Afternoon (The Daylight Cycle Book 3)

by Kody Boye

  “Please repeat everything you just told me,” she said, “and provide explicit details on the manner of the scratch, where it is located on the body, what symptoms have occurred and what state the patient is currently in. Over.”

  Steve began by stating the obvious: that the individual had been on a supply run with four others when they’d been swarmed by a zombie horde. He detailed their flight up a stairwell, Erik’s infection via a scratch that had not broken the skin, then their subsequent return and his current state, including his feverish symptoms and the lack of bloodshot eyes or sallowing skin.

  “This does not sound like the typical infection we’ve seen in patients who are infected with Complete Immuno-Failure and Resurrection Virus,” another man in the background said. “Tell me—is the patient stable? Over.”

  “We’ve been giving him antibiotics and his temperature is supposedly dropping.”

  “Supposedly?”

  “I’ve not checked myself. I’m with several other survivors in a walled-off sector. I haven’t seen the patient in a few days.”

  “Yet his condition is not deteriorating?”

  “No, sir. It isn’t. Over.”

  A chuckle sounded from the other end of the line at Steve’s sudden formality. As a result, Rose drew forward, removed the walkie from Steve’s hand, and said, “Are you in a secured compound? Over.”

  “The university has been secured since the original outbreak,” Doctor Hernandez said. “There aren’t many of us here, mind you, but we have enough supplies to last us for months and have been sending people out to gather more from the nearby houses and buildings on a daily basis. Over.”

  Just like Fort Hope, she thought, trembling. She thought of Lyra and the position she was in—of how her friend was undoubtedly safe within the boarding school with the man she had likely fallen in love with—before swallowing the lump in her throat. She was just about to say something before she was cut off.

  “Is the patient in any condition to be moved?” the man asked—then added, upon another’s cleared throat, “Over.”

  “If you mean can he move,” Rose said, “I don’t see why not. Why? What do you want us to do? Over.”

  “We would like, if it is at all possible, to examine the patient here at our facilities in Boise. Over.”

  Rose turned her head to look at Steve.

  Had she heard currently. Examine the patient? In Boise?

  Is that even possible?

  Would they even be able to move that far, much less with a sick man in tow? The state was brutal—mired with dead ends, blocked roadways and weather that could easily kill them were they not careful. Did these people really expect them to go all that way by car—or on foot, no less?

  “Are you able to receive return calls to this frequency?” Rose asked. “Over.”

  “We are able to. Over.”

  “Then please wait while we discuss what we are able to do in our current circumstances. Over.”

  “Miss Daniels,” Doctor Rosalita Hernandez said. “If what you’re saying is true—if the patient truly has been infected for several days and has no turned—he may be immune to the virus.”

  Immune? Rose thought. How can that—

  She wasn’t able to finish her thought. Steve snatched the transmitter from her hand and said, without pause, “What do you mean immune? Are you saying he’s not going to die?”

  “I’m saying that his body is rejecting the normal procedures the virus undergoes in order to destroy the patient’s immune system,” the doctor replied. “Which means that he’s likely immune to the virus. Which means that he’s only going to be sick. Which means that he won’t even die. Which means—”

  “You could potentially create an antidote,” Rose said. Her heart sunk in her chest and her lungs stopped taking in air.

  If Erik was immune to the virus—and he was, by definition, unable to succumb to its affects—then there was a possibility that they could cure it, or at least develop a vaccine that would prevent further infections.

  The concept was astounding, the revelation nothing less than Biblical. If what they were saying was true—and if they truly could do this…

  Rose slipped the walkie from Steve and pressed the transmit button. “We will do everything we can to get the patient and our people to Boise, Idaho as quickly as possible,” she said. “Over and out.”

  She returned the receiver to the radio, turned to face Steve, and said, “We have to do this.”

  The man didn’t argue.

  This was no longer about them or Erik

  This was about the future of the world.

  Chapter 3

  “You’re saying you made contact with a group of survivors in Boise?” Jamie said after Rose and Steve finished their story.

  “Yeah,” Rose replied, matter-of-factly. “We are.”

  No one said anything for several long moments. The party—Jamie, Dakota, Kevin, Steve, Rose and Kevin’s two sons—stood in the living room of Jamie’s childhood home and waited for someone to break the ice: for someone to draw that proverbial knife and cut from the air the tension that would undoubtedly lead to their next biggest decision. The youngest of their group were trembling, likely due to the fact that they felt they would soon be uprooted from the place that had now become their home. The others simply remained frozen in place—showing little, if any emotion.

  Jamie reached up to run a hand through his hair. “This isn’t a decision we can make lightly,” he said. “And we all know that it isn’t ours to make.”

  “We can’t just let Erik decide the course of human history,” Rose said. “That’s absolutely ridiculous.”

  “She’s right,” Dakota said. “If there’s a possibility that Erik could hold the cure—or at least the proteins for a vaccine—we have to seriously consider it.”

  “The dangers alone,” Kevin said, “in traveling during the winter, especially in a state like Idaho.”

  “We haven’t gotten much snow so far,” Steve said. “I say we load up everyone and leave now, before the weather gets any worse.”

