Melt (Book 8): Hold

by Pike, JJ

  On to Book EIGHT: HOLD

  CHAPTER ONE

  Aggie had needed to physically restrain herself—arms wrapped around her torso, feet rooted firmly on the ground—to prevent herself from running after her dad when he headed off down the well-trodden path towards Jo’s house. He’d said he needed time with Mom and Fran. They had to “talk shop.” Why Dad was needed if it was going to be boring work talk, Aggie didn’t know, but he’d been adamant about tagging along and he was in bad enough shape that she couldn’t bring herself to argue with him even though there was so much he needed to know, so much she had to say to him.

  She’d almost lost it while he’d been gone.

  She didn’t want to be jealous that Fran got to talk to him, but there it was, sitting right on her shoulder like a squat little toad whispering that she was invisible and no one cared what she thought or felt or needed to say.

  Which was garbage, of course.

  That kind of thinking was what brought you down when the going got tough. And it was about to get impossibly complicated. A nuclear power plant was already spewing radioactive isotopes into the air and the newsman, Widget, said a megastorm was brewing in the Atlantic. But by far the most pressing problem was that the people around her didn’t seem to understand that “now” meant “immediately” rather than “when I’m ready.”

  She’d always struggled with people who said “ASAP” and meant “as soon as it’s possible for me to do it, given everything I have going on” rather than “as soon as humanly possible, because of course you’re not the boy who cried wolf. You’re the girl who cried ‘run’ and meant it with every fiber of her being.”

  The last time she’d raised Widget on the radio he’d said the following:

  Run, don’t walk. Run. Go west as fast as you can. Leave your cars, your trucks, your precious goods. Chattel and cattle are useless if you’re dead. I want you to run for your lives. The wind has shifted. Hurricane Erin has been out over the Atlantic, gathering strength, and now she’s coming ashore. Run.

  Aggie had to put aside everything that got in the way of them getting away. Her job, as usual, was to light a fire under the people around her. This time, though, it was a life-or-death decision. They had to leave immediately so they’d make it to the mines before the hurricane swept ashore, bringing with it a more-than-usually harsh death sentence. Death by bullet was one thing. Death by a radioactive flesh-eating disease was quite another.

  First, she had to get herself right.

  She couldn’t allow herself to be swamped with negativity as she had been over the last few days. “Self-doubt is a killer.” Dad had said this to her many, many times. “When you’re out in nature you need brains as much as brawn.” Her brain needed a good rinse and reset.

  She laughed. Mimi would get that joke. She had to remember to tell her later.

  She swished the jealous-toad thoughts out the door. That was the “rinse” part done.

  Now for the reset. There was so much to be grateful for. No lie. It wasn’t a mental trick she was trying out on herself. She had everything to be grateful for right now.

  The relief when she’d seen Dad sitting in the front of that van was like nothing she’d ever felt before. If anyone had asked—though they never would, they all knew how private she was and how she didn’t like to talk about her feelings—she’d have said she’d done a Petra and been “totes emo, all the way.” She smiled. It would be exhausting to be hit in the feels like that all the time. She had to be kinder to her sister. Especially now that she was preggers.

  “Keep going, Agathon. What else do you need to reset? What negative self-talk is going to drag you down and bum you out?” Dad to the rescue, as usual.

  No one was ignoring her. She was every bit as important as anyone else. Her mom and dad were back. Everything was going to be alright.

  So what if Fran got to spend time with her dad before she did? They would make up for it later. She had plenty to do in the meantime.

  She took her eyes off the road and turned her attention back to the task at hand. She had to get Paul’s ride sorted and send him to safety, ASAP (her version, not the other, slower version).

  She couldn’t use any of Jim’s vehicles for two reasons: one, they were all either vintage or muscle cars; pretty, but not rugged enough to make the off-road trip that lay ahead and two, there were three dead bodies in the garage and at least one of them was contaminated with this flesh-eating disease. Betsy said there was no way of knowing how the disease was spreading and she didn’t want them taking any chances. They’d basically been forbidden to go in there.

  Aggie was a fan of not taking unnecessary chances. Not when death was so close by.

  Which—when it came to transporting people out of here—left her with her horse, Indie; the sweet but stubborn alpaca, Floofy; and Midge’s pet goat, who was about as useful as a wind turbine in a snowstorm.

  Indigo could handle the ride. She ran her hand over the mare’s gorgeous back, tracing the curve of her croup, and down her rump. She lay her head on Indie’s side for a second and felt her friend nicker. Was there any sound in the world that said more than that soft neigh? Indie was one of her besties: smart, sensitive, and loyal. They’d been all over the place together—up to the Lodge at Lake Placid and back how many times? Five at least—and Indie had done everything Aggie had asked of her. Both horse and rider knew what their limits were; when to stop; what terrain Indie preferred; what spooked her. They were a great team. And now her favorite horse was going to drag her only brother, who’d been carefully strapped to an old-fashioned sled, halfway across the state in order to keep him safe.

  No pressure.

