Fate

by V. A. Brandon

  Eyes wide with fear, her friend ran back into the house, banging the front door open in her haste to find the requested medical supplies.

  Cain rotated his shoulders back and forth, throwing an irritated glance at the jock. For the last twenty minutes or so, he’d been the one dragging the full weight of the cot since his sister’s wounds had prevented her from doing much. And Roy, being an athlete swimmer, was almost as tall as Cain and similar in muscle mass. In other words, he was no lightweight.

  No wonder Cain was pissed.

  “I’m starving,” he said, heading into the house.

  “Hey! What about Roy?”

  “Just leave him there.”

  “You wouldn’t,” Casey said, aghast.

  “Watch me.”

  In the end she was left alone with the jock, who had silently lain there listening to their curt exchange. After an awkward pause, she leaned toward him.

  “Um, Roy. Are you hungry?” He’d feasted on raw venison just hours ago. Now that his senses had returned, would condensed soup and crackers be enough to whet his appetite?

  Roy didn’t reply, but continued staring into the sky. His eyes were ruined beyond belief. There was no way he’d be able to retrieve his sight, not when his irises were the color of sour milk and kept leaking some viscous fluid. She’d have to give him a blindfold to stop some of the leakage, at the very least.

  Ashley finally returned outside, clutching the first-aid kit to her chest. “I brought all the things you asked for.” She held up a surgical stapler, looking quite triumphant. “Look at this! I didn’t even know Gramps kept it in the master bathroom.”

  The sight of the giant stapler sent a chill down Casey’s spine. “Yeah … I don’t think we’ll be using that one.” Not only did she lack the experience, but she could worsen Roy’s condition and cause sepsis to spread faster by closing an insufficiently cleansed wound.

  Together, Casey and Ashley lugged Roy inside the house and helped him lie facedown on the couch. The stab wound on his back wasn’t as dire as Casey had thought. To be honest, she didn’t know whether to feel relieved about it or irritated with herself that her split-second attack hadn’t packed an impressive-enough punch.

  As she cleaned the wound with an antibiotic ointment, her mind wandered off to all the events that had transpired. She was almost a hundred percent sure Miriam had vaccinated her that fateful day at Deen & Blatt Pharmaceuticals, and that the immunity protected her even when she was directly exposed to infected fluids. This in itself was already an incredible feat, but the scientists at Deen & Blatt had gone one step further – they’d come up with a possible solution to reverse the spreading epidemic by …

  Casey bit her lip, unable to complete that train of thought. Her brother was right – she was starting to veer into delusions of grandeur that had nothing to do with their reality. Even if she were to entertain such ludicrous notions, all it did was bring up more questions. Not on how to survive, but why a pharmaceutical company had such a vaccine in the first place. Had they known there would be an outbreak beforehand? And who had commissioned them to develop it?

  Grim-faced, she closed the gash with butterfly sutures and applied a dressing to prevent further bleeding and infection. “All done,” she said, lightly slapping Roy’s shoulder. “Now let’s put a clean cloth over your eyes to stop the leakage.”

  Once she’d finished, Ashley sat down and did the same for the knife wound on Casey’s arm, grumbling under her breath about untrustworthy friends who endangered others. Casey wasn’t sure if she was referring to her or Roy. Maybe both.

  “Ow! Could you loosen the bandage a little –”

  “Oh, shut up, you whiny baby,” Ashley muttered, cutting her off. “I have every right to be mad at you. You leave me here all by myself, and then you bring back Roy who happens to be infected.” Her cheeks flushed with anger. “All this time, you and that twin of yours treated me like some dimwit who has her head stuck in the sand. But the way I see it, you’re the one who needs a reality check!”

  Casey ducked her head, sheepish. “Okay, I admit that bringing Roy here was a reckless thing to do. But just look at him. Does he look infected and dangerous right now?”

  He didn’t. In fact, he gave off the impression of being half dead until he turned his head sideways and opened his parched lips.

  “I’m thirsty,” he whispered for the umpteenth time.

  While Ashley went to get a bottle of mineral water, Casey leaned forward and asked the same question she’d asked earlier. It was crucial he answered this time; it was the only way to find out if his condition was improving.

