The Virulent Chronicles Box Set

by Shelbi Wescott

  “They didn’t have to take the vials.”

  “Then you’re dead. And they’re dead. And Teddy and I are alone with Joey and Spencer? No thanks. That sounds like the world’s worst sit-com.” Darla tried to crack a smile, but Ethan remained stone faced. “I’m begging you to find something good here and even if you can’t…don’t take it out on the people who are caring for you. Okay? Is that too much to ask?”

  That assessment of his behavior didn’t sit well with him. “You just think I’m a whiner?” he asked and Darla shrugged a reply.

  “Yeah, I guess,” she answered eventually. “You’re also a survivor. So, start acting like one.” Then she turned and walked to the door. “I’m going to go to the park with Teddy. When I get back, we’ll get everyone to help move you downstairs. Then you can pick an MRE for lunch. We were unaware those things were important to you. So, it’s a plan?”

  Ethan nodded. Discouraged, he was still willing to concede. How often would Darla need to save his life before he could show her gratitude? He opened his mouth to speak, and then closed it. Then he sniffed. “I don’t know how to be,” he finally said.

  “Don’t you think we get that?” Darla answered in a soft voice.

  “I miss my family,” he said.

  “Me too.”

  Ethan slumped back down to the bed. “What if they never come for me? What if Lucy didn’t make it? What if they think I’m dead? What if they’re dead? What if this is it?”

  “Sometimes in life we suffer great pain alone. And sometimes we suffer great pain collectively. You, Ethan King, are not alone. What makes you think your worry and pain is bigger than anyone else’s? Because it’s yours? I’m older than you, wiser perhaps. Take it from me, kid, there’s no one in this house who isn’t suffering a great deal. All of our wounds are unimaginable. So, when I tell you to shut up, I don’t mean to tell you stop hurting. I’m just saying, shut up. We see your lost leg, your worry about your family, and we raise you a dead wife, lost mothers and fathers, friends, and for Doctor Krause and Ainsley? A husband, father, and three brothers. And it doesn’t stop…then you go outward…it’s endless. The loss. It’s endless.”

  Her speech was silenced by Teddy’s eager calls downstairs. She looked out into the hallway, her hand on the doorknob.

  “I get it,” Ethan answered.

  “I know you do, Ethan,” Darla said and she wiped her eyes. “I know you do.” Then she shut the door behind her and Ethan listened as she walked purposefully down the stairs. He stared at his textured ceiling and tried to find images in the splotches and splatters. Then he closed his eyes and sent out a prayer: Let my sister get to Nebraska. Let my family be safe. And have them come for me. It has to better there. It has to be better than here. Just get me away from this place. Get me out of Portland.

  Chapter Eight

  The female nurse swooped into the room, unhooked Lucy from her monitors, unshackled her ankles, and handed her back her laundered and dried clothes. Lucy stared at the bundle of fabric; she brought them up to her nose and inhaled deeply. Unlike her mother’s powerfully perfumed laundry detergent, her clothes just smelled clean—void of the body odor, dirt, dust, and any other stench acquired on her four-state trek.

  Her grungy white underwear sat on top. And it wasn’t until that moment she realized that someone must have pried them off of her while she was unconscious. Nurse or doctor, it didn’t matter, she felt such shame that her cheeks turned hot.

  “Go ahead and get dressed, sweetie,” the woman said and nodded toward the clothes. Then she spun on her orthopedic shoes and left Lucy alone.

  In the privacy of the room, Lucy slipped out of her gown and let it fall to the floor. Then she hurried into her underwear, her bra, still warm from a dryer—a luxury Lucy hadn’t realized how much she missed—and then her pants, shirt, and her sweater. Completely dressed, she sat back on the bed, and waited. Her feet dangled off the edge of the bed and she held her hands in a ball on her lap.

  There was a knock, then the door slid open, and the nurse reentered.

  “Your parents are here,” she said and then stepped out of the way to let Maxine King’s imposing self through the door first. Her dark brown bob was combed into place; she wore an unfamiliar teal shirt, dotted with sequins along the collar, and black pants. Lucy drank in everything about her mother; her eyes, her arms, dotted with patches of chicken-skin that Lucy used to pray she’d never inherit; the freckles on her nose, and small the mole on her neck. She began to cry.

