by Greg Dragon
“Don’t.” Rett interrupted her. “Don’t talk about drugs like they’re prescriptions.”
She swallowed a bite without chewing and then rasped, “Sorry.”
Rett walked over to the nearby trashcan and pulled out a piece of cardboard. He brushed the broken glass from the front seat and floorboard. Anger made him kick the door shut. An open passenger window put his children at risk. He would have to put them in the back seat. What was he going to do with her? He wanted to reach Uncle Jed’s before dark.
Rett walked back to them and grabbed a meatball sub. “Won’t be long until road travel is stopped. I need to get the kids to their uncle’s house. Don’t need any hassles, understand me?”
“’Cause you hit me?”
Rett leaned back against the tailgate beside Teddy and bit into his sub while staring at her. Her throat would be a vicious bruise soon. He chewed and swallowed before answering her question. “You shot at my children.”
She slurped her drink and brown fluid rolled down her chin. “I’m heading to Tyler.”
He frowned. It wouldn’t be much problem to drop her there, but traveling with strangers could be dangerous. What if another wave came?
“I’ve got a sleeping bag, and I’ll nap in the back. It’s about eighty miles.”
He’d seen the monsters in action. Punching through the back glass to snack on one of his boys would be easy. But with luck, she would be in the back for less than two hours. At some point he would have to err on the side of acting like a decent human being, and decided to start now. If Eddie Jean survived the disease, she might end up in similar circumstances. He wanted people to help her. “You’ll have to pee when we do. No special stops for you.”
Katie licked her fingers, so he tossed her a Hershey’s bar. She ripped the wrapping with her teeth before saying, “Fine by me. I’ve got a warrant out on me in Tyler.”
Telling the truth shouldn’t be penalized. It pissed him off that she waited until he agreed to drive her there. Katie had been around the block.
“Thought I should come clean,” she said. “I’ve been trying to get home for a long time.”
Katie’s confession brought out the feelings he’d suppressed since he went looking for Quitman’s cave. Normal things like kindness, concern, and charity. He savored their return. Rett suspected charity would soon be seen as weakness in the new pecking order. He didn’t care.
Eddie Jean wasn’t going to find her father one day living without compassion like Quitman Delaney. To have compassion, a man had to practice it. He had to raise his sons with heart and compassion too. The new world might change him, but he’d be damned if he let it take his humanity from him.
He said, “Thanks for being honest, Katie. It’s our pleasure to take you home. Collect your gear. We don’t want to get caught out after dark.”
Eddie Jean
Scot decided to let the Swarmers expend their time and energy breaking in the door. A good idea—except they didn’t tire. They had almost breached the door. Waiting was hard, harder than going out the door. Waiting let fear in, and then doubt.
Eddie Jean pressed her crucifix against her lips and bowed her head. Her prayer was one of thanks for every gift, smile, and hug she had ever received. She didn’t want to die, but if she did, she wanted to be appreciative for all she had loved and enjoyed.
Scot had established short telepathic communications with XOs and other humans fighting Swarmers. He’d learned telep extended past the town boundary lines, but he didn’t know the extent of its reach. He failed to contact his family in Tennessee.
In his helplessness, Scot communicated verbally and telepathically. “Leave her.” He held his breath. “No! Go out the window.” Seconds ticked past. Scot yelled, “Tayla? Tayla?” He punched a filing cabinet and then kicked it.
Outside, the Swarmers growled and beat against the door. Every so often Scot repeated Tayla’s name, but she never responded. He stopped trying.
“Did Tayla make—”
“She didn’t trust my advice.” He turned his back.
“Maybe she needs to concentrate on escaping. You’re experienced with telep, she’s not.”
Scot nodded. “Her mother turned and she locked herself in the bathroom.” He rubbed his face with his hands.
Eddie Jean had learned from half listening to him that she had been right about a jump in evolution. There were three distinct types of infected or monsters and two types of enhanced humans. People able to make the evolutionary jump became XOs. She and Scot had upgraded with even more skills.
