The belligerent cowboys strode slowly around the marbled flooring, obviously familiar with the slick nature of the wet stone. Their boots clicked and slapped as they walked, the sounds closing in as Jackson rubbed the nearest towel over his hair and shoulders. He purposely kept his back to them as they approached, refusing to give in and check where they were. Judging by the sudden quiet, they were as close as they wanted to be which was too close for him.
Moving slow and relaxed, Jackson dried off his face and pulled on a robe hanging from a hook beside the hot tub. Looping the tie, he tucked his hands into the large terry cloth pockets and grinned as he turned around. He refused to be intimidated. What had they done that was as horrible and great as him? Roped a few cows? Yeah, that’s what he thought.
The first man whose eyes seemed frozen in a narrowed glare, jerked his chin toward Jackson. “You’re sure relaxed for a man in your position. Ain’t you at least a little scared of what we’re going to do to you?” His anger relented enough to allow a cruel grin to split his features. The prickly stubble on his jaw shadowed and enhanced the angles of his face.
Jackson’s shoulders pulled forward as he laughed. “Of what? I just see a bunch of dead men walking.” His drawl came out exactly like he’d always wanted. The moment was how he’d dreamed, but at the back of his mind, he’d never imagined what would happen afterward. Probably because, as he watched the men around him, his subconscious recognized the fact that he might not survive. Who would live in any situation where they called a group of angry men dead men?
One of the four who had followed the main man around the pool reached forward and tapped the leader on the shoulder. “You gonna let him talk to you like that, Bret?” He smirked and elbowed one of the other men beside him, like he’d told the funniest joke.
Glancing back at the man, Bret cracked his knuckles. He slowly returned his gaze to Jackson. Inclining his head, he didn’t drop his hands after popping them. “You’re pretty cocky for a punching bag. What’s your name before I make it hard for you to talk?”
“Jackson.” He could take a punch. He’d taken more than that over the years when people found out he was Mexican and in the wrong neighborhood. He was Last Man Standing, though, as all the people who had ever beat on him were dying or sick or, better yet, dead.
Jackson lifted his hands and arched an eyebrow. “Take your best shots.” He was prepared to die, if he had to. His pride wouldn’t let him cower. He had never cowered. These cowpokes certainly weren’t going to make him whine like a weakling.
Something in Jackson’s expression angered the men more. Bret pulled back his fist and popped Jackson in the left cheek, turning his face to the side with the force. Jackson ignored the splitting pain, and looked back at Bret, his chin up. He hoped his features screamed Give me your best.
Subsequent blows fell upon his head, shoulders. and stomach. Jackson refused to make a sound. After he reached his physical limit, he slumped to the ground, laying on his side as the blows came slower and eventually stopped. Not a sound left him.
Jackson focused on the barely moving water feet from his face. The surface lapped at the edges, begging him to return to the peaceful depths.
The group made their way to the side of the pool, whispering and murmuring. Their voices echoed off the tile, reaching Jackson as he struggled to breathe without moving his ribs too much. Maybe they’d bruised his bones, maybe not. He had a feeling things could have been a lot worse. They seemed to tire fast which could be a sign they were infected.
“Let’s just kill him.” Bret’s voice was easiest to pick out as his syllables rang with unrelieved anger. Even after all of that, vengeance wasn’t satisfied.
“Of course, kill him. That’s your answer for everything. I’m not sure that’s the way we want to go. Let’s hold off on anything permanent. We don’t know what he knows or even why he’s here.” The man’s voice came calmly and Jackson realized his voice had been decidedly absent during the beating. Maybe the man hadn’t been involved in the beating and had only watched.
Bret’s voice became shriller. “I don’t care why he’s here or what he knows. He killed our father. What else do you need? You want him to kill one of us next?”
Jackson blinked slow, suddenly more tired than he could explain. Well, of course, bleeding from multiple blows would cause fatigue. He had to look at it from a physiological standpoint. There were things he couldn’t control. The things he could, would have to be enough for the control freak inside of him.