  “Lucy! My Lucy! Lucy!” Mama Maxine shrieked. Tears streamed down her face as she flung herself toward her daughter, scooping her up into a crushing embrace, her nose inhaling Lucy’s hair, now dry and frizzy. “I can’t even believe…I can’t…I’m so…you’re here! You’re finally here.”

  The nurse exited quietly.

  “It’s not the Seychelles,” Lucy said, her chin trembling. “Oh Mama, Mama.” Lucy reciprocated the hug and refused to let go, clasping her hands together behind her mother’s back and nestling her head into her mother’s chest, the sequins pressing into her forehead. “What happened? How did all this happen? What is this place?” she asked, not moving an inch.

  “Shhhh, shhhh,” Maxine whispered. She kissed the top of Lucy’s head and rubbed her hand along her back. “Sweet Lucy Larkspur…it feels like years. I can’t even tell you…I don’t know where to begin. You’ve missed so much. And—”

  Lucy pulled back and wiped her eyes. “There’s a boy…”

  “Grant. We’ve been told about him, yes.”

  “He’s my friend, mom. He’s in trouble.”

  A look of worry flitted across Maxine’s features, but Lucy couldn’t tell if it was concern for Grant, for Lucy, or for something bigger. Maxine looked like she wanted to speak, but instead she glanced back to the door, where a shadow lurked in the doorway. Her mother’s non-reply was glaring. When had her mother ever paused for injustice? When had she stayed silent when a child or friend needed her help? Lucy felt panicky.

  Something had shifted.

  She opened her mouth to protest the lack of outcry, but when she started to speak, no words formed on her tongue.

  The shadow moved and crossed to their duo; a big hand came out and tousled Lucy’s tangled mane.

  “Hey beautiful girl,” Scott King said to his oldest daughter. He choked back his emotion and reached in around his wife to join the hug. He wore a white lab coat; and underneath, a suit and tie. His salt and pepper goatee was trimmed, the cleft in his chin visible underneath the shadow of whiskers; and as he leaned in for an embrace, the hair scratched Lucy’s face and she bristled under the touch. She looked up and locked eyes with her father—his brown eyes were soft, kind, and hurt. For the first time, Lucy realized how young her father was; even his crows-feet and the web of wrinkles across his forehead seemed out of place. He wasn’t this all-knowing beacon—he was just a man.

  “Dad,” Lucy said and her voiced cracked. She looked everywhere but his eyes. Without answers, her dad felt like a stranger.

  “You’ve had an adventure,” her dad said like a statement. As if he had any idea of the real adventure. “But I knew you’d find the clues—”

  “Ethan?” Maxine interrupted. “I’m sorry. But we have to know…where is Ethan?”

  The question caught Lucy off-guard. She buried her head again into her mother and scrunched up her face, her eyes closed tight, blocking out the light, and the sight of her parents. “He didn’t come.” She stopped and realized that didn’t was not the same as couldn’t.

  Her response was followed by silence.

  And her silence seemed to freeze them; at first Maxine brought her hand up over her mouth, then she took a deep breath, brought her hand down purposefully and steeled herself for the news. Her mother’s voice whispered in her ear. “It’s okay, Lucy. It’s okay. I just need to know. A mother needs to know. Why? Why didn’t he come?”

  A lie formed first. She wished to tell him that he was fine, bu
t staying put—that venturing without him was an act of bravery instead of necessity. When Lucy looked at her parent’s faces, full of concern, fear, and expectancy, Lucy knew that the truth would hurt more. The lie may make her look brave, but the truth would cut them deeper. And as happy as she was to see them, hug them, take in their smell again; she realized she was angry—hovering right there beneath the excitement and the relief, was pain.

  If she hadn’t been so overwhelmed by everything—the hole in the earth with its fully equipped hospital, drowning in a tank, seeing her parents for the first time in weeks—she might have been functional enough to tell them all of the ways she had pained at their absence. Instead, she said what she could simply and without embellishment.

  “He’s hurt,” Lucy told them.

  Maxine drew in a sharp breath and turned to Scott, her eyes narrowed.

