Chapter 2
Margie
“I can’t get a dial tone.” Margie leaned against the counter of the convenience store and stared at Kelsey. The other woman’s previously noble mohawk hung in straggly angles to her shoulders since she washed it in the sink the night before. She held scissors in her right hand while stretching her hair out as far as she could.
“Are you seriously cutting it off?” Margie tried not to let her jaw hang open, but Kelsey was proving to be more of a character than even her tattoos, piercings, and hairstyle had suggested. Anything would be better than the stringy mess she had now, anything except maybe going bald.
Shrugging, Kelsey pointed toward the front of the building with her scissors. “I’m getting bored. Since we can’t leave until tomorrow morning, I don’t see the point in waiting around doing nothing. I can’t find any more moose or hair wax. If I cut the ‘hawk off, now, it will be less of a headache later, right?” She set her jaw, reaching up and working the tool. The shearing sound of the scissors cutting through her hair filled the entire store with its finality. “In a penny and a pound and all that.” Kelsey powered through, cutting off as much as she could reach. She angled her arms, taking it all.
The spiky tufts clung to the lingering colors in the very tips of the remaining hair. She ran her fingers over her scalp and widened her eyes. “Wow, I’m really pushing the edge, don’t you think?”
“You know what? I think you look more feminine. It actually looks pretty good.” Margie wasn’t lying, the softer angles of the hairstyle enhanced the woman’s eyes and softened the jowly look the mohawk had enhanced.
Margie’s compliment brought a smile to Kelsey’s wrinkled mouth. Her lipstick stain had worn off a while back, but the creases in her lips had soaked it in and gave her a permanently puckered appearance. The smile smoothed them out, adding more youthfulness to her appearance.
Nodding at the phone, Kelsey drew her eyebrows together, the eyebrow ring moving as she did. “You can’t get through to Cady? I hope everything is okay.” Kelsey set the scissors down and rounded the counter to stand beside Margie. She lifted the handset, pressing the ear piece to her ear. Pushing the hang-up button repeatedly while listening, she twisted her lips. “I wonder if they finally got smart and cut our line last night. I’m not sure.” She looked at Margie, reality dawning. “You might be right, Marg. We really need to get out of here.”
Marg. Margie wasn’t a fan of that from anyone but David. The nickname reminded her of the blue towered hair woman off of a cartoon from years before. She brushed if off and nodded. “I know. I’m still ready to leave right now. We can do it. We can set up a distraction and slip out the back. We could even push the car out of the parking lot and not use any lights or anything.” Margie chewed on her inner lip. She hadn’t wanted to leave.
Kelsey hung onto the semblance of safety that the store gave her. “We need a few more gas tanks, though. We don’t want to be forced to stop anywhere else. What if they’re going through something like this in Spokane? Or Coeur d’Alene?” Kelsey shook her head, glancing around outside. “No, we can’t take any chances.”
Margie sighed. She didn’t want to wait. The longer they waited the more certain she was they weren’t going to make it. But she needed a car. Or did she? She’d been willing to walk before. Not for the first time, she considered walking. She had great hiking boots and she was dressed appropriately. The duffel bag would be a hassle, but she could deal with it.
Something in Kelsey’s eyes though begged her to stay, as if she sensed that Margie continually considered leaving on her own.
“Okay, then we’ll get over to Safeway in the morning. I just hope it isn’t too late.” She glanced at the trucks that continued to show up outside the convenience store. The bullets would start to click against the glass, but they were half-hearted shots since the first night Margie had arrived.
The Bug had been moved with David’s body and Margie didn’t look for it. She didn’t want to know where they’d taken it or what they’d done with it. There was nothing in there but a gun, but there was no way Margie would have taken it. She couldn’t return to that car – not for anything.
The next morning was supposed to be Margie and Kelsey’s run for freedom, except they weren’t sure what was keeping the men from coming back during the day. They didn’t have enough data and it was driving Margie insane. She’d suggested repeatedly that they leave at night, but Kelsey was mentally attached to the store. Margie recognized it. She understood. But if Kelsey couldn’t leave over the last two days, what was going to make her leave in the morning?
