolled back onto the pillow.

  Parrish pressed the button on the thermometer and placed it inside her mom’s mouth, holding it there. With her free hand, she pulled the bandages from her mouth and tossed them on the bed. She unwrapped one with the help of her teeth, then stuck it over the small gash on the heel of her foot. The wound pulsed like a ticking clock.

  It felt like an hour waiting for the stupid beep on that thermometer.

  Parrish’s toes tapped against the air and she pressed her lips tight. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d been in her parents’ bed. Years ago. Probably before Zoe was born. She used to crawl into bed after waking up in the middle of the night, sandwiching herself between her parents.

  That was lifetime ago.

  Suddenly, Parrish felt like a child again. A little girl clinging to her mother for reassurance.

  The thermometer beeped. Parrish sat up with lightning speed, pulling the digital thermometer back.

  105.2

  She stared at it for a few seconds too long, shaking it as if the number would somehow magically change. Her vision blurred. She closed her eyes and opened them again, not wanting to believe the number.

  Her heart tightened in her chest and she dropped her hand to her side, staring ahead.

  No, this couldn’t be real. 105? She’d never even heard of anyone having a temperature that high before. Maybe the thermometer was broken?

  But she knew it wasn’t.

  She needed to call her dad. He would know what to do. She searched the room for her mom’s cell, but couldn’t find it.

  “I’ll be right back,” she said, but her mom was delirious. Curled up and shivering. Parrish stood there staring at her for a moment, not believing the sight of her. Was she going to be okay?

  She blinked back tears and pushed herself into action. She ran to her bedroom and dug her own cell out of her bag. It took her several tries to even open the app for her phone. Her hands were shaking too badly and her brain wasn’t working right.

  Finally, her dad’s picture came up on the screen and she touched the little green phone icon. She brought the phone to her cheek, then walked quickly back to her parents’ room. After a moment of nothing but dead air, she looked at the phone, shaking her head. What was wrong with this stupid thing?

  She stopped the call, then touched the green phone again and waited. The phone wouldn’t dial. Was it broken? She tried again. This time, she got a weird set of beeping tones and an automated message.

  “Our system is currently experiencing a high volume of calls. Please hang up and try your call again later.”

  Parrish collapsed on to the bed at her mother’s side. It was nearly three in the morning. How were they experiencing a high call volume.

  Her stomach twisted. She put her hand on her mother’s arm, trying to hold herself together, but the panic was seeping in.

  She’d never had to call 911 before, but her mom’s temperature was scary high. Parrish dialed the three digits with trembling fingers, then ran back to her room and grabbed her laptop. She opened the top and brought up an internet browser. She brought up a Google search for ‘what to do for high fever’.

  The results came up fast, but still there’d been no answer at 911.

  Parrish pulled the phone away from her cheek again and stared at it. Maybe something really was wrong with it. She dialed again and hit the speaker button, then threw a quick glance toward her mother’s room.

  The answers on Google all suggested things like cold towels, Tylenol, and lukewarm baths. There was no way she’d be able to carry her mom to the bathtub, but she could try cold towels. There might be some Tylenol in the medicine cabinet in the downstairs bathroom, too.

  Parrish snatched up her phone and ran down the stairs.

  Still no answer on 911. Her phone had to be broken or have some kind of wonky signal. She picked up the wireless phone in the kitchen and dialed from there. Even if the cell towers were down for some reason, the home line should work. She dialed and held her breath, her heart beating in her eardrums.

  It was busy.

  Parrish’s mouth dropped open and she pressed the phone tighter against her face. She was breathless. Unable to make sense of this.

  How could 911 be busy?

  Terror flashed through her veins like a hot fire. Something was very wrong. A nightmare come to life.

  She hit redial, but got the same busy tone. She slammed the phone down on the countertops and gripped the edge of the granite with both hands, her head hung low. Oh God. What was she supposed to do? What the hell was going on?

  She tried to pull in a deep breath, but her lungs were tight and closed. She had to keep moving. She needed to stay focused. She had to get her mother’s fever down.

  She threw open a drawer next to the fridge and grabbed a plastic bag, then tossed a handful of ice cubes inside. She rummaged through the medicine cabinet, finding some ibuprofen and Tylenol, then ran back up the stairs to her mom.

  “I got some ice,” she said as she walked into the bedroom.

  But what she saw stopped her in her tracks. The bag of ice and the pill bottles slid from Parrish’s hand.

  Her mother sat in pool of vomit on the bed, bright red blood dripping from the corner of her mouth. She looked up at Parrish and tried to smile, but it came out sideways, like a clown from some kind of nightmare circus.