  “Hit by a car. His legs were crushed. When I left, he was fine, but deteriorating…”

  “Good God,” Scott said and he took a step away from his wife and daughter. “I’ll need to…” he trailed off. He took a step toward the door and then a step back toward Lucy. “What else?” he asked her. “Tell us everything.”

  “Huck would send the army off for one of his kids. He owes you the same courtesy,” Maxine said to her husband, speaking over his questions to Lucy. She shifted her attention, even though she still held one of Lucy’s hands. “You tell him. You tell him to send the planes.”

  “Come on, Maxine. You know I can’t just walk in there and make that demand. Not now, anyway.” Her father put a hand on his wife’s shoulder, but she shook him off. Lucy felt embarrassed to be privy to their argument and she tried to shrink away from the conversation.

  “Not now? Then when? You promised. And I don’t take broken promises lying down,” Maxine added. Then she ran her hand across Lucy’s brow and tucked a piece of blonde hair behind her daughter’s ear. “No secrets anymore, Scott.” She said this while rubbing her thumb against the freckles over Lucy’s nose and she smiled. “Didn’t you say that to our kids when we got here? No secrets. We’re a team?” She dropped her voice down to a whisper. “And here is my wonderful Lucy. Oh, Lucy. I missed you.”

  Maxine’s tears dripped freely and Lucy’s heart broke to see her mother in so much pain. She looked between her mother and father.

  Scott ran his hand through his hair and he nodded. “Let’s get out of here,” he instructed. “Come on, girls.”

  “Yes, come sweet one, come,” Maxine cooed to Lucy. “We’ll go home.”

  Lucy looked up and searched her mother’s face. “Home?” she asked. “You call this home?”

  “Home for now,” Scott answered. He put his hand out and Lucy took it; then he pulled her into his side and kissed the top of her head. Scott leaned his lips down to his daughter’s ear and whispered. “You’re a beacon of hope, my darling. Your mother needed hope. I’m so glad you made it.”

  Lucy smiled a tight-lipped smile as her father led her out into the hallway; his hand moving to her elbow as he steered her to the right and down into the dim lights that reflected off of shiny metal walls.

  It was the first time Lucy had seen the insides of this tomb.

  Her eyes grew wide, and her body grew cold and tense.

  “What is this place?”

  Her father clapped his hand on her back. He smiled with renewed enthusiasm; as if someone had flipped a switch. “We are in an amazing place. A scientific marvel.”

  “A cavern. An underground dome,” Maxine echoed a half-step behind them. “Your father is very proud of it.”

  “It’s unlike anything you’ve ever seen. Lucy, just wait. Just you wait.” Scott’s voice rose and changed pitch; it was his tell that he was excited and gaining momentum. “You don’t even know the times I wished I could tell you about this place. How many times I almost let it slip!” He clapped his hands together as they approached an elevator. Sliding his finger across a touch-screen, a light switched from red to green, and from somewhere in the belly of the dome, an elevator began its descent toward them.

  “Is it safe?” Lucy asked in a small voice. She backed away from the doors, but felt her mother’s hand press against her back.

  “Is it safe,” her dad repeated and he scoffed. “That’s the whole point. That was the whole point. You’re safe now. As safe as you will ever be.”

  Scott placed his hands on her shoulders and gave them a squeeze. His eyes were bright and eager—like a child on Christmas morning.

  The elevator doors opened, beckoning them into a sterile metal box.

  And together, as a family, they walked inside. The silent doors sliding shut behind them.

  Floor B. Pod 6. Room 8. A silver plaque screwed into place right above the peephole read: The King Family – Scott, Maxine, Ethan, Lucy, Galen, Malcolm, Monroe, Harper. CL 1. Lucy reached out her hand to touch her name and Ethan’s name. How strange to see it there, so plain and organized. Carved into the metal before the Release; an optimistic statement of faith that the Kings would arrive to this place together.

  She looked to her mother, whose eyes looked away from the plaque and the reminder that they were still an incomplete family.

  Scott King opened the door. As he swung the door wide, Lucy peered into the first room. It was dark, windowless, brown walls with low ceilings, and a spattering of light in the form of low-wattage bulbs burning in sconces along the walls, casting pools of white upward and creating shadows in the corners.

  “Go on,” Maxine whispered.

  “Our little apartment,” Scott added.