“Do you have your bags ready?” Kelsey headed back to the storage room which had been set up as a bunker-style apartment in the back. “I’m almost ready. I just need to pack my pillow and my blanket. I’ll do that in the morning when we’re ready to go.”
Listening to her gut had saved her so far. If Margie stopped, she might not see her daughter and granddaughter again.
Margie grabbed more matches and a bottle of lighter fluid. Would Kelsey be ready for big moves, if the time came to make them? Creating a distraction was going to be the only way to get out of there, most especially during the day. An escape at night would be better since they would have the potential cover of darkness. Daytime was just leaving themselves open.
If they didn’t do something soon, Kelsey might get her wish and die in that store.
What if Kelsey refused to go with Margie the next morning? Could Margie deal with the consequences, if she didn’t? Could she leave Kelsey behind, if she didn’t want to go?
What was keeping Margie there?
The plinking on the glass began. There was something those men wanted and some reason they continually shot at the store. What was Kelsey hiding?
Chapter 3
Jackson
“Juan, are you going to take your shoes off? You know it isn’t polite to wear your shoes into your mother’s home.” More voices surrounded Jackson. Indistinguishable as they merged together. “You must never act like you’re better than the gringos, Juan. You will get far, if you stick to your place in life.”
Another voice, weasel-like in its initial whine and then ending like a bark. “Wait, what do you mean you peed your pants? Look at this baby, boys, he likes to pee his pants. Oh, Juan, you’re such an embarrassment.”
Juan… wait. Everyone who called him Juan was supposed to be dead. Every last one of them.
Jackson shook his head on the sweat-dampened pillow. He cried out, tears streaking from his eyes like he sobbed for his own life. He clutched at the sheets, digging his hands deep into the material, ripping his fingertips through small holes and tearing them down long lines. The rending sound seemed to ground him. He stretched his legs as far as he could, but his joints hurt like a blazing branding iron thrust between his bones.
Rolling over to his stomach and pushing his pillow to the side, Jackson burrowed his face into the mattress that smelled of mothballs and dried sweat. Was that his sweat? What was his and what wasn’t? Was he sweating or had he wet his pants? He couldn’t figure out what sensations were real. Was that hunger? Even if he had the wherewithal to eat something, he would soil himself because he wasn’t sure how to get to the restroom.
“Juan, Juan, my son. I’m here. What can I do to help you? Let your papa help you.” His father’s voice caressed him, calming him.
“Dad, is that you?” His eyes snapped open and he stared at the white sheet beneath his face. He blinked slowly, pushing himself until he could flop over. He searched the small room for evidence of his dad. Maybe for just a moment, he could give into his delusions and see his father. For the first time in his memory, he craved the simplicity of his father, of his mindset that faith was enough.
Blinking against the bright light of the setting sun, Jackson jerked back and then jerked forward as if to escape a binding he hadn’t agreed to. Was that guilt riding him? No, because he had nothing to feel guilty about. The shame would com
e from his father and the rest of the family.
“Don’t you feel bad for what you did, Juan? You should serve penance, beg for forgiveness.” His father’s voice demanded justice for a population that didn’t understand the meaning of the word repentance.
“Dad? No, I’m not sorry. Why? No. I’m not sorry.” He shook his head. Jackson couldn’t remember why he would even want to be sorry. He hadn’t done anything wrong. He’d saved the world. The whole world.
Was his dad there? No, his dad had to die. There was no other option. His father had contracted the disease. Most likely, his stupid sister-in-law had given his parents’ the Cure. There would be no living after that. He was so glad his parents had died. They would never have understood.
They’d had the same Cure Jackson had been exposed to. He needed to snap out of it. How long had he been dealing with the ointment? He couldn’t breathe normally but was that because he was in pain or because the toxin was affecting him neurologically.
