Tainted Reality (The Rememdium Series Book 2)

by Ashley Fontainne

  “Fuck you, old man!” Kevin muttered.

  Everett turned to Dirk. “Recall the night you rescued me in Laredo and stopped me from grabbing the bag Daryl had with him?”

  “Yes, but how does that come into play?” Dirk answered.

  “Riverside had five vials of the serum, along with a flash drive containing the chemical formula of the cure I discovered. Those same exact chemical markers were in Porterfield’s blood.”

  “Jesus H. Christ! Are you trying to say…?”

  “Yes, Dirk. What I’m trying to say the person or group Riverside worked for got their hands on the formula. Or, maybe someone else did. I don’t know. My educated guess would be whoever found it, they tweaked and added things, such as the virus, maybe hoping they could reverse the formula. Make it more potent. Since they used the rabies virus, I figure they wanted to create something to make drugs more addictive. How the fungus fits it I’m not quite sure, and won’t be until more research is conducted. Could be simple contamination from a dirty lab.”

  Kevin’s face turned red as he burst from the seat. He lunged for Everett, hands outstretched, spittle flying from his mouth. “It’s all your fault, you stupid, stupid old man!”

  Everett didn’t move or try to outmaneuver Kevin’s onslaught. He simply remained still, closed his eyes, and waited for the impact.

  I deserve to die for what I’ve done. What I created. I ended the world.

  Kevin’s cold fingers found Everett’s throat and squeezed. They fell backward, toppling over the table. Everett heard the sounds of chairs falling over and men yelling, Dirk the loudest, to release him.

  Everett never raised a hand to fight back. He embraced the stars dancing in front of him, grateful his wretched life was almost over.

  The pressure around his neck ended and Everett sucked in a lungful of air.

  “Walk it off, Warton. Now,” Dirk yelled.

  Everett heard the scuffle of boots on the floor all around him and tried to stand. The leg he’d taken a bullet in last year was bent at an odd angle and throbbed with burning, white-hot pain.

  A warm hand reached down and grabbed his arm. “Come on, Doc. Get up. He’s gone,” Dirk muttered.

  Everett opened his eyes and looked at the remaining men staring at him. The looks on their faces, especially Dirk’s, made him wish they would have just let Warton finish him off.

  Teresa Alvarado woke up with a start. Heavy footsteps above her made goosebumps appear on her arms.

  “Roberto?”

  No response.

  Teresa stood and ran to the window, peering out. She clamped her fingers over her mouth to keep from screaming when she saw several men dressed in uniforms in the yard.

  “Roberto? Where are you?” she whispered again.

  Teresa didn’t have time to search for her missing fiancé. The footsteps were closer, right outside the door. Heart pounding and tears running down her face, Teresa looked for a place to hide. The only thing she could fit in was the old trunk she’d had shipped from home, full of all her favorite trinkets from her childhood bedroom.

  Crouching next to it, she opened the lid. There was just enough room for her to slide inside. Her hands shook and refused to obey her mind to close the top. Fighting off the claustrophobia, spurred on by the shouts of men from above, Teresa forced herself to close the lid.

  She shoved her fist into her mouth and bit down hard enough to draw blood so she wouldn’t scream.

  The door burst open and Teresa bit down harder. Silent tears rolled, soaking her hair and dripping into her ears.

  “Check everywhere. We can’t leave anyone alive. This is the last house. Hopefully, the bastard who escaped earlier was the final straggler.”

  “Yeah, well he didn’t last long. Wasn’t much left of him by the time you shot him, Garcia.”

  Tremors of sadness and fear thrummed in Teresa’s chest. Roberto, you left me all alone?! How could you? You said you loved me! Pendejo bastard. You deserved to die.

  Teresa’s bladder gave way to the fear when she realized one of the soldiers stood right next to the trunk. Please, God. Don’t let him open the lid! Please! I don’t want to die. Not here. Not alone. I just want to find my sister and go home.

  “Clear down here. Let’s head out.”

  The footsteps retreated back up the stairs. Unable to stop her muscles, the shakes set in. One of the men from the first floor yelled, “Got two infected up here. Look like our escapee bagged them a while ago. Wonder why he stayed inside so long before leaving?”

