Graham's Resolution Trilogy Bundle: Books 1-3

by A. R. Shaw

  “I got it, Sam.”

  Sam nodded and did a once-over of Mark’s gear. The boy might need another hat. He took off his own wolf fur–lined hat and shoved it over the knit one already on Mark’s head. “We can’t have your ears freezing off; Marcy might not think you’re too pretty without ears.” Mark clipped the spotlight handle to his belt loop and looped the rope bundle over his right shoulder.

  “Pay the line out slowly. Try not to let it hang up on bushes or anything.”

  Mark nodded, his face sober.

  “All right. Take the line and tie it off to the front bumper and head out.”

  “Wait!” Marcy yelled. Mark was getting ready to leave way too fast when she realized he wasn’t going to say good-bye to her. She pulled herself up and reached over the seat. Sam turned away to give them some privacy, while Marcy planted a kiss on Mark’s lips.

  “I’ll be fine, Marcy.” He sounded a little embarrassed. “I’ll be right back.”

  Mark stepped out of the truck and shut the door quickly. The first sound that registered, besides the howling wind, was his own boots crunching into the deep snow, followed closely by the persistent wind that whipped snow viciously from one direction into the next. The changing directions created confusion; he was glad he already knew where he should head.

  He heaved the coiled rope line again and walked quickly to the front of the Scout. The swirly snow made the simple expedition difficult; it was hard to see even a foot in front of his own face. He knew it was late in the evening, but because of the darkness the time might as well have been midnight, with the blackness beyond the fluttering white. He held his left hand against the cold metal of the frozen truck to help keep his position as he stepped blindly, one foot in front of the next. Once he found the bumper, he quickly wiped away the accumulated snow and tied off one end of the looped rope and tapped the hood twice, indicating he was on his way to the house, somewhere in the whiteout beyond their vision. Temporarily blinded by the headlights, he began to break a path ahead of him while unfurling the line.

  Marcy and Sam felt the vibrations as Mark tied off the rope, even though the unceasing gusts increased in their erratic cadence. When Mark tapped the hood twice, Marcy took a deep breath while Sam pulled out a small flashlight and checked his watch, then started counting the minutes. For a short time the spotlight beam remained visible, but soon the swirling whiteness enveloped even Mark’s light, leaving only the surrounding darkness.

  Soon the darkness and awkward silence took over between the two occupants left in the cab of the truck. The quiet tension was too much for Marcy. “Sam, I’m sorry I yelled at you earlier.”

  “It’s okay, Marcy, don’t give it another thought.” Sam drew his words out slow, to calm her nerves, and patted her gloved hand as she gripped the back of the seat near his shoulder. He kept his eyes scanning the windshield, but beyond the gleam of the headlights flaring back from the whiteout, nothing else was visible.

  Then the silence took over again. Except for the occasional sound of a slight vibration tremor, Sam couldn’t tell where Mark might be as he strung out the line. He figured the boy had about two more minutes before he encountered the house, which Sam guessed was about eighty or so feet from the truck. The rope was just over two hundred feet, so there should be plenty of slack, he guessed.

  Then the sound stopped. Marcy let out her breath believing that Mark had successfully found something to tie onto. The violent squall seemed to increase even more in intensity, and she was glad he was on his way back now.

  Sam tried to picture what Mark was doing, and he knew by experience that the boy would probably double-time it back to the truck once he completed his task. The problem was, the task was taking way too long. Sam didn’t let on in the ensuing silence that he was beginning to worry, but he was. He would give Mark another few minutes. Maybe something reasonable had happened, but Sam couldn’t think of what it might have been to take this long. Unless he let go of the damn rope, Sam thought and sat up, suddenly ready to take action.

  He tried not to scare the girl, but if something had happened out there in these temperatures, he had precious little time to find the young man before frostbite would set in, causing injury. Then the killing hypothermia would come.

  “Marcy, darlin’, he’s taking a little too long.”

  “No. No, he’s fine, he’s coming right back. He said he’d be right back.” She sounded as if she was trying to convince herself as much as Sam.