He tried to remember the side effects of the ointment, the research he’d done, but he couldn’t focus. Everything was a blurry haze. Maybe blue, maybe brown. He couldn’t figure it out. He blinked, his eyes tired, dry, and itchy. His hands shook as he reached up to scratch his neck. The itch intensified and he dug his fingernails deep into skin, sighing at the relief.
Pulling his fingers back, Jackson narrowed his eyes at the warmth on his fingers. Blinking rapidly, he tried to focus on the color, but only blues were getting through his haziness and he had the distinct feeling, if the colors were coming through well, his fingers would be red. Just how far was the ointment going to push him?
Chapter 4
Bailey
Leaving Jason on the porch swing, Bailey joined her mother in the kitchen.
The sun had gone down, taking its warm rays with it and leaving behind the rapidly cooling effects of shadows. They welcomed another evening of trying to figure out how to help Scott and what to do with the baby.
No one had told Bailey that taking care of a baby was more work than it was just holding one. She’d known about the abstract idea of dirty diapers and feeding, but she had never realized that not doing those things would lead to ear-splitting screaming and heart-breaking cries.
But when Cady rocked Jessica, the baby soothed quickly, as if Cady had the magic touch. When Bailey had asked her about the trick, Cady had laughed and said, “It’s simple. Keep her wrapped nice and tight, swing her, make sure she has a full belly and then a pluggy, and shhhhhh in her ear.” She’d made it sound so simple, like anyone could do it, but Bailey knew her mom had a special touch.
Moving to stand beside Cady, Bailey smiled softly as she waited for her mom to look at her. But Cady didn’t turn to face Bailey. Instead, she stared out the window, washing her hands in the warm water with steam wafting up to gather on the cooler glass above the faucet.
“Mom?” Bailey wanted to make things easier for Cady, she did, but she didn’t understand what was going on. Cady wasn’t sick yet. Jason wasn’t and neither was Jessica. Everyone was okay so far. Scott was sick, but Cady was treating him. Wasn’t that the best-case scenario?
Scott would get better. Bailey couldn’t imagine anything else happening. Not that she couldn’t, but more like she wouldn’t.
“Yeah?” Cady shook her head and turned, shutting off the water to face Bailey.
Hiding her gasp with a cough behind her hand, Bailey tried to keep her fear from swelling so much it broke through her control. “Mom, are you okay? Can I help with dinner?” Bailey didn’t mention Cady’s red-rimmed eyelids or the glassy look to her bloodshot eyes. She had a slight pinkening to her cheeks like she had a fever.
If she reached out, would Bailey feel her mother’s forehead burning up? The sickness was scarier than Bailey wanted to admit, especially as it crept its way up to try to kill her mother. What would Bailey have left, if her mother succumbed to the illness?
Distracted, Cady nodded slowly. “Thanks, I was thinking we should do something with the rest of that sausage. Once the power goes off, we won’t have a way to save it. I mean, we won’t have the time. I’ve already started turning the elk meat into jerky in the smoker outside, but that’s not what I want to do with the sausage. It will be too greasy.”
Bailey studied her mom before answering. “That’s a good idea. I’ll go get Jason. He can help us. Maybe he can check on Jessica while we make dinner.” Bailey wasn’t sure what to do. If Cady got sick, Bailey would have to take care of her and Scott. She would be alone. What if Cady didn’t make it? She had to teach Jason what to do, what steps to take so he could help her. He wasn’t sick yet. He could help with the chickens and cleaning, just as well as she could. In fact, his help would be greatly appreciated.
As Bailey turned back to the slider, she clutched her hands together to steady the shaking. She had to control her emotions. It didn’t matter what she was feeling. Her mom had to be freaking out, but she was hiding it. Her mom was staying strong.
Outside, she claimed a seat beside Jason on the porch swing and blinked back tears. They swung back and forth. The air had cooled significantly and Bailey rubbed her upper arms.
“What’s wrong, Bailey?” Jason reached over and touched her forearm with a gentle caress. He searched her face as if her answer was the only one that mattered.
Bailey couldn’t believe Scott had brought such a great guy up to her. She was so excited to meet him and have a friend close to her age without any expectations. He seemed to have an old-fashioned frame of mind.
