The Virulent Chronicles Box Set

by Shelbi Wescott

  “Lucy,” Maxine said, her voice steady. “Go bring Teddy to me.”

  “Mom,” Lucy breathed.

  “It’s done.”

  Lucy left Grant on the couch and walked into the bedroom where Teddy sat huddled under the covers. Harper giggled from the corner and the twins tossed pillows down off the bunk beds, obliterating targets left below.

  “We’re playing time machine,” Harper said.

  “I’m in the time machine!” Teddy called, his voice muffled from under the blankets.

  “Oh yeah?” Lucy asked and she glanced underneath. Teddy burst out into a laugh and squealed, pulling back down on the covers to bury himself again.

  “You can’t look when I’m in the time machine! You’ll ruin it!”

  She let the blanket fall. “Where are you going?”

  “To the future!” Harper exclaimed.

  Teddy crawled out from underneath. “Okay, I’m here! In the future! What can we do in the future?” he asked. “Fight bad guys?”

  Lucy swooped him up and held him tight. “You should absolutely fight bad guys in the future, little man,” she said. “Hey...come with me for a second, okay?”

  “Okay.” He rested his head on her shoulder.

  She walked back out into the main room. Maxine was waiting by the door. Blair extended her hand.

  “No,” Teddy said. “I don’t want to go.” Instantly he was trembling, and Maxine walked over and reached out to him and he slipped into her arms. She whispered in his ear and smoothed his wild hair. Teddy nodded, but he began to cry. She kept whispering soothing words, staring at Blair as she said them. And Blair looked on. “Okay. Okay,” he said. “Okay.”

  “Brave,” Maxine said audibly. Teddy nodded.

  She let him slide to the floor, and then she handed him Harper’s doll. He clutched it against his chest and stood mournfully in the center of the room.

  Blair reached down and took his hand. He inhaled and jutted his lower lip out. And Blair opened her mouth to say something and then changed her mind. Silently, she led him back out into the hallway, and Maxine shut the door slowly, careful not to let it slam behind them. Leaning against it, she buried her head in her hands and began to cry.

  Unsure of how to respond, Lucy hesitated and then she walked forward. “Mom? Mom?” When Maxine looked up, her eyes were red, and her nose was running.

  “I’m fine,” she said biting her lip. “God, I’m fine. I will be fine. But Teddy? I don’t know. It’s just...” she paused. “Lucy, Grant...just...let it be a lesson. Nothing in Huck’s world belongs to you. Not your possessions, not your home, and certainly not your dignity. Don’t ever let him trick you into thinking it does.”

  With that, she slipped past Lucy, walked into her own room, and slammed the door behind her.

  Chapter Nine

  Dean kicked the tire in frustration and let out a string of curse words. The rubber lay flat against the asphalt of Highway 12 and the rim had started to buckle. They had gone as far as they could with the flapping tire, but now the car was entirely out of commission. Cradling his foot and feeling foolish, Dean scanned the landscape. They were in the middle of nowhere, amidst the towering trees of the Clearwater National Forest: no houses, no other vehicles. Without any other options, they would be forced to walk. And they had done enough walking already. Their feet were blistered and sore; Ainsley had swapped shoes, but her heels were still freckled with swollen wounds.

  Without a hot air balloon at their disposal, they had made it out of Portland the next best way: they walked. At first it felt like a futile roundabout journey, and it took them days longer than they had anticipated. Getting across the river was the first challenge. From Portland, they went south, and found an untouched train bridge. Backtracking, they stuck close to the main thoroughfares and realized just how impassable the urban roads could be. Eventually they bypassed the majority of the wreckage, and just past the old Bridge of the Gods on Highway 84, they nabbed their first car. It was an empty mini-van with a full tank, the back seat full of Little League equipment.

  It ran out of gas before they crossed the border into Idaho, but they timed it just right and swapped it for a Cadillac sitting in someone’s driveway. When they went inside to look for the keys, they took the opportunity to raid the pantry as well. They acquired some fleece blankets, and a few new pieces of clothing. If the world outside had not been so empty and bleak, they would have appeared as any ordinary family on a cross-country excursion.