  Sam put his hand over hers again, resting on the back of his seat. “I’m going out for him now.”

  “No, don’t leave me here by myself, Sam,” she protested.

  He didn’t have time for this, and he sure as hell didn’t like whiny girls. “Climb over here,” he said, but she didn’t move. “Get up here right now, God dammit! Honk the horn three times, and then wait to a count of ten, and repeat the sequence three more times. Keep repeating that. Do you understand me?” he said in a cold, deliberate tone to get through to her.

  “Yes,” she said, scowling at him.

  “Good girl. I’ll go get him, and I’ll be right back. Do not lose your head, Marcy, and whatever you do, do not leave this truck.”

  “I won’t. I’m scared, but I’m not stupid!” she yelled.

  Good. Mad, she’d be less likely to curl up in a corner and give in.

  He stepped out into the snow, narrowing his eyes, searching for the glimmer of Mark’s flashlight, for his shadowy form to appear before him.

  He found the line tied to the bumper and headed out, sure he’d find the boy at any moment.

  He did not.

  .

  13 Frayed Ends

  Sam didn’t have his hat, but he couldn’t worry about freezing ears at a time like this. Ice started to collect into his dark mustache and around his long eyelashes, threatening to clog his vision almost immediately. He held his arm up in defense of the soft onslaught and grasped the line, following it as he trudged forward, nearly blind. He yelled out several times, “Mark! Mark! Where are you?”

  After a few steps, he cupped one hand around his mouth to formulate a loud yell again. As he let out the accumulated energy, Marcy began the honking routine, eliminating his effort to yell and startling him at the same time. Sam shook his head after his ears stopped ringing but strained his vision all the same for any sign of the boy.

  He detected nothing but white as he squinted to keep the flakes out of his eyes. He held the line and trudged farther ahead, keeping the small flashlight by his side. To his dismay, the rope didn’t hold tension as he went on, leading him to come to a frustrating conclusion: Mark hadn’t tied the lifeline off, nor did he have a hold of the line. “God dammit!” Sam said to no one but the wind.

  Out of fear he quickened his pace, hoping to find the kid sooner. Behind him Marcy begin the honking series again, and Sam strained to find any sign of footprints, but with the blowing snow, he couldn’t detect anything.

  When the sequence started again, the sound came sooner than ten seconds. Afraid the girl might lose her wits soon, he hoped to hell she had the sense to stay within the safety of the truck if she lost them.

  Double-timing ahead, he hoped to find Mark but what he found instead sent his heart plummeting; the frayed end of the rope line. “Mark! Mark! Where the hell are you?” He squatted down to examine the snow for any signs of tracks. He finally detected a low depression in the snow, but it led farther on into frozen nothingness. Not a footprint, but something larger. He tried to discern any reason the boy would have left the rope line. Perhaps a house mere feet away, or a light—anything that would make him ignore the warnings Sam had issued.

  Sam turned back toward Marcy, who was blasting again too soon. At least he knew she was still in the truck. “I shouldn’t have left her there,” he said as he contemplated searching farther into the unknown or heading back to the truck. That was when he sensed someone nearby. The whisper of a presence of someone else taking up space nearby and nothing more
. He began to turn around hoping to find Mark coming toward him, but what happened next took him by surprise. He only glanced for a second before the impact connected with the base of his skull, laying him out on the snow, stunned. He tried to get up, but was struck again and then again until he no longer saw white but only darkness. He felt his body being dragged seconds later, and blacked out altogether.

  ~ ~ ~

  A distant and nagging sound pushed through the veil. The disruption came in threes and sometimes fours; then the series started all over again. Who’s making that damn noise? The pounding pain in the back of Sam’s head didn’t help matters. Then he started to recall what had taken place and the panicked need to open his eyes set in, but confusion clouded his mind. The effort to fall into the silent abyss tempted him. Only his promise to Addy gave him any encouragement to climb out.

