And Scott had killed them.
Scott’s vision blurred and he blinked – hard. He stopped by the driver’s side door and wiped at his eyes. Babies. His parents.
Get it together, Scott.
“Hey, where’s Ranger? I didn’t see him when you got back.” Cady closed the back door on the Bronco and wiped her hands on her pants as she approached Scott. She offered a half-smile, looking around.
Scott’s stomach sank. Ranger was always with Scott. Cady’s affection for the dog had been part of her attraction. She was friendly to his best-friend and Ranger was always excited to see her.
Scott choked up, pausing in his reply. He didn’t want to give away his weakness, but with his lack of sleep, guilt, and other worries, Scott didn’t know how long he could avoid the effects of the virus. He cleared his throat, but couldn’t find the words.
Cady reached out and touched Scott’s elbow. “Scott? Are you okay? What happened to Ranger?” She waited patiently, the sincere concern soft in her eyes. She always tried to come across as uncaring, but she was a caring woman and Scott would someday tell her that she wasn’t fooling anyone.
“I… He ran off. There was a white van coming after us. I had to leave him. Just down by Cedars, but… there he was and suddenly he was gone.” Scott lifted his hand as if he could see Ranger running away in front of him. “He’s just gone.”
“Oh, Scott, I’m so sorry.” Genuine sadness pulled the corners of Cady’s eyes down. “Will he know how to get home? That’s not far.” Hope lightened her eyes for a moment as she tried to consider other ways to resolve the situation.
“I’m not sure. He followed a raccoon, for crying out loud. He’s not like that. I just…” Scott laughed as he wiped tears from under his eyes. “I don’t know why I’m crying. He’s just a dog.”
Indignant, Cady shook her head, stroking his arm. “He’s not just a dog. He’s Ranger. There’s no replacement for a dog like that.” She reached for Scott’s face, tilting his chin up so she could see his face in the light of the open door. “Scott, I think the reason you’re easily upset is that… I think you’re getting sick. I… I’m so sorry. I wish I had…” She wiped moisture from her own eyes, sniffing as she looked down. She dropped her hand to her side.
The absence of her touch was decidedly apparent. “I probably am getting sick. It’s about that time. Incubation is supposed to be roughly three days. It’s an ugly disease, Cady. You don’t… You don’t know what I’ve done, what I’ve seen.” He’d said too much and he clamped his mouth shut.
Too fresh of memories ate at his mind like acid.
His soul wouldn’t be far behind.
Shaking her head, Cady lifted her head. “I don’t care what you’ve done. Let it go. I’m serious, you can’t hold yourself accountable. I know you, Scott. You’re a good man. You would never do anything without justification.” She rubbed his arm, causing a shiver up the back of his neck. “Look, let’s get back to my place. We’ll get you settled and then worry about what we’ve done or what we need to do.” Worry darkened her gaze.
“Yeah, okay.” Scott didn’t move other than to look up at the clear sky and the half-moon shining down on them. “We don’t deserve this, do we? Did we do something to earn this type of devastation?” He glanced back at Rachel’s body lying on the front lawn, understanding just what it had taken for her to come to his place. She’d probably hoped he would shoot her. Everyone in the community knew he was serious about trespassing and keeping weapons.
Had she gone to his house in the hopes he would take care of her pain?
Cady sighed. “It’s not about deserve, Scott. I’m not sure why this would happen. Let’s just take it a day at a time, okay?”
But she did know. She’d been around at the inception of the whole thing and when she’d admitted it to Scott he couldn’t believe it.
Scott nodded. What else was he going to say? He had no doubt he was getting sick, he could feel his body fighting something and his sanity relied on holding it together and believing he could survive it.
He had to survive it.
Scott had to ignore the odds that weren’t in his favor that he was going to survive, let alone Cady, too. He wasn’t sure on statistics, but data could be skewed. There were too many variables and not enough facts.
The one thing Scott did know, people were dying and it could be attributed to the sickness. He wasn’t sure on anything else but that.