Eddie Jean felt different. Her reflexes were faster and she could block all the jumpy, frightened, telepathic shout-outs with ease. Scot seemed to be hypersensitive to them. He had information overload symptoms. She could tell by his glassy stare and clenched fists.
“Why aren’t you helping people on telep?” he asked.
“It’s too chaotic.”
They were surrounded, like everyone else. Humans woke last after the Hum wreaked havoc.
“They’ll be in soon. I counted thirty.” He squatted down beside her with his rifle across his lap. If this was their last stand, she wanted to share her feelings. “Scot, I’d like to say—”
“Not now,” he said. “Stay sharp.”
She licked her lips and worked the bolt on her rifle with lightning speed. She reloaded in a snap too. Eddie Jean didn’t want to think about it, but she worried her healing touch would be lost the moment she killed one. Gifts from God didn’t come with lifetime guarantees.
“Quitman would be proud.” Scot ducked his head after his goof.
“We’re facing a last stand,” she grumbled, “and I’m stuck with you?”
He flicked a hunk of hair out of his eyes and grinned. “Sorry.”
Eddie Jean almost smoothed his hair back but instead asked, “XOs?”
“All fine. Cara said people taking Q’s supplements didn’t make the jump.”
Eddie Jean frowned. “That’s bad.”
Scot said, “I can’t make decisions without info. Tell me what you know.”
“The upgrade had a purpose. Humans have been through this live-and-die scenario before. Last time our bodies quit making vitamin C, for instance. Maybe our history is censored so people can be free from our violent past.”
“Cyclic destructions? Like a worldwide flood?”
She nodded. “The unchanged people will handicap us. You can see the conflict coming, can’t you?”
“Sure, discrimination, but first we have to survive day one-post Hum.”
Banging on the door in tempo grew louder.
She tucked her crucifix under her sweater. “I’m sorry my mom messed up your family.”
Boom! The door cracked inward.
“Sounds like they’re using a tree trunk,” Scot said.
She caught their syrupy stench as sunbeams bounced in.
Scot moved to the center of the room and she joined him.
He said, “Stay focused and fire with precision, don’t panic. Move forward when I do and count your shots. We don’t want to reload at the same time.” He touched her shoulder. “For what it’s worth, I’m glad I’m with you.”
“Thanks.” She steeled herself and opened her telep.
The door crashed onto the floor. The first faces she saw looked way worse than Swarmers. They were too malformed to look at. Others were more exotic and bigger. Her heartbeat pulsed in her temples. They didn’t stand a chance.
Scot fired. Pop! Pop! Pop! He beamed, {In the eye}
His shots inside the building woke her from a defeated daze. She followed his orders. All discomforts vanished as she worked her firing sequence in with his. The putrid stench the exotics emitted no longer affected her. She turned off her feelings, and focused on aim—pinpoint the eye, and squeeze.
In their eagerness to rush in, the exotics got stuck in the doorway, creating easy targets. Their rage became so intense they attacked each other. They piled up fast, several feet high, b
efore the ones behind pulled the dead away to clear the entrance.
Scot yelled, “Follow me.” He charged through the door, firing as he went.
What’s he doing? Her legs propelled her forward before she completed the thought. Fear didn’t restrain her. Blinking from the blazing sunlight, she searched for targets. The environmental devastation jarred. Trees were stacked helter-skelter, and the ground had been gouged with fissures and deep gorges.
An arm slammed into her side, knocking her over into the gravel. She rolled with the force and jumped to her feet. Scot shot the one lunging for her throat. She brought the rifle up before the next one moved in. The exotics backed up because their victims fought back. They hesitated and their attack waned.
She felt heartsick for what humankind faced in the future, but she rejected the fear that threatened to overtake her and fired. Even though she couldn’t see Scot, she knew his location like she had GPS in her head. He was surrounded and never stopped shooting.
The rifle barrel grew warm as she fired, reloaded, fired, reloaded. Ejected shells dropped near her feet. The big exotics with webbed feet retreated into the background and let the others attack. Left behind were the tall ones with fangs and messianic glares, the hideous troll-like things, and Swarmers. The trolls were eating machines, and they attacked from different directions in a ruthless manner.