  “Roy, you hungry?”

  After a lengthy pause, he breathed, “Yeahhhh.”

  How he replied next would dictate whether he lived or died. “Okay, good. So what do you need? Canned spaghetti? Meatballs? Raw flesh?”

  He lay still, considering the choices. “Something hot,” he said finally. “Like soup.”

  Casey hadn’t realized she’d been holding her breath; laughing nervously, she sprang to her feet with a lightness she hadn’t felt since stumbling into Roy hours ago.

  “Hot soup coming right up –” she began cheerfully, but faltered into silence when Cain strode into the living room, holding up Ashley’s cell phone.

  “Vlogman replied to the post,” he said. “Says he wants to meet at Cedar Ridge Trail by 4 p.m.”

  Cedar Ridge Trail. That was quite close to the campsite where she and Cain had worked as counselors, the area now riddled with infected tweens. But why there of all places? What if they were stranded there, unable to leave before sundown? The thought of a bunch of tweens with enhanced nocturnal predation, gliding soundlessly through the dark woods, felt scarier and somehow more unsettling than anything she’d experienced so far.

  “Did he write anything else?”

  Cain shook his head. “That’s pretty much it.”

  “Tell me what he posted verbatim.”

  “Yo, man, meet us at Cedar Ridge Trail at 4 p.m. Don’t be late.” He raised an eyebrow. “A bit too relaxed, if you ask me.”

  It certainly was, and Casey couldn’t help wondering about the casual reply. Surely most people would have reservations about meeting strangers, now more than ever in the aftermath of the outbreak. So where were the questions, rules, and threats that often accompanied these types of meetups? Wasn’t Vlogman apprehensive, even just a little?

  Casey glanced up sharply as Ashley joined them and twisted the cap off the bottle. She helped Roy into a sitting position – her nose crinkling in distaste at his grimy, bloodied state – and gently poured refreshing water into his eager mouth. His unquenchable thirst almost sent him into a frenzy as he grabbed her hands and nearly crushed them along with the bottle.

  “Hey!” Cain said, alarmed as he pulled Ashley away. “Take it easy.”

  Only frantic gurgling filled the air as Roy emptied the plastic container in seconds and tossed it over his shoulder. Water dripping down his throat, he sighed and leaned against the couch.

  “Feel better?” Casey asked.

  His chin jerked down in a nod. “I’m good … for now.”

  That was enough for her. “Ashley,” she said, turning toward her friend. “Warm up a can of soup for him, preferably something with a thin broth. Once he finishes it, I want you to lock yourself in the attic.” Hastily, she added, “It’s better to err on the side of caution.”

  “Caution, my ass!” Ashley thundered, clenching her fists. “I am not staying here alone if there’s even a one percent chance of Roy turning back into a ravenous cannibal. I’m going with you to meet Bloodman or whatever the heck his name is. You can’t stop me!”

  For the first time, Cain didn’t oppose his ex-girlfriend’s outburst. “It’s better this way,” he said to his twin. “In the event he reverts back to his infected state, Ashley will be a goner for sure. She’s hopeless, you know that.”

  Trust him to slip in a gibe at the end. It was somewhat mean-spiri
ted, but Casey knew it was just his way of drawing a clear line so Ashley wouldn’t start getting ideas.

  Turned out he didn’t need to worry. “That’s right,” Ashley said, spreading out her hands as if pleading a case before a jury. “If Roy does turn, then locking myself in the attic won’t do any good because he’ll know I’m in there.” Her inveigling tone grew softer. “Look, we’ll lock Roy in the attic instead. That way, he’ll be safe at night. And if he turns, he’ll be locked inside, unable to make his way out and harm others. It’s a win-win situation.”

  There was no such thing as a “win-win” situation here, but Casey decided to relent for now; the only problem was Roy, who’d sat there listening to this offensive discussion quietly.

  “Roy?” she murmured. “Is that okay with you?” It was a stupid question, considering they’d already made the decision without consulting him first.

  Since the blindfold hid his ruined eyes, it was hard to tell what he was thinking. “Sure,” he replied, his blank face revealing nothing. “Just … leave some food and water.”