He coughed before pulling open the door. Climbing in, he glanced back at his house. He could come back, but things weren’t going to be the same. Even just a few hundred yards from his drive, he could never really return home.
How long did he have to live?
Chapter 16
Jackson
The moon searched for a place to set along the southern mountain range when Bret and Stan finally returned from their trip into town. Dawn was moments away and Jackson was past exhausted which just irritated him more. The entire situation had taken the fun out of the events. His body ached from the beating and the exertion in the pool.
Their engine’s roar announced their arrival, triggering Jackson to do something other than just sitting around.
Jackson motioned toward the hallway as he stood from the bench he’d been forced to sit in. He hadn’t had a lot of answers for them – that he’d been willing to give – so he’d been left with crackers and peanut butter. “I need to use the restroom, do you mind?” The three men he’d been left with had stopped treating him like a prisoner as they’d grown more and more restless. They stood at the windows, pacing back and forth as they waited for the other men to return.
Without waiting for approval, Jackson ducked down the hallway, retrieving his backpack and tucking it discreetly behind the coat rack by the front door. He made his way back to the kitchen, careful to retrace his steps to come from the bathroom direction. He adjusted his jeans buttons like he’d used it as well. The men didn’t even notice his absence or his return. All that effort for nothing.
Laughing and loud slurred talking came from the front doors as Bret and Stan stumbled through the foyer and into the kitchen. Bret clapped Stan on the shoulder. His face was flushed, but not from fever. His glassy eyes gave away more than just his sick state.
Alcohol was going to help Jackson a lot more than he could have planned.
The man that had stayed with Jackson stepped forward and thrust his finger into Bret’s weaving chest. “Where’s the Cure?” His hand shook and a rash had erupted along the back of his neck and along his cheeks. When the pox showed up on him, it was going to be painful.
Bret held the bag aloft in the man’s direction. He smirked and guffawed as he tried to figure out the words to say. “Um… Here it is. We feel better already.” He snorted, then sang loudly in the general direction of Stan who was grinning stupidly. “I can’t believe how good I feel, yeah, you, too, Stan? Like that time I spoked, no, smoked pot out back by Pa’s barn.” He sobered a bit. “Rest his soul.” Bret lifted his gaze and searched the room for Jackson, his eyes narrowing as he spied him. “You. You killed my father.”
They’d already applied the ointment.
Jackson searched Bret’s countenance for the shiny medicine. How long ago had he applied it? Had it had sufficient time to soak into his skin or was Jackson in danger of rubbing it onto his own skin, if he tried escaping?
Either way, he needed to get out of there. Fear finally kicked in and his eyes widened.
Bret stepped toward him, stopping as his friend or brother reached for his arm and jerked him back. He narrowed his eyes. “Give me the Cure.”
With Bret distracted, Jackson edged from his position in the kitchen toward the front hallway. He wanted nothing to do with that “Cure”. He kept his back to the wall as he side-stepped from the room. Get out, Jackson, just get out.
“You’re taking too much of it!” The man pushed against Bret, shoving his shirtless brother away from the group circled around the ointment jar on th
e table in the living room. “I need more of it than that. You guys already got some.”
Bret stumbled back, catching himself but drunk enough to fall the other direction, He slid, bumping against Jackson direction as Jackson tried scrambling back. The slick ointment on the back of his hand connected with Jackson’s knuckles.
Jackson jerked backward, staring in horror at the shiny toxin on his skin. He kicked Bret off him, bending down to wipe his hand on the carpet. It was too late, of course, but maybe he could limit how much was absorbed. His face felt tight immediately and he stared at Bret with the ferocity of hungry grizzly. “You idiot!” His scream wrenched from his chest. “How stupid could you be?”
He’d created the Cure. There was no escaping the consequences. One way or the other, his creations were coming back to haunt him.