  Another man responded, but Teresa couldn’t hear the words. Straining her ears, she waited inside the dark prison until the last set of feet made noise upstairs. She remained in the trunk for an extra five minutes in case they were hiding, waiting for her to appear before she pushed the lid open.

  Teresa ran to the window again. The men were gone, along with the big trucks they drove up in. Collapsing, she fell to her knees and sobbed.

  What do I do now? If Roberto left and didn’t make it, how will I?

  Teresa wrapped her arms around her legs and curled into a ball in the corner, madness and terror controlling every thought.

  Hours later, sunlight no longer filling the basement with light, Teresa uncurled her stiff limbs and stood. Hunger and thirst drove her to pick up her feet and walk up the stairs. She shuffled into the kitchen after stumbling and falling several times in the dark. Opening the fridge door, she stifled a gasp at the stench of rotting food. She felt around until her fingers touched the familiar shape of a bottle of water.

  Twisting off the cap, Teresa downed the entire bottle. The liquid helped her regain a sense of balance, so she made her way to the den, where she knew her traitorous, chicken-shit fiancé kept guns and ammunition.

  Bare feet slapping against the cold tile floors, Teresa tripped over the shattered front door and the once-beautiful decorations strewn across the floor. The military men destroyed her lovely house and oddly, she didn’t care. The only thing she cared about—what drove her to keep putting one foot in front of the other—was getting armed and in a vehicle.

  She had to find Maria. Teresa was the older sister. It was her job to take care of her, and there didn’t seem to be anyone else available to help her.

  Less than ten feet away from the door leading to the den, Teresa was hit with the smell of rotting flesh. The stench brought her back to the time when she and Maria were playing at the edge of the jungle years ago and found the carcass of a dead animal.

  Burying her nose in the crook of her arm, Teresa kept moving. The house was dark, but her eyes had adjusted enough she could pick out the white of the walls to use as a guide. Something hard connected with her toe. Teresa winced and shifted directions, running straight into the couch. Blood on her hands from her earlier falls made her hands slip off the slick leather, and she fell backward.

  When she realized she was on top of a body, Teresa felt something inside her mind snap.

  I’m still alive. Stop freaking out. I’m going to run into more like them from now on. If I want to survive—to find Maria—I’ll need to pretend this is just a dream. A dream in which I’m a badass afraid of nothing. Get up. Find the safe and get the guns.

  Gritting her teeth, Teresa pushed herself off the floor. She stopped when it dawned on her what her toe had touched earlier. Squatting back down on all fours, Teresa felt around until she found it.

  “Yes!” she squealed.

  The gun was cold and heavy. Feeling it in her hand gave her renewed strength.

  Teresa shuffled over to the wall safe. She breathed a sigh of relief when she found it, then paused.

  “You took the guns? And the bullets? Left me with nothing! I hate you, Roberto Sanchez. Damn you!”

  In a panic, Teresa continued to feel around, praying she was wrong. The only items left inside were a few wads of cash, a binder, and empty boxes of shells. Reaching her arm all the way inside, desperate to find another gun, she cried out when her fingers touched some
thing else.

  Pulling it free, the excitement of thinking it was a gun disappeared. It was only a flashlight.

  “Better than nothing,” Teresa whispered.

  She considered turning it on, yet worried the light might be seen by any remaining soldiers in the area. She stuffed the cash and the binder in her waistband and left the den, hoping her purse was still in the kitchen.

  It was, so Teresa grabbed it and darted out the side door to the garage. Holding the gun in trembling fingers, she made her way to the Navigator while watching for signs of anyone—dead or alive—lurking in the shadows.

  Seeing nothing, and hearing only faint screaming in the distance, Teresa crept through the garage. She didn’t realize she’d been holding her breath until she let it out in a huge whoosh when she reached the door to the vehicle.

  Once inside the SUV, Teresa tossed the money and binder in the passenger seat and started the engine. She winced when the dashboard lights came on. Only a half-tank of gas remained.