  “How do you expect to transport a sick man, let alone in the condition he’s in? He’d be absolutely miserable.”

  “I’ll do it,” a voice said.

  Everyone turned.

  Erik stood on the stairway—half-naked, looking miserable, and with reddened nose, cheeks and eyes that signified weeping, snotting and possibly even crying.

  “You don’t have to do this,” Jamie said.

  “If I am dying,” Erik said, “which I sometimes feel like I am, it’ll be better if we leave now while I’m not miserable rather than wait until I get a lot worse.”

  “I’m not leaving,” Kevin said. “And I’m certainly not leaving my boys to fend for themselves.”

  “No one’s asking anyone to do anything they don’t want to,” Jamie replied, lifting his hands to try and settle the group. “Besides—there’ll only realistically be room for five of us in that truck. Which means me.”

  “And me,” Steve said.

  “Steve,” Desmond started.

  “I’ve gotta go, hon,” Steve said, drawing closer to the younger man and pressing a kiss to his brow. “I can’t leave Jamie to fend for Erik all by himself.”

  “And I’ll be with him,” Dakota said, taking a step forward to try and help comfort the younger man. “So don’t worry. I’ll keep an eye on your man.”

  “I don’t think he’s really my man so much as he is a man,” Desmond sighed, shaking his head.

  Steve pressed another kiss to Desmond’s brow and wrapped him in his arms.

  It wasn’t surprising when the younger man started crying.

  I figured, Dakota thought, looking between the two men, but I didn’t…

  “I’ll be the last person to go with you,” Rose said, lifting her eyes to look at the group. “That leaves four of us to protect Erik.”

  “I feel perfectly comfortable with that arrangement,” Erik said, then coughed, only
to reach up to pinch the bridge of his nose shortly thereafter. “When do we leave?”

  “As soon as the guys have enough food to live off of for the next few weeks,” Steve said.

  Desmond paled. A few weeks? his eyes seemed to say, which Steve could only respond to with a nod.

  The younger man turned and walked out the door.

  Steve started forward, but Dakota grabbed him before he could give chase. “Leave him be,” he said.

  “I’d tell him to go with us,” Steve replied, “but there’d be no room, he’s too young, and—”

  “He’s eighteen, Steve. He isn’t a kid anymore.”

  “I know, but—” Steve sighed. He shook his head, reached up to tangle his hands in his lengthening hair, and settled down just as Kevin directed his two boys toward the door. “So it’s settled then,” he continued. “After we get enough food for the four of them, we’re gone.”

  “Right,” Rose said.

  Erik coughed, then sniffled.

  Dakota looked up and into the man’s eyes.

  Though they were not crossed with the telltale red lines or weakening color in the irises, the exhaustion in them was more than clear.

  They had to move—and soon.

  Dakota, Steve and Rose went on their third supply run for that week the following morning, when the sun had just begun to rise above the horizon and paint the world in dappled shades of orange. Armed with only their wits, three backpacks and the weapons at their sides, they went from house to house searching for whatever could be of use. They first secured clothing that would benefit the group for the winter—including blankets they could use to compensate for the lack of heating they’d be using in the truck come time for their trip—then began to search through pantries and other miscellaneous stores. Bagged foods were expiring, but were still safe enough to consume, while canned goods would stay for another year or so without much issue. Always, they had to break in; and always, they feared, the sounds would draw attention.

  “They should be safe enough in those houses,” Rose said after pulling the last of the canned goods from the pantry of the house they were in. She secured them in her bag and zipped it to breaking point before tossing it over her shoulders, careful to adjust it across the thick winter coat that covered her back.

  Steve lifted a carving knife from a kitchen rack and nodded as he tested its sharpness on a nearby piece of paper. “Smooth as silk,” he said.

  “Wrap it in a shirt and bring it with us,” Dakota said. “We’ll need more weapons for the trip anyway.”

  “Should we go through the house and see if we can find any bats or golf clubs?”

  “We need to dump our load before we start bringing more stuff home,” Rose said. She cast a glance out the nearby window and nodded when she saw the coast was clear. “Let me head back to the house. I’ll be right back.”

  “You sure you’ll be ok?” Dakota asked.

  “Watch my back and I’ll be fine.”

  While Rose let herself out, Dakota busied himself with sorting through some of the items he’d arranged across the counter, taking extra care to watch Rose as she navigated across the empty street and to the gate they’d pulled shut from the outside. After she was inside, he turned his attention back to his work, only to be startled when Steve showed up. “Steve,” he said, “what’re you—”

  A giant wrench—almost the size of Dakota’s head—came into view. “You could clock someone with this and they’d never wake up,” Steve said.

  Dakota tested the weight in his palm as Steve passed it on and found it to his liking. He even took a few swings with the item and, upon accidentally hitting one of the cabinets, grimaced as a dent the size of an orange was made.

  “Yeah,” Steve laughed. “I think that one’s yours.”

  “Thanks,” Dakota replied, watching as Rose returned from across the street, jogging at a pace casual enough to warrant caution on the ice but fast enough to where she wouldn’t be taking her time. She entered through the front door a moment later and nodded as she took note of the giant wrench at Dakota’s side. “Good. We’ll need stuff like that to make sure we’re safe.”