“Hey, get back here! I just want to talk to you, man. You saved us.” Bret called out, but he didn’t follow Jackson as he returned to the cooling relief of the initial urtica ferox ointment. He waved Jackson off as he turned back. “Give me some more.”
The euphoria of the initial application would be addicting. Jackson couldn’t enjoy it as the dread of what was going to come drenched him in sweat.
Those cowboys had no idea that Jackson grabbed his bag and darted from the house, climbing into his rig. He had to get down from the mountain. He needed to find a safe spot to hole up for however long he needed.
He’d never tried the ointment on a healthy specimen. He’d never seen its effects. What was he going to do?
What would he be able to do to stave off the hemorrhaging? That would be the worst thing. He could fight hallucinations. He could fight delusions and sweating and even unbearable pain.
There was nothing he could do against hemorrhaging. He didn’t have time to get to Cady’s house before the Cure started to work on him. He didn’t have more than a handful of hours left.
What had just happened? How had he gotten so lazy and dropped his guard? Jackson had no doubt that he’d done that to himself. He could own his mistakes.
His hands shook as he turned the steering wheel to get down off the mountain. He glanced at the digital green numbers on the clock on the dashboard.
How long did he have until he lost his mind?
Chapter 17
Cady
The aroma of spaghetti with its garlic seasoning and home-dried basil carried upstairs to Cady’s bathroom through her master bedroom. With the power still on, lights weren’t an issue – yet. Bailey heated up the spaghetti with the stove before calling everyone to dinner.
Escaping to her room to gather her composure had become essential. Any questions or doubts Cady might have had about the disease’s high infection rate were gone.
Her hands shook as she paced back and forth on the tiled floor. Every emotion was laid bare after seeing Scott getting sick. The very real possibility had actually become something she could see.
Kent didn’t count. She hadn’t seen him progress through the disease. Watching Scott as he got worse over hours instead of days was taking its toll on her. How could she escape something that was so prevalent and seemed to have no problem infecting everything on two legs?
She braced her arms on the edge of the counter and leaned close to the mirror. Her hair was up in a sloppy bun and strands of silver stood out as they intertwined with the mass of brunette ones pulled tightly from her temple. Tired. She looked so tired.
At least her eyes weren’t red-rimmed – not like Scott’s.
Not yet.
She didn’t really have a cough and she didn’t have a fever. All of that didn’t keep her from checking herself for the rash. Twisting and turning, she searched her neck and upper shoulders, lifting her shirt to see her lower back as well as under her clavicles on her upper chest. A fever she could treat. The rash she could probably even treat. That was fine, doable even. But she wasn’t sure what the disease did to a person mentality.
Breaking it down, she was scared of the disease, but she wasn’t sure why. Kent had been sick when he’d come the first time, but he’d spoken of going for the Cure – despite her pleadings that he not touch it or even go to town. When he’d returned to Cady’s place, he’d been out of his mind, but Cady couldn’t be certain that he had used the Cure. She had no idea. Chances were very good he had and the way he’d been acting hadn’t been congruent with just a disease.
Rachel’s state of mind had nothing to do with the Cure. Sadly, her sickness and the horrific loss of her children had contributed to her mental status. She hadn’t had any contact with the Cure.
There was nothing tying the only two deaths she had witnessed together – except the disease.
Cady hadn’t seen anyone survive the disease, or heard of anyone surviving. At that point, it was the disease killing everyone combined with their circumstances. If she could focus on getting rest, getting Scott rest, were their chances increased to survive the illness? Most likely, unless the end game of the virus also messed with the host’s mental state.
She leaned her head back and groaned softly. If only she could find someone who had survived it. She wasn’t even sure on the true length of the disease – which would be different for everyone – but she didn’t even have a basic timeline.
The symptoms started out with red-rimmed eyes, fever, cough. From what she’d seen, there was a rash that progressed to a pox. After that, she was unsure.
Scott was getting weaker. Cady had winced each time he’d stumbled while they unloaded the Bronco into the garage. He hadn’t seemed to notice, either that or he fought through and didn’t want her to see.
