Lucy shut the book on her finger. The room had been silent for too long; Salem’s sullen expression made Lucy annoyed.
“Come on, I can’t let it go. Ethan is out there!” Lucy said on the verge of tears. Grant and Salem looked away. “Why don’t you give a rat’s ass about it? He’s our only hope.”
“Salem would like to carve up a rat’s ass into three perfect proportions for dinner,” Grant quipped unsmiling and then ducked as an empty water bottle careened toward his head.
“You think he wants to get us out? Maybe Ethan wants in,” Salem said. “You haven’t thought of that, have you?” She leaned her back against the wall and slid down, resting her elbows on her knees. “Then I’ll have to reconfigure the food.”
“Really? You’re still just worried that we might run out of peanut butter and jelly? What the hell is wrong with you? My brother is alive and you can’t even pretend like you’re happy about it. Come on, Salem. If you don’t want to leave when Ethan gets here that’s on you. But me? I’m out of here. And guess what, when I’m gone, you and Grant can split the food pile. Have an extra bag of Cheetos. Merry Christmas.”
“Lucy—” Salem started to say, her eyes wild. Then she stopped herself and put a hand up. “Never mind. Just never mind.” And with that Salem stood back up, marched over to a chair where the classroom keys were resting, grabbed them, and stormed out of the room. Grant and Lucy listened as Salem unlocked the journalism lab door and went inside, the second door shutting behind her.
“I can’t handle her drama today.” Lucy tucked the book under her leg and kept twirling her hair.
“That might have been a little harsh,” Grant replied, he scratched the top part of his scalp and grimaced apologetically. “She’s been through a lot.”
“I know,” Lucy looked at him. “But my brother is coming for me. He is.” And she didn’t know if she believed it or if she just wanted to believe it.
It took a while for Grant to answer and when he did, he changed the subject. “What does it feel like?” he asked, not looking at her, his eyes wandering to the door and then to the carpet.
“What does what feel like?”
“I don’t mean anything by it. I just want to know. Ethan…he’s alive…to the best of our knowledge. So…”
Then everything clicked all at once; the last pieces of the jigsaw sliding into place. “Oh.”
“I’m not being passive-aggressive,” Grant replied. But maybe he was a little. Or he was tactfully steering her toward the truth. “It’s just...you know...it’s like we were all sitting around playing our lottery numbers. And you won.”
Lucy didn’t say anything. Color and heat rushed to her cheeks.
“What did I win exactly?”
“A survivor. Someone you know.”
“Oh, come on,” Lucy tried to calm herself down and she tried to push the seeping defensiveness away. “Your dad could still be—”
“No. He’s not. My dad is a coward. He didn’t really care for me. I mean, not really. He made it mighty clear that I was just a burden to him. If the virus didn’t get him, I bet he took his own life…without a single thought about me. But hey…at least he’s consistent. Didn’t care about me from day one, why start now?”
“I’m sorry.”
But Lucy didn’t know what she was apologizing for: Ethan being alive or Grant’s father being dead.
“It’s hard,” Grant continued, “not to be hurt that you have something we don’t. She’s hurting.”
They sat without speaking, Lucy resisting the urge to spill out her defenses. She sighed shakily and swallowed.
“I get it,” Lucy said kindly. And she did. She could understand the jealousy and bitterness, the anger. “But you’re right. You were all right. Maybe he’s...maybe the message was from that first morning and he’s gone now too. Maybe I’m chasing a phantom. But—”
“But,” he cocked one eyebrow, “maybe he’s not gone.”
“I can’t help but hope,” Lucy answered, willing herself not to cry.
Grant sighed and crawled over. Hesitating, he put an arm over her shoulders. “We don’t want to take away your hope,” Grant said in a whisper. “It’s envy.”
“I should go to Salem,” Lucy said and rose on her haunches, but Grant put a hand on her knee and kept her from rising the full way.
