The Virulent Chronicles Box Set

by Shelbi Wescott

  Cold water.

  How could he have cold water? Had he rigged up a generator? She hadn’t seen the Hales use one since they arrived, but she didn’t doubt that they had lots of machines and systems in place. Darla’s mouth salivated at the thought of cool, icy water. She could almost hear the sound of ice clinking against a glass. It was almost too much to handle. She lowered her head against the door and scratched her nails into the wood. Just so he would know she was there; just so he would know she was listening.

  She couldn’t understand his motivation. Except fear. Fear she understood. She thought of Ainsley, alone, with the Hales, and she realized their plan to keep quiet was doomed. Ainsley wouldn’t want to fail, she wouldn’t want to tell them about Ethan and the armed guards and the city in Nebraska. But she would. And then nothing prevented Lou from just killing them, dumping their bodies out in the forest, and using the newfound knowledge to protect himself.

  Or maybe Lou would let them go.

  Maybe Lou really was just protecting his family.

  Darla didn’t know what she thought anymore.

  “It’s not personal,” Lou continued. “It’s survival. I know that someone tried to kill us and failed. I know that they will continue to kill every last survivor until they have accomplished their goal...and yet you continue to protect them. Protect their whereabouts. Explain it to me, Darla. Explain to me why I’m supposed to think of you as my ally.”

  Darla pounded a weak fist into the door as her answer.

  “I’m waiting,” Lou said with an air of calm that crept underneath Darla’s skin. She shivered.

  “You can’t drug me, and separate me from my friends, and keep me as your prisoner, and expect me to want to cooperate with you…” Darla croaked to the flashlight beam. “You attacked us first. Unprovoked.”

  “I thought you were Sweepers.” He sounded so apologetic. So sad. Darla hated him for it.

  “We’re not the enemy. Why are you trying so hard to make us one?”

  “I didn’t think it would end like this. I didn’t. But I’m ending it tonight. Ainsley will tell me what I need to know and once the truth is out there, we’ll discuss the next steps.”

  She heard him turn and the flashlight disappeared; his heavy steps traveled back up the stairs and the basement door slammed shut.

  A second later, she heard Dean knocking. She crawled her way over to the vent and pressed her body against the floor. Her cheeks were wet, but she didn’t bother wiping them.

  “They took her,” she whispered into the grate.

  “I heard,” Dean said. He sounded like he was right beside her. She wished she could reach through the vent and hold his hand. She needed to hold someone’s hand. “Jesus. Darla...we have to do something,” he continued.

  “I know. I’m thinking.”

  She didn’t move. She just stayed still against the ground, her ear to the floor.

  “We’re going to find him, Darla. Teddy is still out there and we’re going to get to him. Tonight. Okay?”

  “I’m not okay,” she answered. “I’ve never felt so weak. So stupid and weak. This is the one time I should be strong…and I failed. How could I have failed my own child?”

  “You’ll regain your strength...”

  “Not just physically weak, Dean. Mentally. Emotionally. I don’t know if I have what it takes to do this. I don’t think I can be the hero.”

  Dean was silent. Then he whispered, “You think we’ll find my boy, Darla? You think he’s okay, too?”

  “I do,” she answered. But she didn’t know. She thought of the items in the room; she inventoried them in her head. And she thought of Lindsey, her potential co-conspirator coming down with dinner in a few hours. All those things fluttered through her thought. Then she shifted against the carpet and said, “Tell me a good memory, Dean.” She could hear the hum of the house through the cracks beneath her.

  He went quiet and Darla pressed her ear down harder. “Dean?”

  “Christmas. When I was about ten. My dad took me out to cut down our own tree, just me and him, out in some u-cut farm in the mountains. We were out all day trying to find the perfect tree. He’d keep saying, ‘Your mom deserves the best tree, Dean. Just the best.’ Finally, we found one...cut it down, strapped it up, traveled all the way home. It was dusk when we pulled in the drive, and my mom was there, in the window, with two mugs of hot cocoa. Big old marshmallows floating in just pure chocolate. I can still taste it. And I remember my dad setting that tree up in the middle of our family room and helping my mom string the lights.” Dean paused.

