The Recoil Trilogy 3 Book Boxed Set: Including Recoil, Refuse and Rebel

by Joanne Macgregor

  I’m not laughing. I’m disappointed, and frustrated enough to scream. The mission was a complete waste of time — all we achieved was plunging our group into an even worse situation. We’ve lost our comfortable base, and we’re endangering Tallulah just by being here. Plus, Quinn could easily have broken his neck, and we all could have been shot or captured.

  I pour two cups of coffee, adding milk and sugar to Quinn’s, grab the plate of food, and am on my way to take it to him when Carlos runs up, telling me Tallulah wants to see me in her office.

  “Okay, you take this to Quinn, the sick guy. You know where he is?” Carlos nods vigorously, but there’s a greedy glint in his eye when he takes the plate that makes me add, “And Carlos? That food is for him — all of it. If you steal any of it, if you as much as take a lick at the frosting, I’m going to open a can of whoop ass on you.”

  He nods solemnly, his eyes wide and his lips pinched together as if to trap his wandering tongue safely inside his mouth. Perhaps he remembers that I have a gun.

  “Good. Now off you go.”

  He walks off with his face lifted high as if averting his eyes from the temptation of the pastries.

  “Close the door, hun,” Tallulah says when I enter her office. “I don’t want to be interrupted or overheard.”

  She looks dog-tired. There are dark rings etched under her bloodshot eyes, and her voice sounds hoarse. She runs her hands up and down her arms as though chilled, even though it’s warm as toast in her office.

  “Tally, we’ve brought a heap of work and worry to your door, I’m so sorry. I’ll make sure we have a meeting today and figure out our next step, and where we can move our operation to.”

  “There’s no rush, you can stay awhile,” Tallulah says. “But I’m afraid I have to go.”

  “Oh,” I say, taken aback. “Sure, of course. Is there somewhere you can go and get some rest? We’ll take care of the kids for you until you get back.”

  “Kid, where I’m going, I ain’t coming back.” She scrubs her hands over her face as if to rub out the wrinkles.

  “Tallulah?” I say, worried. What on earth could make this generous woman, who loves and protects her charges so fiercely, decide to abandon them? “What’s wrong?”

  Chapter 29

  Checking out

  Tallulah takes a deep breath and blows it out slowly between pursed lips.

  “Are you sick?” I ask.

  “Yeah, you could say that.” Tallulah gives a sad smile. “Jinx, I got rat fever.”

  I sit, speechless with shock and horror, while Tallulah tells me how, on the day before we all descended on her, she was bitten by a dog.

  A stray dog.

  “I was mopping the kitchen floor, and when I opened the back door to toss the water into the alley, this crazed dog jumped up and bit me on the leg.” She lifts the hem of her dress, and I see a gauze bandage wrapped around one thigh, stained where blood and pus is seeping through. “And I’m starting to feel real sick.”

  “Maybe it’s not the plague. Maybe it’s … ordinary rabies, or something.”

  “Somehow, I don’t think so. But either way, I’m screwed.”

  She’s right.

  I want to scream my rage, howl my pain and sadness, but then she’d feel the need to console me. And that’s not the direction the comfort should be flowing here. There’ll be time enough for me to lose it later. Afterwards. Right now Tallulah needs me, so I need to stay calm.

  “What can I do? How can I help?” I ask her, pushing the words past the lump in my throat.

  She opens a drawer at her desk and pulls out a blister pack of strong painkillers.

  “I’ve thought it all through,” she says, punching four tablets through their foil seal. She hesitates before swallowing them with a gulp of water. “The headache’s a killer, and it’s getting harder to drink the water.”

  It was the same with Nicky, back in the rebel camp in the woods. After a few days, she simply refused to drink any more. I’m terrified that Tallulah will ask me for the same favor Nicky did. I can’t do that again.

  But Tallulah has a different plan in mind.