If Jackson could get into the chlorinated water, his wounds would be cleaned. Jackson had no doubt that the cowboys were infected. He just wasn’t sure what would happen to open wounds when exposed to the virus.
Jackson edged closer to the water. He didn’t care if they returned and continued beating him. He could withstand whatever they gave him. If they killed him, so be it. But he didn’t really think that way. He hadn’t destroyed the entire world just to die in that backwoods ranch home.
The marble was cool beneath his skin and he stopped twice before reaching the water. Carefully, he reached down to splash his face and rinse his hand. The warm water revived him and he rolled to all fours, then into a crouched position. He continued cleaning himself off, staring with irritation at the blood spots on the white robe. Even the nice things he stole couldn’t stay nice.
He stood, wiping his hands on the robe as the group started back toward him. Their decision obvious as they closed off their expressions and Bret’s mouth twisted to the side in victory.
As they got closer to Jackson, they slowed and glanced at each other, turning and pivoting as if to make sure everyone was on board with killing someone.
Unanimous decision with no doubt allowed.
It was one of the reasons Jackson had refused to work with anyone. He had made all of the decisions and no one had been able to veto him. He laughed at the concept, crossing his arms.
Bret jerked his head back. “What’s so funny? We drew your blood and you’re laughing?” He looked around at his partners in shock. “Can you believe this guy?”
Jackson sighed, shaking his head as if talking to a child. “You decided to kill me and tried to convince the rest of them to do it. Good effort and all that, but they’re not all on board with you and that’s going to come back and bite you.” He glanced at one of the men and his eyes widened as he nodded, then looked closer at Bret and his hairline. “Ah, I get it. You think beating me up will make your sickness go away. Or at least divert their attention from seeing it.” Jackson motioned toward the men behind him.
Bret’s face tightened with disbelief, his anger fading as the rest of the group broke into murmurs and worry.
“You’re sick?”
“You said you were fine.”
“Bret, what’s going on?”
“Why would you lie?”
Jackson focused his attention on the man who spoke last and laughed. He pointed at the faint pink of his cheeks. “And you’re not lying? Look at you, flushed and pale at the same time. Your eyes are red-rimmed. If you don’t have a rash yet, you will in the next few days.” Jackson looked at each man in turn as Bret turned to face them as well. Jackson continued. “I bet you all said you were okay, am I right? Wait, let me guess. Body aches, fevers, itchy spots but no rashes to pinpoint, and extreme tiredness. That’s only to name a few symptoms.” He lifted his hands palm up, inspecting each man in turn. “Am I right?”
They glanced at each other, trying to see just who was right and who wasn’t. “Why aren’t you sick?” Bret whirled, desperate to reclaim his leadership role. The other men turned their accusing gazes toward Jackson, unsure just what was going on or what they should focus on.
Jackson’s chance had been dropped into his lap and he wasn’t stupid. He’d snatch it up and laugh around the graves of his tormentors. He changed his expression from cocky to earnest, wiping at his bloody nose. “I was. I took the Cure. I’m better. It works almost immediately. But you have to use it b
efore the pox start weeping.”
Bret’s anger turned to doubt and fear. “How do you know?” To survive the sickness was more important than holding onto vengeance.
“I’m… I’m a doctor. I don’t blame you for being mad. I put your dad out of his misery. There’s no humane way to do it. Especially at the advanced stage of his disease. His wounds were weeping extensively. I came up for a house call.” Jackson forced tears to his eyes. He hated that he even had to convince them of anything. “He begged me. I only came in here to swim because I can’t face the town. I want to forget what’s going on out there.”
As a group they nodded, as if they, too, understood what it meant to get away from the horrors all around them.
He almost had them. “I don’t blame you for wanting to kill me. I get it. I’ve faced the disease and I wanted to die. Had I been in your father’s shoes and no one had brought me the Cure, I would’ve begged for relief in whatever way I could find it. The Cure wouldn’t have helped him. He was too far along.” Jackson stared at each man until they met his gaze. “You all have time to get the Cure and avoid the same fate as your father – or worse.”