“Nah, just let her be by herself,” he told her and Lucy listened. She settled back down on the floor and eventually stretched her whole body out on the ground, staring at the ceiling. She saw her book and grabbed it, flipping through the pages, her arms stiff above her, just flipping, flipping, not really reading, but scanning the words, taking in bits and pieces.
She noticed a phrase and it caught her off guard. Spilling from the page some character asked another character about the life before. It was an interesting concept. Some day, maybe, people would wonder: What was life like before the virus? Before the virus. The world wasn’t always demolished, broken, and full of fear, she wanted to scream.
But then she realized: No.
It had been. It had always been broken.
Lucy let these words and ideas percolate through her.
“I’ve read that book,” Grant said. He was leaning against the couch now, his eyes closed.
“Uh-huh,” Lucy responded. “Mrs. Johnston gave it to me. To read on my trip.”
“That’s right. Your family was going somewhere really far away, right? Some place in Africa? I heard about that.”
“Kinda. Near Madagascar.”
“Why?” Grant asked.
Lucy flipped through more pages. Flip, scan. Flip, scan. “My dad was leading a team that had some major breakthrough at work. And he’d worked without a vacation for like three years. So, the company got him this trip. I think my dad picked the destination. He had written some report or something about the island a long time ago...they said they’d send him anywhere.”
“Nice,” Grant replied. Then he opened his eyes and grimaced. “I mean—that would’ve been nice...it still sounds nice.”
“It’s okay,” she stopped him from saying more. Let him off the hook. “It was nice.” She paused. “So, did you like it?”
“What?”
“The book.”
Grant nodded. “Yeah, sure. I still remember, you know, we read it in class and our teacher, Ms. Houshmand, had this one quote written on the board for the whole unit and I just stared at it. I don’t remember what it said exactly…but something about infiltrating people’s brains or souls. Or something like that. It was up there like a command.”
Lucy didn’t say anything for a second and then in reply she repeated the quote back to him, trying to make sense of it. “Huh,” she shook her head. “That’s funny.”
Grant raised an eyebrow incredulously.
“I mean,” Lucy plopped the book on the ground. “I get it, you want control and so you limit what people think. But...look at us,” she motioned around the room, “someone out there found a different way. Infiltrate our bodies.”
He let the phrase linger and then nodded, “Maybe you want absolute power but you know you can’t control the people.”
“Destroy the people,” Lucy finished.
“Are we ever going to be safe?” Grant asked.
“No,” Lucy answered.
Someday people would wonder what the world was like before. Someday people would dream of a world free from the memories of bioterrorism, death, and fear.
Life would never be the same.
Salem didn’t return right away.
They gave her space and time; they set her rationed lunch outside the journalism door and knocked and then retreated. But an hour later her corn nuts and peanut butter and jelly were still sitting there and she hadn’t made an attempt to come back to the room. While it wasn’t completely strange for Salem to allow a perceived wrong to fester, Lucy was usually the one who had to crawl back to her with an apology—deserved or not—and this typed of prolonged nonappearance was un
usual. Salem needed to make her dramatic exits, needed the weight of her absence to be felt by everyone, and then she waltzed back in, accepted apologies, and went on with life as if nothing had happened.
She was the quintessential drama-queen, still trying to cause a scene in a world with a dwindling population.
It was aggravating to be her best friend sometimes with her sense of self-entitlement and her lack of self-awareness. It grated on Lucy. But Salem’s quirks notwithstanding, she was a good friend. A great friend, even. Sacrificial. Supportive. Fun. It was true Salem’s inflated ego caused problems, but she at least had inflated opinions of her friends, too. If Lucy needed someone to go to bat for her, Sal would be there. No doubt.
“She’ll be back,” Grant said numerous times. “Maybe she’s sleeping. Where could she go? She’ll come back when she needs to,” he mentioned with softness and deference.