  “I’m going to drive myself to the hospital today. My car is waiting out front. Community General has a plague unit — I’ll go there. They can do what they like to me once I’m inside, but I’m not dying on the streets like that poor man who came in here with his bleeding eyes and broken mind. And I’m not risking my little lambs, or you kids, by staying here any longer. I’m not sure how much time I’ve got before my brain turns to mush and I become dangerous, but I want to be far away from anyone I could hurt by the time that happens.”

  I take one of her hands and hold it tight. There are no words that can help. None that I can summon anyway.

  “Now I know you can’t move your man yet, and that y’all need to stay under the radar, so I won’t tell them at the hospital who I am or where I’m from.”

  “They’ll pressure you,” I warn.

  There are compulsory reporting requirements and contact-tracing procedures for plague patients in Q-bays and biocontainment units.

  “Honey, about the worst thing that can happen to a body is already happening to me. I ain’t going to be scared into telling on you by a bunch of white-coats. And in a few more days they won’t be getting any sense out of me anyway. Y’all will be safe to stay here for a while yet. Just take care of my kids, okay?”

  “Of course.”

  “For now, tell them I’ve gone visiting family. Come to that, might be safer to tell everybody that story. But when you and your team move on, call the authorities on this number” — she hands me a card printed with a name and number of the social services regional manager — “and let them know I’m gone and they should send someone to come take over. And see here?” She lays a trembling hand on an old wooden cigar box on the bookshelf behind her. “I’ve written goodbye letters to each of my kids here at the shelter and put them in here for safe-keeping. You make sure they get them before you light out.”

  “I will. I promise.” My voice cracks on the last word, and I swallow hard, determined not to burden her with my grief.

  “I’m leaving my will, such as it is — Lord knows I’m no millionaire — on the desk for the authorities to find when they come, but this package is for my sister.” She hands me a large padded envelope with an address scrawled on the top. “It’s just a letter and a few odds and ends that I know she’d like to have. My mother’s wedding ring and some photos of us when we were just scrawny li’l girls. Things like that. She’d want to have them, but if those disposal techs get a hold of it, they’ll just incinerate it all.” She pauses, seemingly tired from all the talking. Her eyes move to the glass of water then flick away. She gives a rasping cough and says, “One day, when it’s safe and the post starts up again, will you send that to her?”

  “Yes.”

  I will. I will get this package to Miss Edna Clark of Warrior River Road, Tuscaloosa.

  “Come, child, you give me a hug and then let me slip out. I don’t want any fuss, you hear?”

  I put an arm around her slumped shoulders as we leave the office, and leave it there as we walk down the hall. At the front door, she pauses and says, “Oh, I forgot to tell you — I’ve got a bunch of candy stashed in the filing cabinet in my office. If you’re still here by Halloween, the way we do it here is the kids try to make some kind of costume. Then I give the older teens bags full of candy and the little ones go knocking at their bedroom doors, trick-or-treating. It gets a little loud, but they love it. You’ll remember?”

  I nod then pull her into my arms and hold her close.

  “You are a magnificent woman, Miss Tallulah,” I say fiercely. “You have saved lives and given hope and so much love to so many people.”

  She sighs, pulls back and wipes the tears streaming down her face with her apron. As she opens the front door, Carlos bounces down the stairs. He gives Tallulah a curious stare.

  “Where you going, M
iss Tally?”

  Her gaze meets mine. What to say? Luckily, Carlos doesn’t wait for an answer.

  “Can I have a cookie, Miss Tally, can I?”

  “Carlos, you can have them all!”

  He squeals with delight and runs away to the kitchen. Tally’s arms half rise from her sides — I know she wants to hug him tight one last time. But she won’t. She’ll leave this house and drive herself to the hospital, where she’ll suffer and die alone.

  “You take our love with you — remember that,” I say in a choked whisper as she passes out the doorway.

  She gives me a little wave, and then she’s gone.

  I stand unmoving in the doorway — as still as a deer in the woods, as still as the hunter with his crosshairs poised over the target of her eye.

  It takes mere seconds for my tears to clear and hot anger to flood me. My body contracts into a hard, concentrated missile of rage. My eyes narrow, my muscles tighten, my jaw sets. My heart thuds my need to wreak havoc. My hands prickle with the urge to destroy.