  Her eyes rolled back in her head, then she toppled forward, her body limp.

  Noah

  Noah had been slipping in and out of sleep for the past couple hours. He was exhausted, but his mind just wouldn’t seem to turn off. His father had been working in the basement for days and he refused to tell Noah anything about whatever illness was going around.

  But something was definitely going on.

  Noah had tried to get together with a couple of his friends earlier in the evening and none of them had been feeling well. His friend Alex had even been adm
itted to the hospital.

  How serious was this thing?

  His dad knew. Why wasn’t he talking about it? Noah was about one more sleepless hour away from knocking down the basement door.

  A loud banging broke through the silence.

  He shot straight up and listened. Was that coming from the basement?

  Another bang and he realized that no, someone was at the front door. He looked at the glowing clock beside his bed. It was almost four in the morning.

  He jumped out of bed and ran to his window. Someone was pacing back and forth on the front porch, but he couldn’t see them well enough to tell who it was.

  An image of the sick man from the other night flashed through his head. The news had reported on him saying that he’d walked nearly two miles from his house in a delirious fever before finally collapsing on their street. Had someone else wandered over here?

  Or was one of his neighbors in trouble?

  He grabbed his jeans from the floor and stepped into them, then grabbed a t-shirt out of the dirty clothes pile. He took the stairs at record pace and threw the door open just as he pulled the shirt over his head.

  Parrish Sorrows turned, her violet eyes wide. He’d never seen her without her dark eyeliner. “I’m so sorry to wake you up, but I didn’t know what else to do.”

  “What’s wrong?” he asked. She was the last person he’d expected to see at his door in the middle of the night. He wiped the tiredness from his eyes. “Come in.”

  She shook her head wildly from side-to-side. “There’s no time,” she said. “I have to get my mom to the hospital, but I can’t carry her down the stairs by myself. Can you help me?”

  She was already starting to walk back down the steps, looking back to see if he would follow her.

  “What’s wrong with her?” he asked. But he already knew. Dread sunk deep in his stomach like a stone.

  “105 degree fever and now she’s throwing up,” Parrish said, a choked sob cutting off the end of her words. She took a breath. “I have to get her to the car, please.”

  He looked back toward the house. “Let me grab my cell phone. I’ll call an ambulance.”

  “No,” she said. She’d practically yelled it.

  He turned back, questioning with his eyes.

  “I tried that,” she said. She walked down a few more steps, inching toward her house. “The phones don’t work, Noah. I can’t get through to my Dad in New York and 911 is busy. We need to go, now. If you can’t help me, I’ll go next door.”

  Noah gripped the door. He couldn’t process this. The phones weren’t working? How could 911 be busy? Maybe she was delirious. “No, I’ll help you. Wait here a second.”

  He took the steps two at a time and snatched his cell phone from the charger beside his bed. He dialed 911 as he ran back downstairs and out the door. Parrish was already halfway back to her house.

  The phone connected and he got a busy signal. He stared at the phone for a second making sure he’d dialed right. He dialed again.

  Busy.

  His skin went cold. He froze on the front porch as he watched Parrish throw open the front door of her house. She looked over at him, their eyes connecting across the darkness.

  How were so many people this sick so fast? Chills ran down his spine.

  He ran across the street after Parrish, and dialed his dad’s cell number as he went.

  Pick up, pick up, pick up.

  His father’s phone rang on the other end, but after half a dozen rings, it went to voicemail. He cursed and ended the call, slipping the phone into the back pocket of his jeans. His dad would freak out if he knew Noah was rushing to help someone who was sick without even wearing a mask or anything.

  And maybe he was being stupid. If the virus was really this bad and people were going to the hospital, maybe his dad was right about staying home.

  But how could he not help? He couldn’t just let Parrish deal with this by herself.

  He followed her up the stairs and into her mother’s bedroom. He froze in the doorway, trying to hide his shock.

  It was bad. Worse than a nightmare.

  Her mom was lifeless on the bed, puke and blood everywhere. Parrish grabbed a towel and tried to clean her off a little, then looked up at Noah.

  “Can you help me get her to the car?”

  His dad had given him strict orders to steer clear of anyone who was sick. He’d warned Noah his whole life about taking stupid risks when it came to illnesses. That’s what had killed his mom and his dad had reminded him of that nearly every day for the past ten years.

  Noah stared at the woman on the bed. She was practically unrecognizable. But then he looked up at Parrish. This was her mom. He had to help, no matter the risk.