  “Won’t get very far on that. Okay, think, Teresa. Baby steps. Get out of the city. Stay on the main roads. Find a gas station and food. Then, figure out the best place to start looking for Maria.”

  Plan of action in place, Teresa shifted into reverse and backed out of the driveway, leaving the lights off. She maneuvered the Navigator through the mess left on her street, dodging bodies and vehicles as she drove.

  “Don’t look at them. Ignore the blood. The dead. Don’t try to help anyone. You don’t have enough bullets. Just drive until you find Maria.”

  In the darkness, fear pulsing through her entire body, Teresa repeated the words over and over to keep herself from screaming.

  FIRST DAWN IN A NEW WORLD - Sunday - December 21st – 4:25 a.m.

  Jesse jerked awake from the horrid dream. The sound of the gunshot that ended her mother’s life reverberated inside her mind even after opening her eyes. Covered in sweat and shaking, she sat up and tried to calm down.

  Looking around, she felt her chest tighten. Though surrounded by others and plenty of room, Jesse felt the walls closing in. The sensation of being trapped rose from deep within her belly, spreading quickly. Her breathing came in short rasps and she knew a panic attack was coming.

  Careful not to make a sound, she rose from the cot and stepped away from the others. After clearing the sleeping bodies, her heart rate spiked.

  I’ve got to get outta here. Need fresh air. Open space.

  Forcing herself not to run, Jesse made it to the door and slipped outside. A rush of cold air slapped her in the face, helping to cool the flames bubbling under her skin. The freezing air sliced through the thin coat and pajamas as fast as if she’d dove into ice water. After taking in several gulps of air and staring up into the dark, starless sky, the pending panic attack vanished.

  Turning back to the door, Jesse hesitated. She wasn’t ready to go back inside. Instead, she started walking, hoping the crisp air would blast away the remaining traces of the nightmare.

  She couldn’t grasp the fact her mom was gone. Not only was she dead, but she’d killed herself to save others. No burial. No mourning relatives or friends would ever come to pay their final respects to a woman who went above and beyond the call of duty for ungrateful strangers. There was no time for Jesse to grieve, or a place to visit and set fresh flowers in remembrance.

  Nothing.

  Her mother’s body was probably all gone now, nothing left but bones and clothes strewn down aisle six of Walmart. Right next to the gnawed remains of Marian Kilpatrick and the baby girl she didn’t want.

  And the stupid soldier.

  Why did Shaun risk his life to save a man who had been part of the problem? The time Jane wasted on the bastard could have been spent on her mom. Then again, how could the soldiers have been so callous, so ready to blindly follow orders, and kill innocent people?

  How in the hell had the world turned into a living nightmare in less than forty-eight hours?

  She’d been a huge fan of movies, TV shows, and books about zombies, squealing with disgust when gory scenes happened, cheering when favorite characters did something heroic, or survived an impossible scenario to live on in the next episode. But, that was all make-believe, Hollywood-driven, green-screen magic. The actors covered in fake blood, brain matter, limbs broken and flesh missing, weren’t really in distress. Jesse knew she watched the unreal carnage and blood baths because it made her forget about the horrible things she’d endured when on the streets.

  This was real, and Jesse couldn’t handle reality, which is why she became a drug addict years ago.

  Was this it? The real way the world ended, just not with some director yelling, “Cut!” when an actor blew their lines, or a piece of the set fell down? How much longer would they last, holed up in a fucking cave for God’s sakes, before the dead found them? Even if they were safe for the foreseeable future, what kind of life would it be? Scrounging around in the forest for food, making dangerous trips to formally populated locations to search for more supplies?

  “No. No way. I’m not going to live like that. I’m not a rat!”

  Jesse ran. After the few hundred yards, she lost her slippers. She didn’t let the cold, or the pebbles and tree roots digging into her bare feet, stop her. She didn’t think about Turner, or Uncle Reed, or any of the others back at the cave.

  First Dad, now Mom. I’m an orphan in a world that doesn’t have much time left.

  Images of Susie blowing her head off, whimpering for her mother before she pulled the trigger, made the tears come. The tears rolled from the strange connection she felt to the girl, one who lamented the loss of everything she’d even known, all her loved ones gone, left alone in a cruel, ugly world.