She wiped at her eyes. “My mom is getting sick. Pretty soon, it’s just going to be you and me.” She half-shrugged as if in apology.
“That’s okay. As long as we stick together, we can do this. I’m trying to learn stuff.” He smiled, jerking his chin upward. “Should we go in and help?”
Bailey nodded and stood with him, glancing back at the yip, yip of the coyotes in the distance. They were back. Amazing that it had been a month since the pack had been on that part of their route. She had never seen the coyotes up close and she wanted to keep it that way.
Turning from the outdoors, Bailey followed Jason inside. She’d let the coyotes continue on as they normally did. She had a dying mother to worry about.
Chapter 5
Scott
Scott’s pain was unimaginable. Even experiencing it, he couldn’t believe he was enduring it. The only bouts of incomplete relief came when Cady applied the oils she had. Food hurt to chew and swallow. Even breathing had a jagged edge to it, like a serrated knife rubbing up and down in his throat. He checked with his fingertip for any rash inside his mouth, but thankfully, he was pox free past the barrier around his mouth.
Somehow the bed had become both his prison and his haven. The light hurt his eyes when the sun was up and the darkness left his skin feeling itchy and chilled. If there was a name for what he was going through, hell would be appropriate, but in the moments when he was most in pain, like then, he had to admit hell sounded like a break from the pain.
A knock on the door broke through his own tormented thoughts which were unable to focus on anything other than the pain for short periods of time.
Cady came into the room, the soft light from the LED nightlight on the wall beside the bed illuminating her shape. Scott slowly blinked as he watched her, his eyes trying to bring her vision out of a blurry state and into sharper focus. He worked his mouth to speak, but his lips wouldn’t open and his throat refused to cooperate. He hurt so bad.
She settled a hip on the edge of the bed, leaning over to flip on the bedside lamp. Her hair was pulled back in one of her lopsided buns. She wore a white t-shirt and black yoga pants that hugged her curves. As she crossed her arms, Scott was startled to see she didn’t wear a bra. He wasn’t so sick, he was dead. He blinked again, disappointed as she came into focus to find that he was wrong. She was wearing a bra and he was just having inappropriate thoughts. At least he wasn’t dead.
Thankfully, he couldn’t arti
culate anything at the moment. What if he’d blurted out what he was thinking?
Cady resettled beside him and stared out the window. She smelled liked sausage and pesto. Just looking at her dulled the pain. Scott didn’t look away from her. If he turned his gaze toward the light, his eyes would hurt. Plus, he couldn’t figure out what emotions were running across her features. What was she thinking? Her lips moved and he stared at the soft bow of her lower lip…
“Scott, can you hear me?” Cady studied his face, ducking her head as she tried to see if he was all there. Her eyebrows knitted together as she studied him. After another moment, she looked away. “It’s probably better if you are asleep, or can’t understand what’s going on. I’d rather we could talk about it, but if you could talk, I probably wouldn’t say anything.”
She was speaking, but he couldn’t put the words together. Her tone was regretful, sad. What was she going on about? Scott couldn’t move, his muscles spasmed and he closed his eyes against the mounting pain as they clamped and fought him to stay rigored in place. What was causing such excruciating pain? He just wanted an escape from the pain.
He could barely breathe, but at least he could hear as she continued speaking, unaware of the struggle he fought. He wanted to scream for help, but he couldn’t move his mouth.
She plucked at a pil on the quilt. “I’m getting sick. I can feel it. It’s creeping up and I’m trying so hard to hide it from Bailey. She’s so worried about me. She knows I’m sick. It’s not like I can hide this, right? I can see it in her eyes when she looks at me. She… Jason doesn’t have it yet or Jessica, but, how long? How long will they have until they have to go through this, too?” Cady sniffed, rubbing her nose. Her shoulders slumped as she gave into her exhaustion. “I don’t want to do this alone. I’m scared.” Her whisper shattered the silence she’d fallen into.
Look Away: an apocalyptic survival thriller (180 Days and Counting... series Book 5) Page 2