  Their original plan was to cut across the Idaho panhandle and go straight through to Montana. But blockages, floods, and other unforeseen issues stymied their plot; to top it off, road developers had not accommodated their desires, and they found their travel tedious as they twisted through Clearwater on a path to Missoula.

  Darla couldn’t make the car go faster. She could not stop Ainsley’s sulking and Dean’s happy-go-lucky smirk, which he seemed to wear regardless of their situation. She could not navigate them closer to Nebraska, or make their food stretch for longer, or entertain the growing boredom. She could not make them feel the same level of intensity for getting to her son.

  And now the Cadillac had a flat.

  With progress stalled, everyone’s nerves were raw.

  “We’re not going to find another car for miles,” Dean said. “We’re up in the mountains, for Chrissakes.”

  “Days,” Darla said, her arms crossed. “We’re losing days...”

  “We’ll find something,” Ainsley contributed. She had sat down in the middle of the road and spread her legs out in front of her and began to stretch. Then she leaned backward against the road and stared up into the sky. “We’ll keep plugging along. Toward the people who tried to kill us.”

  “You don’t have to come with us,” Darla answered swiftly. Then she rolled her head over to look at Ainsley and dropped her tone, “Seriously.”

  “I don’t. But I’m going to.” Ainsley raised her eyebrows with a taunting flair. Then she mumbled, “It’s not the smartest decision we’ve ever made...but you’re not the only one who lost something, alright? Can you give me a break already?”

  Darla took a step toward Ainsley, who didn’t budge.

  “Can we stop saying that? Losing my wife and my friends was hard enough, that’s true. And I’m sorry about your mom, Ainsley, I am. But this trip is about Teddy. Grant. Nothing more.”

  “Sure,” Ainsley replied with the petulance of a child. “Nothing more.”

  “Wait...” Darla stopped mid-sentence and then pointed off into the hills, the rough direction of Nebraska. “You mean Ethan? You’re trekking across the barren landscape of rural America for a boy?” Darla asked.

  Ainsley shut her eyes and drew her mouth tight. She refused to answer as Darla snickered, and then turned back to the car.

  “Come on, Dean. Let’s grab our things. We’re walking.”

  Ainsley sat up in a hurry.

  “That boy is the only friend I have left...in the whole entire world,” she yelled. “Maybe you think that’s stupid, but it’s true.”

  “Don’t you even tell me you were falling in love with him or I’m absolutely leaving you in the wilderness,” Darla shouted back, her head buried in the backseat of the Cadillac as she pulled out their collection of canned food, blankets, and the backpacks they’d nabbed from a school playground in Eastern Oregon before crossing the border. They were children’s bags; small and cartoonish, and they sat high on their backs.

  Darla slipped her slender legs back on to the pavement and crawled her way back out of the car, and she paused to look at Ainsley; scrunch-faced and sober, unmoving.

  “Ainsley,” Darla started. She swept her hair out of her face and then shot a look at Dean, who began putting provisions in the packs. “He was...is...a good kid. I like him, too. But we’re not going back for Ethan. Jesus, you know that, right?”

  “Why do you get to call all the shots?” Ainsley fired back. “Why are your needs the only ones that matter?�
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  “Needs? You listen—” Darla started, but Dean cleared his throat in warning. She ignored him. “I’m on a mission and that mission does not involve Ethan King. Not even for a second. And that guy means a lot to me...you hear that, Ainsley? He means a lot to me. But my own kid means more. A helluva lot more. And if you think for one moment that I’d sacrifice saving Teddy for even a second more with Ethan...you’re out of your hormone-addled mind.”

  “Hey. Easy now,” Dean said, playing the diplomat. “Ethan’s not the bad guy here. You heard that boy talk. He thought the saints would come a’marching in, waving the flag of friendship. I know lots of things about boys, especially boys Ethan’s age, and I’ll tell you what, I bet he’s beating himself up every hour for not being able to stop that massacre.”