  This war! This war!

  I slam the front door closed with all the strength in my arm and all the fury in my heart. The loud bang reverberates through the house. Down the hall, Bruce sticks his head out of the games room.

  “Blue?”

  I don’t know what the expression on my own face is, but his is a mixture of curiosity and concern.

  “I am going shooting. Are you coming with?” I say.

  “Hellz to the yeah!”

  In my room, I blow my nose and clip my hair back from my face. I retrieve my weapons from the closet where I’d locked them and assemble my rifle. Running a hand over the smooth curves of its stock and checking the internal magazine is fully loaded, I feel calmer already. Snatching up the new suppressor and extra ammunition, I head downstairs, and I’m fitting it to the end of the barrel when I pass Quinn’s room.

  His door is open, and he must catch a glimpse of me as I pass, because he calls, “Jinxy?”

  My feet do not slow or stumble, and I do not reply.

  In the games room, the boys are already waiting for me. A couple of teens are seated in front of PC’s. They’re wearing their virtual reality headsets and are lost in The Game. Evyan sits cross-legged on a low coffee table in the middle of the room, her gaze moving from Bruce and Cameron to me.

  Bruce is grinning from ear to ear, like Christmas has come early; Cameron’s expression is more inscrutable. He hands out protective gear, and we slip on the disposable PPE suits, pull up the hoods and fit on the face masks. We strap on our weapons.

  Evyan eyes our arsenal and demands, “And where are you three going?”

  Ignoring her, I set off down the hall to the kitchen, where the back door that leads onto the alley is. Bruce and Cameron fall into step behind me.

  “Wait! Have you spoken to Quinn and Connor about this?” Evyan says.

  Bruce snorts in derision.

  Last time I left the shelter, it was via the front door. I was acting out of love, desperate to save Robin, and Quinn and I were on the same team. Last time I was ready to risk myself to save my brother. This time I’m ready and willing, eager even, to kill anything — anything — that looks dangerous. This time, the back door seems more appropriate. My motives are less pure, my actions will be a lot less noble, and Quinn would never join me in this mission.

  And — right now? — I couldn’t care less.

  We unlock the back door and step out into the alley behind. It’s a blustery day. Gusts of wind kick up swirls of dust and dry leaves, but there’s no rain or clouds to hide us. The sun will be shining its full brightness on what I’m about to do.

  “Hey, stop! Where are you going?” Evyan calls after us.

  It’s Cameron who replies.

  “Hunting.”

  Chapter 30

  Falling out

  Evyan is waiting for us when we return, several hours later.

  “Where did you go?” she asks me.

  “What are you, my mother?”

  “Believe me, I have no desire at all to be genetically related to you,” Evyan sneers.

  “Sorry. Forgot who I was talking to. My probation officer, then?”

  “What were you doing out there?”

  “Making the world safer for freedom.”

  “Quinn’s been asking for you. But I guess you were having too much fun with your boys and your toys to care about how he’s doing.”

  I give her a hard, flat stare.

  “Do not mess with me today, Evyan,” I say slowly. “I am capable of anything.”

  Bruce cackles delightedly. “I’d back off if I was you, Goth-girl. The ice-maiden is back. And she is le-thal!”

  Evyan looks set to continue the argument, but Cameron distracts her by asking if she knows how to crack a safe, and I use the moment to slip out of the room.

  In the bathroom, I lather up a squirt of germ-killing liquid soap and wash my hands three times. When Robin and I were little, Mom used to make us sing a song while we scrubbed, to make sure we did it for long enough to be thorough. Now, as I rub the lather over and over my hands, the old jingle comes back to me. If you’re dirty and you know it, wash your hands. I push the suds between my fingers, into my knuckles and the creases of my palms. If you’re dirty and you know it, then your hands will surely show it. I clean under my nails, watching the stained water swirl down the drain. If you’re dirty and you know it, wash your hands.