“Do you have the Cure here with you?” A nameless man turned toward Jackson as if he didn’t care what Bret’s answer was, but Bret turned to him for the answer as well.
They were all desperate to survive whatever they had, the same thing that was killing their friends, family, and neighbors. The same that had claimed their father.
Jackson shook his head. “No, but I can get it.” He would leave and never come back, if they let him leave. The temptation would be strong to get the Cure and take it back to them, just to watch them suffer. They deserved something horrific after the beating they’d given him.
Bret laughed, shaking his head. He lifted his finger and wagged it back and forth. “Have you leave and never come back? Nice try.” He shrugged. “We’re cowboys, we’re not stupid.”
The men huddled together, leaving Jackson out of the group which was fine. He moved to the side, using his self-control to hide any sign of pain or damage. A pounding started in the back of his head. Just what he needed, a headache from the beating. He needed water and something to eat.
He dropped the robe, pulling his clothes on over his wet underwear. They’d dry. He had to get ready to escape. It didn’t matter how empty the world was of people to see his nakedness. It would never do to finish up the end of the world in his skivvies.
Leaving his bag behind the chairs, Jackson turned back to the group as they separated into two and three. The three approached Jackson, one jerked his head toward the rest of the house. The two left ahead of them, a sense of urgency to their steps.
Jackson cleared his throat as he followed behind the threesome. “Can I get something to eat?”
The man who had argued with Bret the most seemed to be second-in-command. He stopped walking and glanced back, tilting his cowboy hat to the side. “The fact that you’re not sick gives you more leeway than if you were. I’m going to ask you a bunch of questions. The more you answer while Bret and Stan are gone, the more food you’ll get. Does that sound fair?”
His eyelids were swollen. Small red arteries looked about ready to burst in his bloodshot eyes. The rash was close, judging by the red splotchy area along his forearms. He didn’t wait for an answer from Jackson, but turned and continued walking.
Jackson would get to watch another one of his masterpieces. His apocalypse was turning into utopia for him. He smiled at their backs, wincing at the sudden pain in his split lip. He wasn’t worried. He wouldn’t get sick.
Those men were going to get theirs and Jackson was going to watch while eating a sandwich. Or whatever they had that was good. What he wouldn’t give for a pan of brownies right about then.
Chapter 12
Cady
The quiet of the coop was only interrupted by the breathing of the four people and the soft sounds coming from the baby. Cady clenched her jaw as she realized she’d never told Bailey that the vaccine was a secret. She hadn’t covered that part of her bases. She’d never considered her daughter would even say anything about it.
And why wouldn’t she? The vaccine was different, special, and it had to give Bailey a sense of invincibility where her health was concerned. For a girl who always wanted to prove she was tougher than anyone thought she was, this was the perfect scenario for her to be in.
Cady hadn’t considered she’d tell anyone because Cady hadn’t been able to tell anyone.
Scott narrowed his eyes, watching Cady closely. “Cady, what does Bailey mean she took a vaccine?” His voice was filled with disbelief and betrayal – all the things Cady didn’t want to hear from him. The angle of his jaw sharpened as he stared down at her, waiting for a reply.
He had no idea how glad Cady was to see him. She finally wasn’t facing this alone. But with his presence was the introduction of the virus to their lives. Bailey was holding the baby, standing close to Jason.
There was no going back. Forget about the vaccine. Forget about the suicide of their neighbor. Nothing mattered now that their exposure had been confirmed.
There was no going back and Cady didn’t want to face that. She shifted her jaw off-center, anxious to break away from Scott’s hold, but also desperate for him to never let go. She’d let him down and she hadn’t had a choice. Bailey was her daughter, Cady’s only option was to keep her child alive.