  “Are you going to start searching the rest of the house?”

  “Yeah.” Rose lifted her trustworthy baseball bat into her hand and started toward the back of the house. “I’ll search the back. You guys concentrate on the front.”

  “Will do,” Steve said.

  As Rose disappeared into the living room, leaving the two men to their own devices, Dakota sighed and looked up to glance at the fortifications they’d worked so hard to build across from them. “Steve,” he said.

  “Yeah?” Steve replied.

  “Why do I keep feeling like we’re making a mistake by leaving now while everything’s fairly stable?”

  “Because it normally wouldn’t be a good idea under better circumstances,” Steve said. “Especially under better circumstances.”

  “I just feel like we’re exposing ourselves by leaving in the dead of winter. We’ll be stuck in the truck, cramped to death, have absolutely zero privacy while we’re on the road.”

  “It’s not like we need a whole lot of privacy, Koda.”

  “I know, but still.”

  Steve slung an arm around his shoulder and leaned his head against Dakota’s. “Hey,” he said. “This isn’t just about us anymore. It’s about the future of mankind.”

  “That doesn’t make me feel any more confident about what we’re doing.”

  “At least we’re not that far away from where we need to go. I mean, hell—we could be going to California or something. Right?”

  Dakota could only imagine.

  With a laugh, Steve began to gather up his supplies and said, “Watch my back while I make another trip back, will you?”

  Dakota nodded.

  He did so without question—and watched, the entire way, until Steve disappeared into the fortified compound.

  He sighed soon after.

  The weight of the world and all its people was on their shoulders.

  What would happen if they failed?

  *

  “You’re sure you’re up for this,” Jamie said.

  “It’s not like I have much of a choice in the matter,” Erik replied.

  There was little that could be said to deter his friend’s unwavering gaze. Harsh, like a vulture seeking its carrion in the dead of winter, and focused solely on him, Erik tried his hardest not to falter beneath his friend’s oppressive gaze and failed miserably while doing so.

  “Don’t look at me like that,” he said after a moment.

  “Like what?” Jamie asked.

  “Like I’m a stupid kid who can’t make his own decisions.”

  “I’m just saying,” his friend replied. “You don’t have to do this if you don’t want to.”

  Hew knew that more than well, but just because he was having reservations about the upcoming trip did not mean that he was just going to give in and give up. He was sick—sicker than he’d ever been in his entire life—and if he caved now, he—

  He shook his head.

  No. He couldn’t think about that—not now, not ever.

  With a sigh, Erik crossed his arms over his chest and turned from the expansive window that looked out and over the fortifications they had built around their childhood homes—searching, desperately, for any of his companions in the gloom of the mid afternoon. He wanted something—anything—to keep his mind off of the sensations currently rolling through his system.

  His fever had broken sometime during the morning. He was feeling better than he had in days. But just because he was feeling better did not mean that he was ready to face this head on.

  I’ve gotta do it, he thought. I’ve gotta—

  He paused as Jamie’s eyes narrowed with untold emotion. It was impossible to tell what the man was thinking most of the time, but when he was distraught or even upset in the slightest? His eyes took on a certain hue—a certain glimmer in their
brown depths that reminded him of glass whose sole purpose was to reflect the person looking into it. No one could make him feel as nervous as Jamie could, especially when somethign was wrong.

  “I’ll be ok,” Erik offered. “Really, I—”

  “You might be dying,” his friend replied.

  “So what? It’s gotta happen eventually.”

  “Not to you, and not now.” Jamie tightened his hand into a fist until his knuckles popped. “Goddammit Erik. I told you guys you shouldn’t have gone out!”

  “We needed food.”

  “We could’ve waited.”

  “No we couldn’t have.”

  “Yes we—”

  “Jamie,” Erik sighed. “Please don’t do this to me.”

  “I’m not doing anything, you stupid shit. You’re my best friend. If you’d’ve just stayed here—”

  “Then it would’ve been Rose or Dakota,” he said.

  That obviously struck a nerve, as shortly thereafter, Jamie stopped speaking. Near tears, he turned away, and watched as Rose ferried supplies from one side of the street to the other.

  Erik stepped forward.

  Though he longed to reach out and offer his friend some form of reassurance, he knew that touching Jamie at that point would do little moer than trigger even more emotions. So, rather than do that, he simply came up to stand at his friend’s side and said, “Wouldn’t you give anything for this to be over?”

  “Not you,” Jamie replied. “Not my best friend.”

  Erik sighed. “I would,” he said. “Even if it meant my life.”

  Jamie extended an arm and wrapped it around Erik’s shoulders. “You know I love you to death,” the man said.

  “Friends forever,” Erik replied.

  “Fuck,” Jamie laughed, then began to cry.

  There was nothing Erik could do but allow his friend to ride through his emotions. Shattered as they happened to be, there was nothing he could do but offer as much support as possible in light of the circumstance.

  “So,” Erik said when Jamie’s tears finally began to die down—when, at the crux of his emotional fit, the man reached up to wipe the tears from his face. “We gotta decide something.”