  “Come on,” Parrish said. Her voice was high and wild. Tense. Scared. She was sitting up on her knees beside her mother on the bed. She had her hands underneath her mom’s shoulders and was lifting her slightly off the bed.

  Noah swallowed, his throat gone dry as sandpaper.

  He couldn’t just turn and walk away.

  He moved to the other side of Mrs. Sorrows and slid his arms under her frail and shivering form. He cradled her in his arms. She was only wearing a thin nightgown. Even though it was warm outside tonight, her teeth were chattering.

  “Can you grab a blanket or something so we can wrap her up and keep her warm?”

  Parrish got off the bed and ran into the large walk-in closet on the far side of the room. She emerged a few seconds later with a small brown blanket. Together, they wrapped Parrish’s mom as best they could. He carried her down the stairs with careful steps and waited for Parrish to open the door out to the garage.

  “Do you want to put her in the van or the smaller car?” he asked.

  Parrish rummaged through a bowl full of keys. Her hands were shaking. The keys clanged together in the bowl.

  Finally, she just dumped the bowl over on the granite counter and snatched up one set of keys. “We’re taking the Honda,” she said. “That way we can just slide her in the backseat instead of worrying about bucket seats.”

  She opened the door and stepped into the garage. She unlocked the van and slid the back door open. He laid her mom down as gently as he could across the length of the middle seat.

  She’d stopped sweating and he knew from his father’s work that it wasn’t a good sign. She was getting dehydrated. She’d stopped shivering and had gone completely, eerily still. He put his hand in front of her nose and waited. Warm breath blew across his skin and he relaxed his shoulders. She was alive. She’d just fallen asleep.

  He walked back toward the door, but Parrish was already climbing into the driver’s seat. She hit the garage door opener and the door made a groaning sound as it started to rise up.

  He nodded toward her clothing. “Do you want to get dressed real quick before you go?”

  She looked down as if realizing for the first time that she was only wearing a simple black tank top and a pair of men’s boxer shorts. She didn’t even have any shoes on and her feet were covered with streaks of blood.

  She glanced back at her mother, then shook her head. “I just want to get her to the hospital,” she said. “Thanks for helping me carry her down the stairs.”

  Noah didn’t know what to say. Should he go with her? She could barely pick a set of keys up from inside a bowl. Could she make it to the hospital alone?

  “Are you sure you’re okay to drive?”

  A tear ran down her cheek. “Can you close the door?”

  Noah nodded and slid the door closed.

  Part of him wanted to jump in to the passenger seat and go with her. But part of him wanted to run inside and wash his hands.

  What kind of person did that make him?

  Before he could change his mind, she backed the van out of the garage and onto the street, turned the wheel and drove away. Noah stepped out into the driveway and stared after the van long after the taillights had faded into the darkness.

 
; Parrish

  The engine was practically silent as she pressed the gas and reversed into the street. She almost wished they had a louder car. It seemed like the kind of moment that begged for a revved engine and the squeal of tires against the asphalt. But instead, the car’s silence seemed to amplify her fear. It said everything was normal when she knew it wasn’t. She knew it never would be again.

  Parrish checked the rear-view mirror for the hundredth time since they’d left the house, but her mother was still. Her expression was almost peaceful and Parrish wondered if, by some miracle, she was feeling better.

  McLean Memorial Hospital was only ten miles from their house. The fastest route was to hop onto the highway, go two exits down, then get off and turn right. She had been there often enough. The way her parents obsessed about Zoe’s every bump and scratch had become borderline ridiculous over the past few years now that she was a professional musician.

  They’d made a lot of trips to the hospital.

  Parrish sped along the familiar path, praying that she wouldn’t get pulled over by some eager police officer looking to make his monthly quota. She also prayed the emergency room wouldn’t be too busy this early in the morning. Maybe the phone thing was a fluke and all the towers were just down.

  She thought of trying to call her dad again, but realized she’d left her phone on the bed in her mom’s room.

  She gripped the steering wheel and pulled on to the interstate. There were more cars out at this time of morning than she expected. She glanced at the clock. Four-thirty. Too early for morning rush hour, even if it was Monday.

  She shrugged it off, weaving in and out of the traffic until she had to get in the far right lane for the next exit. As she turned the corner, though, she had to slam on brakes to avoid the line of cars already in that lane.

  At first she was confused. Why would traffic be so heavy this early in the morning? It didn’t make any sense. She slammed her fist against the steering wheel and sat up high in the seat, trying to see what the hold-up was. Was there some kind of accident? Could she drive around it? She pulled the van forward and slightly off the road and craned her neck, trying to see around the crowd.