Like he knew her and was protecting her—because they shared pain and loss and because Salem had already fallen in love with the idea of falling in love with Grant while they wasted their hours in a glorified storage closet, among garbage and stolen treasures, surrounded by the constant stink of processed peanut butter.
Lucy knew her.
Salem didn’t need to say out loud she wanted Grant’s attention or his arms around her while she cried. Somehow the ache for love’s magic was made even more real by their proximity, their shared experiences, and their limited options. Throughout their entire friendship, Salem had longed for a boyfriend to sweep her off her feet. She was a romantic and a believer in love at first sight. She was the girl who needed an epic story to pass down through generations.
You’ll never believe how your grandfather and I met. It was during the outbreak.
There was no dose of reality Lucy could administer and this made Lucy irrationally annoyed. But Salem was Salem.
“She’s waiting for you,” Lucy replied. She picked up her book again and pretended to become immediately engrossed in a particular passage, but she occasionally lifted her eyes to watch Grant’s expressions as he processed. “Pouting probably. Just go. She’s waiting for rescue. Get her.”
Grant sighed.
He waited a few more minutes and then sighed again.
“Are you sure?” he asked. He ran a hand over his stubble. “Why me?”
Lucy rolled her eyes.
“Fine, fine. Close the door after me. Four short knocks to get back in.”
“I know the drill.”
Lucy sat and waited for their return.
It was nice to have a small moment of total aloneness. She thought back and tried to think if she had been fully alone since the first night at the school and she realized that she hadn’t. But after fifteen minutes, Lucy wondered what would be taking so long. She slid off her couch and walked over to the door and as she neared it, she realized that there were voices in the hall, hushed and whispering. Opening the door a fraction of an inch, Lucy spotted Grant and Salem standing in the small alcove outside the journalism lab.
Salem’s foot held the door open and Grant held the keys. She could barely make out their conversation, but Lucy realized that they were oblivious to her and there was something about their body language and tone that suggested to Lucy she shouldn’t be privy to their dialogue. Yet, she couldn’t turn away.
“How long will we stay here?” Salem had asked in a whisper. “I’m going crazy.”
“Is this the moment I remind you that this was your idea? To stay.”
“It can be my idea and I can still hate living like an animal in a cage.”
“A very big cage with a lot of peanut butter and jelly.”
“Are you going to make a joke of everything I say?” Salem complained, but she didn’t sound too angry with him.
Lucy’s heart quickened.
And even though she knew that tone, that mischievousness, and the mechanics of Salem’s flirting, she couldn’t turn away. She wanted to interrupt them, shout at them to get back into hiding, but she knew that it would be pointless; Salem would only get more persistent and obvious.
“I’m diffusing,” was Grant’s reply and he must have smiled. Salem smiled back.
“You did a good job. It’s not that I don’t love Lucy,” Salem started and Lucy felt suddenly sick, she closed her eyes tightly, not wanting to hear what came next, but unable to shut the door and turn away, “but she can be so self-absorbed. It’ll be great if Ethan is alive…but this entire thing is not about her. We have big decisions to make. I’m telling you…I’m the one who knows what it’s like out there.”
That attack wasn’t even true. But Lucy just breathed deeply. It was so plotting, so transparently manipulative, an attempt to damage her character as a precaution against Grant ever liking her instead. And for what? Lucy was not a threat to their blossoming love affair and she wanted to yell at them to just get back inside the hideout already.
Lucy wasn’t even angry, she saw the gears working and knew that in many ways Salem wasn’t capable of stopping herself. She was a flirt and Grant might be one of the few teenage boys left alive.
“Like what?” Grant asked and Lucy felt so sorry for him in that moment. He was so oblivious to her scheming.
Salem tucked her dark hair behind her ear and leaned in. “I like you,” she whispered. “So, now I’ve said it.”