“I’m out,” Scot yelled, and then he yelped.
Eddie Jean felt his pain explode in her head. Terror of losing him infused her blood with heartfelt agony. She dropped the rifle, clutched her head, and flashed—her telep network lit up like a lightning bolt. The flash short-circuited the nearby exotics, and they fell to the ground.
When she realized that she killed them with thoughts, she panicked, covering her head and squatting down. She couldn’t use it again. Never. Did she kill Scot? Panting, she listened. No, she heard his shallow breathing. The exotics acted confused and then charged. She crossed herself.
Closing her eyes, she flashed. And then again—pulling back on the intensity. The exotic pack sprinted in different directions. The creatures leapt gorges in the warped road and over fallen tree barriers twenty feet high. Closer ones dropped dead.
Scot groaned. She picked up her rifle and went to him. The ground under him appeared jagged and slashed with shallow fissures. Blood saturated his sun-streaked hair. He’s not moving.
A big one tried to crawl away but convulsed about ten feet away from Scot. She recognized death throes and ignored it. Eddie Jean carefully rolled Scot over onto his back. He was conscious, but going into shock. His eyes looked glazed and stared off behind her head. His lips moved. His breathing was rapid, shallow, and irregular.
She assessed his head injuries and lacerated triceps muscle. Anxious, she waited, watching over Scot until he self-healed. He didn’t heal.
Please, God. Please help him.
“Run!” he said, trying to move his injured arm to push her.
An exotic rushed at them from behind the emergency shelter. A vampire. Its shirt wasn’t bloody, so it hadn’t fed. Eddie Jean targeted it with flash. It stopped, grabbed its head, and burst into flames. Behind a rock, creatures attacked each other. A flash side effect?
Eddie Jean put her hands on Scot’s chest and reached for the healing flick. Nothing happened. Scot couldn’t self-heal and she couldn’t help him! His breathing slowed.
“No!” she screamed as pain seared her chest. “Help! Please help me!” She clutched his hand and raised her head to search the sky. Eddie Jean had never felt so lost or alone. “Please? Oh, please?” She couldn’t curse God, but she could pray for help as Scot struggled to breathe. She bowed her head and the words wouldn’t come.
Eddie Jean opened her eyes and glanced around. Her little sister, Kimmy, stepped out of the shadowed woods.
Eddie Jean
Eddie Jean gasped.
She stared at her sister, shocked. From a distance, Kimmy didn’t look half-dead or rabid. For a stunning moment, she looked like the same little girl who crawled into her bed after a nightmare. A rush of good memories flooded her, and Eddie Jean smiled.
Kimmy paced naked and stopped to stare at her. Her body movements reflected concern. Had she heard her yell and come to help her big sister? Tears clouded her vision. She wanted to believe it. They had been close.
For the one-hundredth time, she wondered if she could heal Swarm in a small person. Granddad warned her never to try. Not that it mattered now.
Kimmy became agitated. “Stay away,” Eddie Jean begged, silently.
She glanced from her sister to Scot. “Heal, Scot,” she whispered. Nothing.
Light faded from Scot’s beautiful eyes and his pupils dilated. Tears spilled. Her feelings for him wouldn’t allow her to sit by and watch him die. She had to try something to help.
Eddie Jean delivered a chest thump and began rescue CPR. Tears blinded her as she pumped his chest to keep his blood moving. After years of healing, CPR seemed archaic. Her new senses told her he wasn’t responding.
She stopped and cried. Eddie Jean cried for everyone lost in the new world’s birth, and for people who ached with the same loss as she did. Slowly, the gut-wrenching tension, narrowed vision, and bounding pulse faded. She leaned over to brush Scot’s hair out of his eyes. She couldn’t take her eyes off his face.
People were always watching them after their parents’ affair became public knowledge. She had made a point of not looking at him except during football games. She even ignored him when he came out to watch her JV soccer games. Eddie Jean hesitated and then leaned over to kiss his lips. They were still warm, and she kissed him again. “Don’t leave me, Scot.”