  Finally he convinced himself to try to open his eyes a slit, though the effort hurt like hell. A ragged figure turned to face him: an older woman with a wild head of hair, long and silver-gray, stood over him. Her crazed eyes were of the lightest green, almost golden in color. Without ever hearing her speak, he held no doubt they were all in grave danger now.

  He tried to move his head, but even the smallest effort sent pain rocketing through him. His arms were bound as well as his legs. What happened next he couldn’t anticipate. She surveyed him with those strange eyes, watching every movement he made as he regained consciousness.

  “What are you doing here? Who sent you?” she said as she crossed her arms in front of her, revealing a long butcher knife in one hand.

  Sam licked his chapped lips as he realized his hands and feet were bound, yet shaking from the cold. He lay in a puddle of water on a cold wood floor, littered with debris. The base of a wooden dining room chair sat dismantled before the stone fireplace, along with a disembodied accordion lampshade, appearing as if she used parts of the stiff fabric for kindling. He cleared his throat with a raspy sound. “Where’s my friend? What did you do with him?”

  “I’m asking the questions here. This is my house. You were on my property. Tell me why. You’re from the gang that came here before, the one that took everything!” she screamed madly.

  “I . . . I . . . didn’t. I don’t know what you’re talking about, ma’am. Can’t you see there’s a storm?” Even speaking sent shooting pains through his injured skull. The effort to reason with her was killing him. His head hurt like hell, and his vision kept doubling as he tried to focus on her. She had done a number on his head, and he tasted the resulting blood on his lips.

  “We were just driving through,” he continued. “The storm caught us, and our truck was stuck. There was no crime against you, ma’am. We thought this house was deserted. We just needed shelter from the storm.”

  She skirted around him, taking a few steps but kept clear of him in case he tried something. He wasn’t sure what she might do. Deranged, she had obviously been the victim of a previous attack, so she suspected everyone of doing her harm.

  “You’re here to steal from me again. Didn’t you get enough the first time? I won’t let you do this to me a second time. I can barely eat.”

  The honking began to distract her, “Someone else is out there honking that obnoxious horn. How many are there?” She kicked his legs. “Tell me now, or I’ll hurt him—the other one botherin’ me tonight.” She took out a cigarette and a lighter from somewhere in the folds of the worn and tattered rags she wore. She lit it with ease and flair, puffing hard, brightening the tip. She wanted him to know without saying that she meant to torture Mark.

  Sam lay silent as he gathered clues from the situation. She didn’t seem to have a firearm, but he didn’t have his, either. She had to have hit him with something heavy and hard. But she might have as easily shot him dead with his own gun or Mark’s, for that matter.

  She must have lost them in the struggle outside. Her lack of a firearm didn’t make sense, but there she stood with a lit cigarette, threatening to hurt them. Despite that, Sam twisted his head and looked around to catch sight of the boy or their own weapons.

  “He’s not in here. I’m not stupid,” she spit out.

  “He’s only a kid. Please don’t hurt him.”

  She stopped for a minute, with her lit intention glowing between her fingers. She exhaled the smoke slowly as Sam watched her look up and around the room they were in. She took another drag and stared back down at him, causing the tip to brighten fire-red again. He did not like the look in her eyes. He knew right away what Graham would do. Then he heard the persistent sounds again in the distance, coming in a series of three.

  He could see that the sound agitated her. To his horror, the woman snuffed out the cigarette in frustration and warned him, “I’ll be right back to deal with you after I take care of that blasted noise.” She picked up a club by the door and rushed out into the storm.

  “No! You leave her alone. She’s a kid,” Sam yelled and kicked out, trying to follow, but with both of his feet tied, there wasn’t anything he could do. She had already slammed the door. His head ached in ravaged pain.

  14 Tended

  Dalton pounded on the quarantine lab door, trying to send the sound all the way to the lab over the raging snowstorm. The hour was late, and he was pissed. Yet again, after completing his rounds, he’d discovered Clarisse not where she was supposed to be, forcing him to hunt her down.