If it had been Cady, she would have felt that way.
The sickness seemed to be moving fast with him. Unless that was the way it came on. Slow, slow, and then bam.
“Mom! Time to eat.” Bailey’s voice had taken on a hopeful tinge, like she wouldn’t have to worry about watching her mother die alone.
“I’m coming. Just a sec!” Cady wasn’t going to let Bailey watch her die.
She turned off the light. When was the power going to go out? The world wasn’t essentially gone completely, but there had to be less people every day to work the utilities and their jobs. Once the power stopped, she would have to blackout her windows.
Actually, she would do that the next morning before she got too sick. Bailey wouldn’t know how to do it. Blacking out the windows would keep the lights hidden from anyone on the road and giving away their presence at the house. With the generator going, the sound would give them away, but in the garage, the generator would be mostly muffled. Cady just had to get it into Bailey’s head how important it was to air out the garage when she turned off the generator and to not linger in there while the generator was running. The emissions would kill her.
Night lights were randomly placed throughout the house, one of which was in a wall plugin beneath one of her bedroom windows. Softly closing her bedroom door for a moment, Cady sank to the floor beside her bed and used the light from the nightlight to make sure the handgun she’d stuck to the underside of the mattress was in place.
She hated to consider it an option, but once Scott got sick, he would change. He wouldn’t be himself and Cady had to be on guard as long as she was able. As much as she hated the thought of killing him, she had to protect Jason, Bailey, and the baby.
Plus, what if the pain did get so bad she had to take care of things? Cady had to be prepared for every eventuality.
If Scott was getting sick, Jason probably would be close behind him. How much would Bailey see? If Cady had the presence of mind, she would get her daughter and run up to her parents’ place. But Cady selfishly didn’t want to get sick and leave Bailey all alone. Jackson had sent the vaccine and Cady had been able to use it to protect her daughter as much as possible.
There was no going back now. Plus, Scott needed her.
Cady pushed to her feet, pulling her long sleeves up to her elbows. Leaving her room, she glanced up and down the hallway in cas
e someone had followed her upstairs.
Downstairs, she hid all indicators that she’d been making sure she had her self-defense weapon in place – in case she needed to kill her guests. No, that wasn’t something one said while sitting to eat dinner with company.
While Bailey served the meal, Jason offered the baby to Cady whose smile felt foreign on her face. As she cuddled the tiny infant, she raised her gaze to Jason. “You’ve done really well, Jason. Jessica seems to be thriving.”
The young man blushed, half-shrugging as he tilted his head toward Scott. “My uncle saved her. I just rode shotgun and fed her as we came home.” He looked toward Scott with something close to hero worship.
Cady smiled, nodding, glad to hear Scott get some recognition. “Yeah, Scott can be pretty amazing. So, what happened? How did you save her?” Cady focused on Scott.
Her neighbor and now housemate shifted uncomfortably on his seat. He cleared his throat, something haunting in his gaze that he couldn’t seem to shake. “It’s well… I just went into the hospital and pulled her out.” He smiled at Bailey as she scooped spaghetti onto his plate. He grinned. “Jason and I are so thankful you ladies welcomed us in. We haven’t had homecooked meals in a while. Just MREs, right, Jason?”
His sudden topic change seemed weird, but Cady didn’t question it. She understood evasion. Scott was trustworthy. If he’d done something, he would have a good reason. He didn’t do things unless they were morally right.
Jason scoffed, rolling his eyes. “If you call crackers and peanut butter MREs, then yeah, we had MREs.”
Bailey laughed, rolling her eyes. “Oh, wow. My mom has some that are like lasagna and beef stew. They aren’t the best tasting, but I guess they fill the hole.” She glanced shyly at Jason and Cady almost groaned aloud. Was that going to be a problem? She was going to get sick and not be able to chaperone the two teenagers living together under one roof and playing house.
180 Days and Counting... Series Box Set books 4 - 6 Page 9