Kimmy shrieked and darted straight at them.
Eddie Jean stiffened. Scot was dying, and Kimmy ran arrow-fast. Behind her sister, her mother and Granddad charged. A family feast. The one thing she hoped never to witness. Scot’s breathing became slower and fainter. Grief choked her.
She couldn’t flash Kimmy.
Her hands felt fire hot and ready to heal. What if her healing depended on her mindset? Had Kimmy brought her back in touch with her feelings, so she could tap back into her healing? “Thank you, Kimmy.”
Eddie Jean felt the colors in her skin return like a soft brush of a feather. Startled, she put her hands on Scot’s chest and let the good flow in a single flick.
Scot grunted, and his breathing improved.
Her heart raced. I haven’t lost it. Focus, focus, focus. She dropped into the calm. Could she heal Scot and then Kimmy? Or should she tackle Kimmy and heal her before healing Scot fully? Indecision choked her. Her little sister deserved to be healed as much as Scot. In the past, she could heal one person at a time. Anguish blinded her.
Scot or Kimmy?
She had seconds to choose. Family first?
If Scot couldn’t self-heal, he would be vulnerable to airborne Swarm. He’d become Swarmer. Eddie Jean couldn’t let that happen. She looked away from her sister and tried to forget Kimmy unwrapping Christmas gifts, dancing to cartoons, and catching butterflies.
Head first—heal his head first.
She remembered the light had dimmed when she couldn’t shake her foot free, and she couldn’t hold her breath any longer. Scot dived in and gave the light back to her. Her hands zapped like they housed electrical current. She put one hand on Scot’s forehead and the other behind his head. The colors rushed in under a new-found power and he gasped.
Kimmy yelped and veered off. Her mother followed. Scot groaned and his breathing returned to normal. Eddie Jean repeated the previous attempt. The flick snapped and the cold swirled into her hands.
Granddad stopped twenty feet behind her, watching. He knew healing required unbroken concentration. He hoped to make her screw up. Her skin colors swirled. She put one hand on Scot’s chest and the other under his back. This time Scot reached up with his good arm to grasp her wrist on his chest. A heat wave, an energy surge, popped him like a defibrillator shock. Behind her, Gran
ddad screeched, and he ran.
Scot groaned. Surprised, they repeated it.
Minutes later, he pushed her hand off his forehead and sat up, squinting at the sun. They smiled at each other and hugged. She crossed herself and said a prayer.
“Thanks, EJ.”
“We’re a team, remember?” Eddie Jean stood and looked for Kimmy. All three had left.
The vampire’s smoking carcass fouled the air. Gunfire echoed in the distance. The fighting had not stopped.
“Ow.” He cradled his wounded arm.
“Don’t move.” She examined his arm and noticed healing had begun, thank God. She pushed her fingertips into the wound. Eddie Jean visualized his microvasculature and reached for the flick. Cold burned her and heat cooled her. Eddie Jean removed her fingers. She left a patch of healing salve over his wound.
“That felt weird.” Scot lifted up his arm. “Looks like a big purple blister.”
Eddie Jean sat back on her heels, staring at her hands.
“Not more, emo?”
She bit her lip.
“Seriously, light faded but I could see you.”
She dropped her head and cried. He put his uninjured arm around her until she stopped. “What happened?”
“You couldn’t self-heal because of the head trauma. Don’t share our weakness over telep.”
His eyebrows rose. “Agreed. What else?”
“Nothing.” She helped him up.
“Tell me.”
She took a deep breath. “Swarmers can’t attack while I’m healing.”
“Good news,” he said, and surveyed the scene. Eddie Jean had never seen such destruction. Sure, trees were uprooted when a tornado appeared, but not like this. Even Scot’s Jeep had fallen into a deep gorge. In the distance, a violet-colored, circular beam of light surrounded a clear glade with trees. The tiny island looked serene in the torn landscape.
“Let’s check these freaks out. Gather intel,” he said. “How did they die? They’re not shot.”
She covered her face with her hands.
“EJ?” He peeled her hands away. “How did you kill them?”