  “Sure,” Darla replied. She grabbed the small puppy backpack and slung it over her right shoulder. “I agree with you, Dean. Now let’s start walking.” She started trudging up the road, the luscious green of the forest a pristine backdrop. Dean followed, but then stopped. He looked back at Ainsley and called for her, but she stayed rooted to the road—the twenty-year-old girl acting out by demanding her space at the most inopportune time.

  “What if he needs us?” Ainsley called after them from the ground. She said it fast and flip, not even bothering to move.

  Darla took in a deep breath and started to respond, but then she turned away from Ainsley and kept on walking, keeping her eyes focused on the winding road and the river running parallel to them. A breeze blew through the trees; Darla sent up a silent prayer that an abandoned car would be waiting for them around the next bend: one void of decaying bodies and mechanical problems.

  “I’ll go talk to her,” Dean whispered and he started to walk back, but Darla grabbed his arm.

  “We’re all tired here. She’ll catch up when she wants to.”

  “You’re going to leave her lying there?”

  “Why not? You think a car is going to run her over?” Darla raised her eyebrows and Dean reluctantly acquiesced.

  “It doesn’t feel right just walking on and not at least trying to encourage her to come along,” Dean replied. “I’m the older, wiser voice...”

  Darla snorted. But she remained firm. “Keep walking, Dean. Ainsley’s an adult. We’ll be here when she wants to start acting like one.”

  They were watchful. The animals were starting to make themselves known, and while most of the forest’s wildlife had steered clear, evidence that bears, cougars, and the less intimidating deer were thriving, not dying, became clear. It was the birds they noticed first. Right after the Release, it was hard to find birds in the sky—but now they were coming back, getting braver, picking at the rotting flesh of the bodies left behind.

  It was unexplainable, but they hypothesized that animals in the city had fared worse than their wild counterparts. With that in mind, they kept to the main roads and remained vigilant.

  Ainsley caught up to them after twenty minutes. She walked ten steps behind Darla, shuffling her feet, still in her torn jeans.

  Behind them, the sun dipped lower in the sky. It was going to get dark soon and they had no place to camp that felt safe and secure, so they trudged onward, winding around the larch trees, the mile markers, the hiking paths.

  Dean had acquired a long, weathered piece of wood and was using it as a walking stick; he stopped and pointed down a side road that hugged the river. “I think we venture off the highway.”

  “How close were we to Montana when the tire blew?” Darla asked as she reached into her backpack to consult a map. She put her finger along Highway 12, assessing how it bifurcated the state and took them straight into Missoula. They’d find a car before that, though. Tiny towns dotted the landscape, and Darla estimated they had to be nearing one of them.

  “Close in a car or close on foot?” Dean clarified and then he shrugged. “Neither, really.”

  “Fine. Stick close to the Lochsa River.” She tucked the map back into her bag.

  “Come on, just a little bit to go, then,” Dean encouraged.

  They worked their way down off the highway, and a mile down a small road called Indian Grave Creek, they found what they were looking for: a tiny town, complete with a one room storehouse and four or five houses situated along the river. A quick assessment of the store was shocking. The shelves had been cleared. There was not a stitch or stray grain of rice, a rotting apple or a crumpled candy-bar wrapper in sight. It had been picked clean. Even the gum stand next to the cash register was empty.

  “Well, that’s disappointing,” Ainsley said as she wandered the aisles, and then she opened up one of the freezers. Poking her head inside, she inhaled and made a face. “I think this has been cleaned, too.”

  “I’m done trying to figure out the basics of human behavior,” Darla replied, looking out the storefront window into the parking lot. No cars. “You can’t expect people to behave rationally or logically. As a matter of fact, expect chaos and crazies and you’ll never be disappointed.”

  “Should we check out the houses?” Dean asked, pointing off toward the nice river homes sitting off in the distance. “Sleep in a bed tonight?”

  Darla was quiet for a long time, and Ainsley and Dean watched her. Then she stepped out of the store and looked around. “No,” she called back inside. She walked back into the barren grocery and put her hand on an empty shelf. “I just can’t handle any discoveries...no gore, no bodies. I think we should get wood and make a fire in the parking lot, and sleep in the store if we get cold.”