  “Of course. Oh, and if you need the bathroom, there’s a toilet and sink in the attic.”

  The minutes were ticking by faster than expected. While Cain went out to store various weapons in their truck, Casey helped Roy into the attic and watched as he sloppily swallowed reheated chicken broth from a ceramic bowl. It looked as if he had better control of his limbs, which gladdened her heart.

  “We’ll try to return by tonight,” she reassured him, although she hadn’t the faintest clue what would happen once they left the lake house. But as long as he remained human and of sound mind, there was no way she’d leave him here for days, alone and starving.

  He finished off the broth, then gave her a weary nod.

  “Hey! Let’s get going.” Ashley popped her head in, fresh makeup slathered on her face. She’d changed into her “I’m going to the library, but I’m still so cute” outfit – salmon sweater, skinny jeans, cowboy boots, and a messy bun to complete the look.

  She was going to get a stroke-inducing shock upon seeing the mutilated bodies littering the roads and highways, not to mention the hoards of infected clambering after them.

  Sighing, Casey told Roy to rest and locked the attic door on the inside.

  Before leaving the lake house, she swiped Cain’s black hoodie sweater off the floor and gave it a tentative sniff. It smelled, but not overwhelmingly so. She yanked it on, making sure to cover the knife wound on her arm and especially the bite mark on her shoulder. It wouldn’t do to accidentally show them to Vlogman and his peeps; they’d definitely figure out that she was one of the few who’d received the vaccination from Deen & Blatt.

  An impatient honk sounded outside. It was time to leave their quiet refuge and venture back into the bedlam that now ruled their city. Following after Ashley, she closed the door on the way out, listening as the electronic lock beeped twice.

  Time to go, so move your ass.

  Taking her own advice, she hurried over to the truck and jumped into the passenger seat, taking pains to avoid her twin’s probing glance.

  Chapter 14

  Silence reigned in the claustrophobic bedroom where a staring contest had begun. Trey’s eyes blinked slowly behind the spectacles resembling two magnifying glasses; the damn kid was surprisingly good at this. Or maybe it was mere posturing.

  Mike glared back, hoping to crumble the boy’s fragile defenses.

  “You wished to have a chat,” Trey said, scratching his arm as he continued staring at Mike.

  “I do.”

  “Then please begin.”

  “Your mother” – Mike narrowed his eyes – “wasn’t infected. Why did you lie?”

  If Trey was taken aback, he was hiding it very well. “I need you to elaborate on that.”

  “Elaborate?” Mike echoed. “All right, then, how’s this for elaboration? Your mom was not infected, and yet you buried a pair of metal scissors into her eye, causing instant death.” He reminded himself that Trey was only twelve years old, that he should go easy on the kid, but damned if he wasn’t getting creeped out by the slack expression on that little face! A chill settled over his skin like a ghostly caress.

  Silence hung over the air once more.

  This time, a resentful look finally entered the boy’s eyes. “You think I was the one who killed my mother.”

  Hadn’t Trey confessed to killing her earlier? So why the sudden aggrievement?

  “Correction. I think you killed your mom who was clearly not infected. Which makes what you did murder and not self-defense. See the difference?”

  “It wasn’t murder.” Trey’s voice grew louder – a shrill denial. “It wasn’t murder!”

  Now he’d done it. Mike leaped up from his chair and grabbed the boy’s shoulders. “Tell me what happened, then, and be honest. I’ll listen, okay?” He was already regretting his bad choice of words.

  But it was too late for meaningless comfort. Trey threw himself on the queen-sized bed and wailed, kicking at the bedding and hitting the pillows with his small fists. Alarmed, Mike pulled Trey into a bear hug, repeatedly whispering how sorry he was into the boy’s ear, taking the stray back kicks that landed on his shins and thighs. The bottled emotions pouring out of Trey were starting to affect Mike as well, and he found himself tearing up alongside the kid.

  The RV screeched to a heart-lurching halt.

  Seconds later, Mr. Rothstein banged the bedroom door open, his wispy hair floating in every direction. The woman – who still hadn’t introduced herself! – hovered behind him, her face filled with mild annoyance. This quickly shifted to scandalized enjoyment, for reasons unknown to Mike.