She met his gaze, staring into his eyes with a challenge as she spoke haltingly. “I… There was a vaccine. Jackson… He sent me one.” She shook her head at the injustice of what he’d done on top of destroying the world. “One.” Her voice cracked as the weight of everything she’d been running from and managing to hold at bay crashed around her. “That jerk sent me one dose. I had to choose between me or Bailey. There was no other choice. I chose my daughter.” She lifted her chin, taking a deep breath. “You’re upset because I didn’t choose you, aren’t you? That I didn’t offer it to you or at least tell you about it, right? Well, it wasn’t an option. For me, the vaccine would always have gone to Bailey.” She sought for understanding on his features, her eyes flicking back and forth as she tried to read him.
He shook his head, anger tightening his mouth. “I would never have taken it from you – even if you offered it. What about you?” He accused her with his eyes as he stared down at her from his height.
“What about me? No. Never me over Bailey. Ever.” She shook her head at the absurdity of it. Hadn’t Rachel proven just how awful the loss of a child would be? There was no way Cady could face that, not without a rending of heart and soul. She’d had her problems with her daughter, but who didn’t. Cady could still see Bailey the way she’d been as a small child, she could imagine her as a new-adult. The teen years were a stepping stone to the greatness Bailey could be as whatever she chose in life.
Cady refused to let the virus get in the way.
Scott grabbed her shoulders, clenching her flesh with the tight grip of his fingers. He softly shook her, incredulity echoing off the walls of the coop. “Dang it, Cady. You need to think. Who will take care of Bailey? Who will take care of you? If you die… You should’ve taken that vaccine. You could have helped Bailey through it. I know you could have.” He searched her face, reaching up to brush her hair off her face. “Who is going to take care of you?”
“You will.” But as Cady studied Scott’s face with tenderness, the red-rim of his eyes dissolved the hope in her chest. She chewed on her lower lip as she studied him. “Are you having hot flashes, Scott? Are you feeling okay?”
He’d left about three days ago, maybe more, maybe less. Time was running together and who knew how long the virus needed anymore. Cady could count that day as a definitive starting point for herself. How long did the symptoms last? How long would Scott have? How long would Cady?
Inevitability screamed through her. She’d been so blind, so dumb. Why had she thought she could avoid it? The end was coming and there was nothing she
could do to stop it.
Scott pulled on the cloak of evasion, shifting his gaze from her face. “I’m fine.” He dropped his hands from her biceps and ran his fingers through his hair. Glancing back at the house, his shoulders slumped in defeat. “The house is messed up. I can’t stay in there with the window broken and the kids.” He rubbed his eyes. “I need to think about this. Just a second, guys.”
“Nothing to think about. You’ll stay with us. We’re both already exposed. You know I have plenty of room.” She pleaded with her gaze for the chance to make it up to him – the fact that she’d hidden so much from him, that she hadn’t been able to keep Rachel from ruining his home, that she couldn’t help him since he’d become sick… so much. There was so much she’d done wrong, that she would do differently looking back.
Scott searched her face and then glanced at Jason and Bailey. As his lack of options occurred to him, he nodded slowly. “Okay, yeah, that will work. Thanks. I’ll load up what we need.”
Cady licked her lips and turned to Bailey. “Take the ATV back to the house with those two. Get inside. It’s starting to get cold. Maybe you two can unload the baby stuff and put it in my room. I’ll help with her until… well, until I can’t.” She smiled half-apologetically. She didn’t to disappoint Bailey by dying, but she didn’t have any other option.
Bailey nodded with the baby in her arms, quietly leading the way for the boy. Cady kept her comments to herself about Bailey minding for the first time in forever. She’d keep the guys around if only to experience that one again.
As the four-wheeler engine turned over and then moments later Bailey and the ATV disappeared from sight, Cady turned back to Scott. She took a deep breath, but Scott spoke before she could. “This is going to get worse, you know that, right?” Was that humor in his voice? Only Scott could face the end and laugh in its face.
180 Days and Counting... Series Box Set books 4 - 6 Page 7