  Darla couldn’t hear anything but her own steady breath against the floor.

  “We had this Elvis Christmas record playing. And my parents were dancing...my mom in this pink robe and my dad in these tight bell-bottomed pants. They were just so happy...you remember what it felt like to see your parents just happy like that? God, I can just see them still. Elvis. The tree. And my mom hands me the tinsel, right? These stringy pieces of silver and gold and I string them all over. And she kisses my head. And says to me, ‘You remember these moments, Dean, and hide them in your heart. Because life isn’t always pretty and you’ll need bright shiny tinsel moments to get through, okay?’ I should’ve remembered that sooner, I guess. How it felt. Maybe it would’ve made me a better man. A better dad or husband. I knew what good looked like and it didn’t matter. I didn’t remember the tinsel, I guess. What a piece of wasted advice.”

  “I said a good memory,” Darla said with a smile in her voice.

  “Well, then, how’s this for cliché. The day Grant was born,” he amended. “He was a pink, ugly mess. And God, I miss that kid.”

  “He’s a good egg,” Darla said. She picked at a loose carpet thread. “Good young man. From what I knew.” She knew him for a day, but qualifying it wasn’t important.

  “I did okay sometimes,” was Dean’s reply.

  They stopped talking. There was nothing more to say. Darla could hear Dean’s thick and steady breathing from the other side of the grate, and the movement of the rabbits in their pen. Dean’s isolation had taken a toll on his sanity—he had named the rabbits and lamented when the Hales picked a beloved one to eat. Without natural light, the rabbits were small and skittish, but Dean had seemed to form fast friendships.

  Between Dean’s heavy snores and the rabbits scuttling about, Darla let her mind wander. She laid back and stared at the ceiling, dreaming of escape.

  “Someone’s coming,” Darla whispered through the grate, hoping that it would rouse Dean from slumber. She could hear steps approaching the basement door. Darla scuttled upward away from the vent. She grabbed the lantern and spun it around the room. She spotted the overturned lamp next to the coffee table, untouched since she had pounded against the ceiling. Ditching the lantern, Darla picked up the lamp and held it like a bat over her shoulder. As the lock above her door rattled, the door creaked open, and she slid her body against the wall. A triangular sliver of light appeared on the floor, and it crept wider and wider. Lindsey’s silhouette appeared and she took a tentative step forward.

  “Darla?” she asked.

  With a deep breath, Darla stepped out and swung, landing a blow across Lindsey’s upper arm. Shocked and surprised, Lindsey backed back out into the hall, fumbling with the door, but Darla kicked it open and followed her. She pushed the base of the lamp against Lindsey’s chest and jammed her into the wallpapered wall opposite her prison. Lindsey grasped at the lamp leg and struggled to catch her breath. She started to call out, but Darla dropped the lamp and rushed forward. She placed her arm up against Lindsey’s throat and clasped her hand over her mouth. The woman’s eyes were wide and they filled with tears.

  “Not a word,” Darla said.

  Lindsey nodded. She blinked and the tears ran down Darla’s hand.

  “I’m taking my hand away and don’t even think about calling for help,” Darla told her, and Lindsey nodded again. Darla removed her hand. “Where’s everyone else?”


  “My-my-my,” Lindsey stammered. Darla shook her gently and Lindsey groaned and gasped. “My parents are upstairs in their room. My brother is in the main room, watching the basement...basement...door.”

  “Where’s Ainsley?”

  “Upstairs. My dad has her in the walk-in closet of his bedroom.” She held out a shaking hand. Darla looked down and saw that she was holding a ring of keys silver keys. “Take it. The big one...is for the pick-up truck.”

  Darla snatched them and held them in a fist. “Right,” she said with frustration. “Just leave? Without Ainsley? Are you out of your mind?”

  “I don’t know what you want,” Lindsey cried. “I told you I’d help when I could...I couldn’t. I couldn’t. You don’t understand.”

  “Are you armed?”

  Lindsey nodded. “Back...pocket.” Darla spun Lindsey against the wall and patted Lindsey’s waist and her back pockets, pulling out the small stun gun. She turned it on and jabbed it into Lindsey’s back.