  “Mike!” Mr. Rothstein shouted in dismay. “Get off him at once!”

  “Huh? But –” Mike wiped his eyes and stared at the retired pianist, then realized with a sickening thump exactly what they were seeing.

  Here was a grown man forcibly holding down a crying boy in bed, a boy struggling in his unrelenting embrace. He’d been squeezing Trey from behind. And with the fricking door closed at that.

  The most florid curses exploded in his head like festival fireworks.

  Mike whipped his palms up, mortified beyond belief. “Wait. It’s not what it looks like.”

  Instead of bolting outside, Trey continued writhing on the spacious bed, loudly wailing about nonsensical things.

  “What’s gotten into him?” Mr. Rothstein stepped inside, worried. “In all the time I’ve known him, he has never behaved like this. Not once.”

  “I’m afraid it’s my fault.” When the woman’s smile widened, Mike snapped, “Get your filthy mind out of the gutter. He’s crying because of his mother.”

  Mr. Rothstein made a sympathetic noise. “Because he had to kill her?”

  “No. Because I accused him of murdering her.”

  The woman released a low whistle, shaking her head in sanctimonious disbelief.

  “I trust you had your reasons, Mike,” Mr. Rothstein said calmly, but his eyes were hard. “However, since you instigated this mess, I expect you to rectify it in a manner that brings no lasting harm to Trey. Furthermore, he is your full responsibility now.”

  “What? Wait, that’s not –”

  “You can be an older brother to him,” the pianist interrupted. “Someone he can confide in.” He nodded to himself. “Yes, perhaps this all turned out for the best. Until now, the adults around Trey – myself included – have kept him at arm’s length, fascinated by his intellect and yet unable to draw closer. But you, fortunately, don’t handle him with kid gloves. Just the way an older brother should.”

  Listening to his old friend’s babbling, Mike felt the onslaught of a migraine coming on. He couldn’t make heads nor tails of what the retired pianist was saying, but at least he wasn’t being castigated for Trey’s emotional breakdown. Thank god for small mercies.

  Mike glanced at the boy, who had finally managed to settle down. “I’ll fix this,” he muttered in r
esignation. “I’ll make sure he talks to me.”

  The RV lurched forward, which was just as well; Trey’s piercing wail had attracted the unwanted attention of the infected, their silhouettes crammed against the curtained bedroom windows. Their snarls rose higher, their fingernails scrabbling at the RV’s polished exterior.

  “She has already made herself at home, hasn’t she?” Mr. Rothstein murmured, listening to the woman yelling at the infected as she steered the RV back onto the road.

  “You’re the one who invited her, so the onus is on you.”

  “Yes, I take full responsibility for that spontaneous offer. Do keep an eye on her, though. She might be plotting to steal the RV when we’re having our late breakfast at the car wash.”

  “Duly noted.” Now that the woman was out of hearing range, Mike broached the topic of Deen & Blatt. “So, how are we going to go to Dr. Miriam Rothstein? Or are we putting that on the back burner?”

  At the reminder of his daughter, Mr. Rothstein’s complexion grew pale. “It’s a dilemma that leaves me quite rattled, I must say. What do you think, young Mike? Should we still head over there, regardless of whatever surprise Myrtle has in store for us?”

  Myrtle? She must have given her name to Mr. Rothstein while steering the wheel. Mike had been expecting something along the lines of Satan’s Minion. Or maybe even Poison Ivy, since she was an irritant and wholly unwelcome.

  “We should go,” Trey croaked, and both men whirled around to find the boy pulling himself into a sitting position. His glasses were marked with tear stains.

  “Dear boy!” The pianist dashed over and drew him into a one-arm hug. “How do you feel? What an ordeal you went through.”

  “I’m fine now, Aaron.” Though his voice was hoarse, Trey comported himself with his usual indifference. “There’s no reason to delay our plans for Deen & Blatt Pharmaceuticals. I wish to arrive there as soon as possible.”

  Mike and Mr. Rothstein exchanged glances. They’d spoken openly about their desire to reach the pharmaceutical company, but not about the real reason behind it. Trey was probably under the impression they were seeking a stronghold to tide them over until the epidemic was brought under control.