  Lucy looked between her parents and then peered inside the room again. All Lucy could think was that they had to leave their beautiful house, with a backyard, sun, and windows and move themselves into a cramped and dark space no bigger than a hotel suite. She had not known what to expect when they reached Nebraska, but this was not it.

  Tentatively, Lucy stepped inside. But it took no longer than a second for her to want to back right out again; the room smelled stale—fresh air pumped in through vents in the ceiling, but it was artificial, dry. The furniture was stiff and old; perhaps Huck’s interior designers had fashioned the apartments with the leftovers of some consignment shop.

  She stood in a small foyer. Inside a wicker box was a collection of shoes. Tennis shoes of varying sizes and one small pair of glittered slip-ons.

  Harper.

  The moment she thought the name, the dark apartment was flooded with light. Bright track lighting along the ceiling flickered on and out from behind couches and chairs, her siblings poured, yelling and screaming, “Surprise! Welcome home, Lucy!” Even Galen, his adolescent demeanor grounded in perpetual disdain of his entire family, couldn’t help but rush forward and greet his sister with a warm embrace.

  Absorbing the affection from her siblings overwhelmed Lucy. She closed her eyes and let them attack her with pats and kisses; she collapsed to the floor and Harper climbed into her lap.

  “Daddy said you were coming soon,” Harper said. “Daddy said you and Ethan were coming.”

  “Is Ethan here too?” Malcolm cried out with excitement.

  Maxine swooped in and began peeling off her children, chastising them for intruding upon Lucy’s space, but Lucy didn’t mind it at all. She sat on the floor motionless, still holding Harper, finding comfort in the child’s small frame and the way she fit like a puzzle piece into the crook of Lucy’s arm.

  “We talked about that,” Maxine said with authority. “Ethan’s not here.” Then after a beat, she added, “Yet.”

  “Wanna see our room?” Monroe asked.

  “Wanna see the Center? Wanna go swimming?” Malcolm cried.

  “It’s actually pretty cool here,” Galen told her with a shrug.

  “Why did you stay behind?” Harper whispered.

  Lucy looked at the faces of her brothers and sister, her eyes wide, a pain in her chest growing and throbbing. And then she began to cry. She put Harper on the floor and scrambled to h
er feet. She spun this way and that—looking at the foreign furniture, her family in clothes she didn’t recognize. Her breath began to grow noisy and ragged. From somewhere next to her, she heard her mother say her name in a warning tone. She caught a glimpse of her father, leaning against the wall. Lucy couldn’t tell if he was worried for her or for himself, and she wanted to scream; her desire to run, flee, escape was powerful. She burst away from her congregating family and toward the door. Bypassing outstretched hands and calls of worry.

  All she had wanted for weeks was to see her mother and father and brothers and sister again. All she had dreamed about and pined for was to find them alive and wanting to see her too—the entirety of her family waiting with baited breath for her triumphant return. Of course, she had been worried to find them dead, worried to find them gone.

  But this was something else entirely.

  She had found them changed, altered, different. They felt foreign to her, as if these people were merely impersonators of her family and not the real thing.

  She reached the door before her mother could grab her and she flew out into the hallway. Right and left were identical: huge metal doors flanked either end. And the hallway was dotted with doors, like theirs, with silver plaques broadcasting the names of tenants.

  “Lucy King,” Maxine called down the hallway—saying her name with the clipped cadence someone reserved for disobedient preschoolers. “You will return to this room immediately.”

  Slowing down, Lucy put her hand against the metal walls and felt the coolness against her skin.

  “This must be very difficult,” her father called down to her from their doorway. He had his hand on his wife’s arm, presumably to prevent her from flying down toward Lucy and dragging her back by force.

  Always the voice of reason—always the ying to her mother’s yang. Always entering conversations with calmness and clarity, with doses of humor.

  A door five feet away from Lucy opened a crack. Peeking out from behind the frame was a girl her own age with long black hair combed around her shoulders. She stared at Lucy a long time, unblinking. She was dark and beautiful and for a brief second Lucy thought of asking to come inside; then she shook the notion free and realized that no one in the System could be trusted. Lucy stared back, until the girl offered her a sad smile and shut the door; the click echoing down the hall.