  My eyes, in the mirror, are shuttered — inviting nothing, revealing nothing. My lips are narrowed. I look … hard. And I’m grateful for it, because it’s the hardness that’s holding me together.

  I’d like to avoid Quinn, but Beth finds me and tells me he’s asking for me.

  “Try to keep him calm, okay?” she says, anxiously scanning my face.

  When I enter his room, Quinn is standing, somewhat unsteadily, beside his bed.

  “Look, Ma, no ironing board,” he says, beaming proudly at his achievement.

  “Very good,” I say.

  I try to give him a smile in return, but there isn’t one to be found anywhere inside me. His brows come together in a frown, and he sits down heavily on the bed.

  “Where were you?”

  “I was out. I needed to think, to clear my head.”

  “You mean you needed to kill something,” comes a deep voice from behind me. It’s only then that I see Connor is also in the room, slouched up against the back wall, chewing on a match. “Maybe even someone.”

  Quinn shoots his brother a sharp, enquiring glance.

  “She went out shooting with those two thugs. Evyan told me,” Connor explains.

  Thanks, Evyan. Glad we’re all on the same side here.

  “If I remember correctly, you didn’t have a problem with me shooting when you were the one choosing the targets,” I bite back.

  “So what were your targets today?” Quinn asks. His tone is completely neutral, but I still feel judged.

  “A dog, and … other plague vectors,” I reply.

  “Such as human beings?” Connor demands.

  “We’re at war! The plague, and the people spreading it, are the real enemy, don’t you get that?” I say, looking from Connor to Quinn, wishing I could make them understand. “So what if PlayState is selling us gloves and games and politicians? We’ve wasted so much time on your precious ‘second war’ — putting all our energy into trying to uncover grand conspiracies, and track the money trails, and find out what ASTA’s doing. But all the while, terrorists have continued their attacks, and the plague keeps killing people. That’s the first war. That’s the real war.”

  “Are these Bruce’s ideas?” Quinn asks.

  “What? Jinxy has a thought bouncing around in her empty head, so someone else must have put it there? I’m quite capable of having my own ideas, thank you very much,” I say, outraged.

  “Sorry, I didn’t mean —” Quinn begins.

  “Then if it wasn’t that oaf who inspired your grand missio
n of death and destruction,” Connor sneers, “what did?”

  “Tallulah. That’s what.”

  They stare at me blankly. Clearly they weren’t expecting that response.

  “Tallulah was bitten by an infected dog. She caught rat fever and is, at this very moment, likely lying in a plague ward at Community General, waiting for the most horrific death possible.”

  “Oh, Jinxy,” says Quinn, his face creased with pain and concern. He holds out a hand to me and I take it, hold tight.

  I look straight into his eyes as I speak. “All these deaths, Quinn. Tallulah and Nicky and my father.” My voice breaks on the last word. “And the killings — Sarge and Zonia and Darius — it’s all because of the plague. Can’t you see that?”

  “And you think you’re going to stop the plague by running out with your pals and killing a few rats, cats, dogs and M&M’s every now and then? That’s going to end the ‘first war’, is it?” Connor says, his voice dripping with derision.

  “Connor,” Quinn warns.

  “It’s better than sitting around doing nothing while people die! What’s your war doing to end the plague?” I challenge Connor.

  “Oh, it’s ‘your war’ again now, is it?” Connor says. He turns to Quinn and adds, “I told you she wasn’t on our side.”

  “Connor, will you please shut up,” Quinn snaps. He takes a calming breath and then says, “Jinx, I don’t think the government wants to end the plague, not really, not completely. As long as it continues, they’ll stay in power and make more money.” His voice is calm, but intensity lights his eyes and, as always when he’s with his brother, his accent is stronger. “But just imagine what could happen if people stopped playing The Game, stopped getting brainwashed into buying and voting and living in ways that profit the government and its cronies? If everyone knew the real, rather than the exaggerated risks, of contracting the plague? If all that money and manpower was put into finding a cure or a vaccination? Think!”

  “I’m done thinking,” I say stubbornly. “I never was a thinker.”

  “You never were a killer, either,” Quinn says gently.