  “No...please...” Lindsey pleaded. “Not like this. I told you I was on your side.”

  Darla ignored her. She pushed Lindsey down the hall and made her unlock Dean’s door, handing the ring of keys back to her for a second. Dean stumbled outward and looked at Lindsey and Darla. He scratched his head and assessed the two women with perplexed curiosity.

  “We have a plan?” he whispered to Darla.

  Darla shook her head. “First step. Get out of the room.”

  “Hey, we’re doing great then,” Dean replied.

  “I never thought he’d take her...I never thought it would get this far,” Lindsey said. She began to sob, heaving heavily and leaning forward to catch her breath.

  “Calm down,” Darla instructed in a fierce whisper, unable to hide her disdain for Lindsey’s sudden weakness. “Calm down. Now. Please. And thank you.” And Lindsey listened; she took a deep breath and waited, even though her bottom lip still quivered. “We don’t go without the girl. Come here.” She grabbed Lindsey’s arm harder. Darla held her arms tightly pinned behind her and pushed the stun gun into Lindsey’s side.

  “I’m helping you,” Lindsey said hoarsely. “I told you I’d help you...”

  “You’re a little late on the offer,” Darla said.

  She directed the woman up the steps, keeping the gun trained on her ribs. “Dean,” Darla called back down the stairs, “take the keys. Go the car and wait. Start the engine when you see us running. We’ll climb into the bed...don’t even wait for us to get into the cab. And gun it when we’re in.” She handed him the ring of keys.

  “Darla—”

  “I have a plan,” she said quickly. But she didn’t. “I just need you in the car, waiting.” A cold sweat broke out across her brow and she couldn’t wipe it away. She thought Dean could see right through her—see that she didn’t know what she was doing.

  But he nodded without questioning her and followed them up the stairs.

  Lindsey poked her head out first. Darla stayed hidden in the shadows.

  “Where’s my gun?” Darla whispered.

  “I don’t know,” she whispered back.

  Lyle called from the other room. “You do it?” he asked.

  “Uh-huh,” Lindsey replied, unmoving from the top step.

  “They’ll be out long?” he mumbled.

  “Yeah,” Lindsey said, her voice catching. “Yeah,” she said again, stronger the second time.

  “Why are you hovering?” her brother asked and his voice was getting closer.

  Darla’s heart pounded in her chest and she felt Dean’s steady hand against her back and then his lips near her ear. “Give me the stun gun,” he said and he slipped his hand next to Darla’s and took the gun. Then he counted slowly and as Lyle’s footsteps approached the door, Darla shoved Lindsey to the ground and Dean sprung, landing the stun gun against Lyle’s neck and jabbing him with a steady stream of voltage. Surprised and down on the ground, Lyle’s muscles thrashed involuntarily.

  “Tie him up! Tie him up!” Dean whispered loudly and Darla muttered disapproving growls as she dragged Lindsey to the far side of the living room where the rope pile lay discarded. She kicked the rope to Dean, who attempted to wrap it around Lyle’s body while still zapping him with the gun. But then the electrodes stopped firing and the gun whined to stop. Breathing heavily, Lyle regained control of his body. He lifted his head and shifted his legs to stand, taking a swipe at Dean who fumbled to tie the rope around his legs.

  Lindsey struggled into Darla’s arms and pulled against her. And Darla yanked her to the ground, tossing her to her back. It knocked the wind out of her and she lay rigidly against the floor, gasping for breath.

  “Shit,” Dean spat. His eyes scanned the room. He spotted a cast-iron skillet on the kitchen table, still with the remnants of the Hales’ dinner, and he rushed over, grabbing it with both hands. Lyle, spotting Dean’s new tactic, made a move forward, but Darla was swift. Kicking him squarely in the crotch, the pain doubled him over. Just for good measure she kicked him again. Lindsey was up now, scampering away, but Darla grabbed at her and yanked her down by her shirt. With her brother wailing beside her, Lindsey sobbed. “I was going to help,” she said through tears. “I told you, I’d help you.”

  “Too late,” Darla replied. “We’re helping ourselves.”

  Dean took aim and dropped the skillet down on Lyle’s head, hitting him squarely in the forehead. The skillet crashed to the floor and Lyle’s head flopped to the side, his mouth dropped open.