From her vantage point, Lucy couldn’t see Grant’s face. He hadn’t moved away or said anything in return. Instead, it looked like he was frozen, waiting for her to continue, but Salem didn’t say anything else. She leaned in and kissed Grant gently on the mouth and then coyly pulled back, biting the corner of her lip.
Lucy’s heart sank.
“I wasn’t expecting that,” Grant replied, his voice nervous. “I didn’t know…you felt that way.”
“Confining spaces,” Salem giggled. “I’ve discovered it recently.”
Grant cleared his throat. “Or maybe you just realized I might be one of only a few teenage boys left in the world.”
Lucy almost laughed out loud; he’d read her mind.
Salem hit Grant playfully on the arm. “It’s not like that.”
“It could be a little like that.”
“Then you got me. You’re the last one left and I want you.”
Lucy grimaced at Salem’s boldness. She wished and hoped Grant could see through the shtick.
“You’re fun,” Grant mumbled. But Lucy wasn’t convinced that was a ringing-endorsement for dating. “I’m surprised…and wow, I guess. Just wow, Salem. Wow.”
She had heard enough. As she watched Salem position herself to go in for another kiss, she shut the door again without a sound and retreated into the corner.
It wasn’t too many minutes longer until they both entered, knocking to announce their impending arrival. Lucy searched them for sheepishness or embarrassment, but if they were feeling awkward about their interactions, they gave no indication.
They didn’t act particularly starry-eyed either and if Lucy hadn’t spied on them, she would’ve never guessed that they had shared a kiss in the doorway. But she had seen them and now she wondered what happened next. Would they attempt a clandestine relationship right under her nose?
Salem hugged herself as she walked into the room and walked past Lucy to the corner, where she pulled up a blanket and fluffed it into a pillow. Grant closed the door shut and stood next to it.
“It’s raining outside,” he said. “You can hear it in the other room and it’s dripping through the wood over the skylight.”
Salem sniffed and looked to Lucy. “I’m sorry. For storming off. Sometimes it’s just too much…”
“We all feel that way,” Grant said and he smiled at them both. Lucy looked down to the ground.
“Maybe it’s asking too much,” Lucy started, “but maybe we shouldn’t be mad at each other for things that we have control over.” She had a speech planned in her head, a series of plans and procedures—places to go if they needed a break from their claustrophobi
c living situation, code words for expressing a desire for someone else to be quiet. But as she opened her mouth to continue, the long dormant intercom switched on with its telltale two-toned ding ding.
Lucy scrambled off the couch and Salem jumped up from the floor and Grant swung the door to the hallway open wide as they poured outward toward the speakers.
“Well, well, well,” Spencer’s raspy voice called outward. “It has come to my attention that a certain Lucy Larkspur King is a stowaway in my building.”
At the mention of her full name, Lucy jumped and took a gulp of air. She reached out and grabbed Salem’s arm, her eyes wide.
“Naughty. Naughty,” Spencer continued, the slow drawl of his voice apparent as he clipped the end syllables.
None of them dared to speak. They held their collective breaths.
“If it were up to me, I’d shoot you on site for your insolence and for wasting my precious air and resources. But it appears,” he paused, cleared in throat with a hack, “someone has purchased your freedom. And who am I to turn that offer down?”
Lucy finally let out a breath.
Ethan. It was Ethan.
The use of her middle name was a giveaway, a hint, because only her family and Salem knew of her flowery moniker. Her older brother had arrived at last. His text was not an accident and not irrelevant. She turned and hugged Salem and then turned to hug Grant, uncaring about any potential jealousies or complications.
“Don’t think I didn’t know about you,” Spencer spat. “And your little friends—” he trailed off. “You have five minutes, Lu-cy.” The breathy quality of her name on his tongue made her shiver. “And your friends, if they’re alive and still here, should come forward too. I offer up a onetime cease-fire and guarantee of safe passage. After that, should you choose to trespass…I will hunt you down like the dogs you are.”
The Virulent Chronicles Box Set Page 15