  No pausing this episode. No ability to switch channels.

  Stumbling down the dark path, no sounds except her own heavy breathing and whimpers, Jesse ran faster. She ignored the sting of tree limbs smacking her face, tearing at her clothes. Where she was going—or how long she’d run—didn’t enter her mind. She just pumped her arms and legs at full speed, tears clouding her vision.

  Suddenly, she was in the air, her body launched several feet after tripping over a dark mass in the trail. She landed on hard on her left side, her back muscles from the earlier strain of carrying her mother, screaming. Her head smashed into a rock, and for the first time since she’d ventured outside, Jesse saw stars.

  It took several minutes to regain control of her muscles. The ground was freezing. When Jesse moved, she realized she’d lost her jacket somewhere, and her pajama top was bunched up around her waist, the bare skin of her back exposed.

  When she tried to move, what felt like hundreds of bee stings burned her back. Ignoring the pain, Jesse forced herself to stand. She looked around, wondering how far she’d run. Nothing looked familiar, but then again, she didn’t expect to see anything she’d recognize. Though she heard Turner mention the cave was near Blanchard Springs, she had never been up in this part of the state before.

  Spent, body sore and cold, Jesse decided to head back. Her little temper-tantrum was over, and the run helped release some of the stress bottled up inside her. As she limped back the way she came, she noticed the dark mass of what she’d tripped over earlier to the right.

  She stopped and stared at it, grateful the first rays of the early morning sun streaked across the sky. Jesse recognized it immediately. It was the backpack Walter Addison found earlier while they trekked to the cave.

  “Government. He said it had somethin’ to do with the government. Maybe I’ll find a radio or supplies we can use inside.”

  Squatting down, Jesse grabbed the pack. The pine trees above her formed a living canopy, blocking out the early morning light. She picked up the bag and hobbled over to a boulder on the right, one coated in the warm rays of the sun.

  “Please let there be somethin’ useful in here,” she whispered.

  Digging through the canvas bag, Jesse found a lighter, a half-smoked cigar, a huge
knife, a couple bottles of water, a map of Arkansas, extra rounds of ammunition, some protein bars, and a small metal box.

  “What’s in here?”

  Fumbling to get the latch open, Jesse’s determination was rewarded. Her eyes widened when she saw the treasure hiding inside.

  “Please be meth. Please be meth!”

  Snatching up the baggie, Jesse licked a finger and stuck it inside. Just like in the jail, she didn’t really care what it was, as long as the white stuff was strong enough to give her a few hours of mind-numbing bliss.

  “What the hell are you doing?”

  The sound of a male voice made Jesse jump. The baggie slipped from her fingers and fell to the ground, white powder shooting in all directions. “Dammit! You just ruined…you scared the daylights of out me, Shaun. What are you doin' out here?”

  Shaun Kilpatrick stepped out of the shadows and over to the boulder. “I asked you first.”

  Standing, using her feet to displace the rest of the powder, Jesse answered, “Needed some fresh air. Claustrophobic.”

  “Yeah, me too,” Shaun replied. “Plus, I saw you slip out and thought you might need protection. You know, with all that’s going on?”

  “Nice try. Chivalry ended generations ago. I can take care of myself, so you can head back now.”

  Shaun pointed and asked, “What’s that?”

  Jesse held up the bag. “You mean this?”

  “Yep. Looks like the bag Walter found earlier on our way up here.”

  Jesse stepped away from the boulder and back onto the trail. “That’s because it is. I was just goin' through it to see if there was anythin’ inside we could use.”

  “Looked to me like you were about to snort some coke,” Shaun said, following Jesse.

  Old habits of hiding her addiction kicked in. “I was not! I was just lookin’ through…”

  Shaun yanked the bag from her hands. “You seem to forget I’m a cop. Or, I was one. Not sure what I am now.”

  Jesse’s shoulders sagged. She continued limping down the path back toward the cave. “Join the club, dude. I was thinkin’ the same thing while runnin’ earlier. We probably all are.”