  “It worked,” Dean said, surprised, and breathless. “I was not expecting that.”

  Lindsey turned to her brother and sat up, pawing at his neck and checking for a pulse. “We aren’t bad people,” Lindsey added weakly. “He’s not a bad person...”

  “I think your family is a bunch of crazed psychotic assholes with a real penchant for violence.” Darla crouched close enough to Lyle to see his chest rise and fall. “He’s not dead.”

  “Dear God,” Lindsey breathed. “Please...don’t hurt me...”

  Darla looked at her squarely. The room was glowing with the dots of nearly fifty tea-light candles, and upstairs someone stirred.

  “How do I get Ainsley and get out of here?” Darla asked. She watched Lindsey’s face fall, and she caught her staring at Lyle’s body, a large goose egg forming on his forehead. The bump looked cartoonish, exaggerated, and Darla refrained from reaching out and touching it.

  It took Lindsey a second before she decided to answer. “My father thinks this is the right thing. You can’t fault him for that. You haven’t seen what we’ve seen...you don’t know what we know. For years people treated him like he was crazy for wanting to be prepared. Like Noah and his boat...people laughed at him, until the rains came.”

  “Save the speech. Tell me how to save my friend,” Darla interrupted.

  “If I had known how to help you, I would have helped you. If I knew how to leave...I would have left.” Lindsey’s voice shook. “Just don’t hurt them...they’re not bad people. They’re crazy, but they’re not bad. And you promised you’d take me with you...”

  “I want my gun. If not my gun, any gun.”

  Lindsey nodded. She stood up and walked over to a china cabinet in the main room. She opened a glass door wide and reached in, grabbing Darla’s weapon. She hesitated, as if she thought about turning the gun on Darla herself, but then at the last second, she handed it over. Darla checked the chamber—still loaded—and clicked the safety off.

  “Don’t hurt them,” Lindsey said again.

  “Dean...wait in the truck,” Darla commanded.

  Dean paused. He jangled the keys and looked down at Lyle and then up the stairs. “I don’t think that’s the best plan...” he shook his head.

  “Wait in the truck,” she said again.

  Shaking his head, Dean turned. “You’re going to go up there alone? Darla…seriously.” Darla didn’t respond. Dean sighed and shook his head again. “How long do I wait?”
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br />   “Until you see me and Ainsley running,” she replied.

  With a sigh, he went to the front door and opened it; it was dark outside, and there were crickets chirping. He shut the door and the crickets disappeared with him.

  Darla steadied her gun, and walked over to Lindsey.

  “Put your hands behind your back,” she said and Lindsey did as she was told.

  “Will you take me?” Lindsey asked. “Take me to the other survivors. Take me somewhere that doesn’t feel like such a prison.”

  Darla laughed with a biting sigh. “Lindsey, you seem like such a smart girl, but you keep saying really dumb things.” She dug her gun into Lindsey’s back. “The other survivors, huh? The people who come to visit you?”

  Lindsey nodded.

  “Who are they?”

  She didn’t answer.

  “Right,” Darla said. “Still picking and choosing what you share with me. Really bodes well for me trusting you.”

  “There’s a little place in Montana with survivors,” Lindsey offered in a whisper. “They’ve been trying to convince my dad to go with them. It’s safer there. But he won’t leave this place…he’s worked too hard.”

  “How many survivors?” Darla asked.

  “I don’t know exactly. But when they find people, they move them there. People from Canada, Oregon, Washington, California. Not as many people from the East. Yet.”

  “Do they know about us?” Darla asked. She pushed the gun into Lindsey’s back a little harder. Lindsey didn’t answer. “Do they?” she asked again. But Lindsey was done talking.

  “Well, then. Good chat.” Darla took a deep breath and pushed Lindsey up the stairs, down the dark hallway toward the master bedroom, and right up next to Cricket and Lou’s door. After a quick count to three, she kicked in the master bedroom door, and it crashed backward with a bang. Cricket spun in the bedsheets, screaming and covering her head as she jumped off the side of the bed and rushed to the corner, the comforter trailing behind her.