  “What are you doing here?” Clarisse said, surprised, when she answered the door. She quickly ushered him in, closed the door, and brushed the accumulated snow off his shoulders.

  Dalton glowered at her. “That’s what I’m asking you.” He wasn’t prepared to listen to whatever excuse she might try this time.

  Clarisse glared back at him. “Addy’s spending the night at Rick’s with Bethany. I didn’t need to come back to camp, and you have no right to take that tone with me.” She turned and went back to the lab office.

  Dalton blew out a breath of frustration as she walked away from him. “We had an agreement, Clarisse. You shouldn’t be out here by yourself.”

  “I have work to do. I’m close this time. I need every minute I can get.”

  The toll the work had taken on her showed. There were dark circles under her eyes, and she’d even lost more weight, leaving her almost gaunt. She took off her glasses for a minute to rub at her tired eyes. “I’m fine, Dalton. I’m just as safe here.”

  “No you’re not, Clarisse. Anything could happen to you out here all alone.”

  “I’m comfortable being alone, Dalton. Steven put up a rope line before he left. I’m sure you saw it on the way in here. I have plenty of provisions and water. If I got snowed in, there’s enough for thirty people for a month. There’s no reason I can’t stay,” she argued.

  “That’s where you’re wrong. Because of those provisions and gear stored here, you’re in jeopardy. You’re a mark. If someone were to stumble on this cache, they’d kill you in a second and take it all.” He paused, hoping he’d said enough to convince her. Knowing he was hitting below the belt, he added, “What would happen to Addy if she lost you, too, Clarisse?”

  “That’s not playing fair, Dalton.” Her smile, though crooked, told him she knew he hadn’t meant to hurt her. She adjusted her eyeglasses.

  Dalton calmed down a bit. She had a rare captivating smile, and he loved to coax it out of her, but when she showed it, the jolt of need within him made him guilty for the effort. “I know, but I’ll try anything to get you to listen to me. I’d hate for something to happen to you here by yourself. Please, let me walk you back to camp.”

  “No. I told you; I’m working on something important. I’m getting closer, I know I’m close.” She walked out of the darkened hallway and into the dimly lit lab, and Dalton followed her.

  “You can save us all tomorrow. Come on, you need to sleep, Clarisse. You’re worn out,” he said as he leaned against the door frame, exhausted himself.

  She ignored his suggestion. “You know; I’ve been work
ing on this from two different angles. I’ve had no success with the new antivirals, but something Addy said to me the other day made me reconsider my ideas, to look at it all again.”

  “What? You’re saying you’ve been working on another vaccine?” He didn’t shout, but raised his voice enough to let Clarisse know his feelings on that issue. No one had been able to come up with a vaccine, and he doubted, at this point, that anyone ever would. Surviving in the world they now found themselves in made more sense to him.

  “Don’t you think you should give up by now, Clarisse? We both remember the useless antivirals the government stockpiled. There was the barely effective vaccine and one that induced narcolepsy in some people. Remember?” he ranted, shaking his head. “People killed one another to get into long lines for those injections. They exposed themselves and their children to the virus, just to get an ineffective and potentially dangerous shot.”

  She remained silent while he remembered those awful days. When society had begun to go mad, Dalton had sounded the alert; the one that she had provoked. The approved members came like ghosts, never exposing themselves to others except those in their own family.

  Thankfully, the triggers for such an event were clear early on. She was employed by a private research lab near Seattle as a virologist after working first in the U.S. Air Force and then with the Centers for Disease Control and Prevention. When she reviewed the reports coming in, with stats increasing rapidly, she removed her lab coat, grabbed her keys, and quietly walked out the door while her coworkers were scrambling. With all the excitement, no one detected her departure, and that’s exactly the way the plan was supposed to work.

  After trashing her phone, she pulled out the one only Dalton and Rick knew of. She had quickly called Dalton and relayed the urgent information to him. He sounded the alert and set their plan into action; everything worked as he’d meant it to. Everyone dropped their daily lives, avoided all contact with the public, and made their way to the predetermined entry site.