  “I don’t mind doing the search—” Dean said, but then he caught a glimpse of Darla’s exhaustion, the deep pockets forming under her eyes, her shoulders slumped as he suggested it. “Yeah, kid. Sure. Parking lot.”

  “Get ready for some beans and barbeque-sauce,” Ainsley added in a dry, even voice. “It’s a party.”

  The fire had died down to the coals, glowing red embers. Dean had popped the can of beans directly into the fire, perched on a bed of intricately placed sticks. They ate greedily, shoving dinner into their mouths with silent gusto. And when they were done, they spread themselves out on the wooden porch and sat with their backs against the wood paneled storefront. A wind blew in and it was cold; summer was still a few weeks off, so the late spring offered little respite from the elements once the sun dropped below the horizon.

  Ainsley pulled out her Leaves of Grass book and thumbed through the pages. She tilted it upward so the words were visible by the firelight. After a moment, she held the book to her chest and watched the flames lick at their collected pile of sticks and shrubbery.

  “This is taking too long,” Darla said to herself. She let her head collapse into her tucked-up knees. She mumbled, “First thing in the morning, a car. Then...no rest until Nebraska.”

  “That was the original plan,” Dean reminded her. “We’re getting there.”

  Ainsley sniffed. “I bet they have real food. Pizza. Donuts.”

  Dean shifted his attention, “Where? In Nebraska?”

  “Yeah,” Ainsley breathed airily. “Nebraska.” She smiled. “I’m going to dream of pizza.” She stretched her arms and stood up, yawning deeply, with a little squeal at the end, and then she wrapped her arms around her body she shivered. “Was there a bathroom inside?”

  “Nope,” Darla replied. “Twenty feet to the shrubs over there...”

  Ainsley turned and pivoted and bounced down the steps, she lowered her head and began to wander away from the fire and the moonlight. Watching her disappear into the brush, Darla took her own cue and stood up.

  “I’m turning in, Dean,” she said. When Dean didn’t reply she looked over and found him nodding off, his head bobbing like a cork in the water.

  From beyond the parking lot, Darla heard the snapping of twigs and the rustle of the brush. She was about to call out to Ainsley and tell her not to wander too far, but she paused. The sounds of a scuffle grew louder. And then she heard the scream.

  Darla jump
ed, the hairs on her arm stood on end, and her heart began to race. Ainsley was screaming—loud and shrill, a solid cry for help. Then her shriek turned muffled, and slid further away, and the forest went quiet. It all happened so fast that Darla hadn’t even made her way off the porch. Dean heard it too and was up on his feet, reaching for his gun.

  But before either of them could react, Darla felt her body seize. Every muscle tensed and went into shock, and Darla fell straight over, hitting her head against the railing. A splitting pain traveled from her temple to her jaw.

  Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Dean fall as well, his body vibrating against the wood, his mouth tight and rigid. His eyes rolled back in his head and she tried to scream, but her lungs wouldn’t take in or expel air.

  When she was able to finally focus, Darla saw the black mask, and the green cylindrical filter. The eyes behind the filmy lenses were bright blue and wild: full of raw fear. Hands, covered in elbow-high gloves, reached out and patted her body. They discovered the gun and flung it out into the dirt. Her body started to correct itself and find its way back to normalcy, and she gasped for a breath, the pins and needles floated down her extremities. Darla took her wobbly arm and reached up at the face, but the masked person grabbed her arm and hoisted her upward and began to drag her down toward the fire. She thudded down the steps, her whole body hitting the wooden boards in turn.

  Then Darla’s body drifted over Ainsley’s book, and she tried to reach for it, but her hands wouldn’t obey her brain’s commands. Stopping, the figure noticed Darla’s failed attempt and bent down and picked up the Walt Whitman. The person examined the outside cover briefly, and then tossed the book on to their fire where the small flames licked greedily at the thin pages, black tendrils of smoke filtered upward as the pages singed.

  “No,” Darla breathed, but it sounded like a wheeze. “No.”

  Without reply, the figure took a free hand and leaned down; something cold and metal jabbed into her neck and she thrashed wildly against it.