  She ran her hand back up Indie, all the way to her fluttering, swiveling ears, telling her what a good girl she was. The equipment was unfamiliar, but Indie had allowed Aggie to strap her with leads and cords, moving them this way and that so that they lay flat and couldn’t get snagged on anything. Indie had to be comfortable if Paul was to be safe. Aggie had tested everything from the spot where they were going to attach his sled all the way up to the saddle. There were ropes and leather straps and buckles, all of which she’d stress-tested herself. It wasn’t elegant, but it was going to get the job done.

  She looked down the path towards Jo’s house one last time. No use crying over spilt milk. Her folks were off doing “grown up” things (talking) while she stayed behind and did teenage things (saving her brother’s life). Hahahahahahahahaha. She really did need a brain reset. It wasn’t like her to be bitter.

  She left Indie tethered to the tree and trotted towards Betsy’s house, thinking through the crucial next steps. Who was going to help lift Paul and get him out here? The medics had abandoned them. There was no Nurse Nigel or Dr. Fred Handel to lug heavy things about the place anymore. Jim and Sean were already carrying Midge to the mines on a stretcher. Hedwig was right behind them driving the medical supplies.

  That left her, Petra, Mimi, and Betsy.

  Cool. -ish. Kind of.

  No, really. It was going to work out just fine. Apart from the fact that Petra was pregnant. She shouldn’t be lifting anything heavier than a potato for the next seven months. How crazy was it that there was a new life growing inside her sister? Aggie hadn’t had time to process it properly. It would be so terrifying to be responsible for someone that tiny and fragile. Petra was out of the picture with regard to lifting, pulling, stretching, and other strenuous activities.

  Which left Mimi and Betsy. Mimi had only been grazed by a bullet. The flesh wound on her shoulder was “nothing” she said. And as for Nurse Betsy, she’d had a collapsed lung not that long ago. And they were both in their seventies. Not that being in your seventies meant you couldn’t do things, but…being in your seventies, being injured, totally freaking out when Midge came home from the hospital (that was Mimi all over), losing it when Nigel left the building (Betsy had gone all Cujo on Nigel and blabbed about how everyone was dying and stuff); that meant the situation was m
ore “delicate”. She was going to have her work cut out for her, managing those two.

  She bounded up the back porch steps and was just about to turn the door handle when she heard a sniffle. She looked to her left. Way in the corner—tucked so tight behind the wicker loveseat she was almost invisible, with her arms wrapped awkwardly around her knees—was little Bryony.

  “Hey. Whatchoodoin’ down there?”

  Bryony took her thumb out of her mouth. “Uncle Jim said to wait here.”

  “I don’t think he’d want you all crunched up in the corner like that. He wouldn’t want you to hurt your arm. It looks like it has already gotten a boo-boo.” Shoot. Was Bryony too young for vocabulary like that? Midge would have talked to her very sternly if she’d called a splinted arm a “boo-boo”.

  Aggie held out her hand. “Come with me and we’ll see if Nurse Betsy has some of her peach cobbler…” Rats. They didn’t have electricity. Which was a total brain fart in itself because even if the lights had been on, Betsy had been nursing, not cooking, for the last few days. “Or some graham crackers. Do you like cookies?”

  Bryony didn’t budge. “Uncle Jim said to stay here.”

  Midge got like that when she was mega-tired: cranky and repetitive and all stuck-on-one-idea. There was only one thing for it. She had to break out some goat magic. Pippylonglegs had gotten her out of so many jams with Midge. Please, God, let Bryony like goats.

  “Want to see something really cool?”

  Bryony didn’t take her thumb out of her mouth, but she nodded.

  Aggie kept her hand out, hoping the kid would take it eventually. “You have to come with me if you want to see…”

  The back door opened. Betsy had a bag of cookies in one hand and a box of juice in the other. “I said I wouldn’t be long. Oh, Aggie. You’re here. Good. Want a cookie?”

  Aggie took a chocolate chip cookie, munched it down, and wiped her hands on her jeans. They were getting kind of “ick” as Midge would say. Another day and they’d be able to stand up on their own. Someone was going to have to start a laundry roster. Not now, though. That could wait until they got to the mines. Now was all about not getting distracted and getting everyone moving. “I’m going to get Mimi. See if she can help me move Paul outside so I can hitch him up.”

  “Mimi’s with Paul by the front door.” Betsy nodded in Bryony’s direction. “Your grandmother very kindly freed me up to help this little one. Mimi’s alright when she puts her mind to it.” She looked at her wristwatch. “We’re going to pack up a few more essentials. Give me twenty minutes and we’ll be out of here.”

  Sheesh, wristwatches were going to be handy now that they’d been stripped of their phones (and laptops and iPads and microwaves and all those little machines that had a clock tucked in the corner). Mom had been adamant that they throw them away “for good”. But, no matter what Betsy thought she needed to gather up, Aggie had to tell her, point blank, that she couldn’t lollygag. The woman was at least 50 years her senior, but Aggie had to be the boss of everyone for a little while longer. When Dad got back he could take over, but for now she had to step it up and tell Betsy to get her butt in gear. “We need to go right away. We can come back, if there are supplies we’ve left behind, after the storm has blown over, but we can’t wait any longer…”

  “I’ve been thinking about this plan of yours.” Betsy already had Bryony on her lap, cookie in one hand, juice box in the other. “I don’t want you to drag Paul on that sled. It’s got no shocks. No bounce. If you get what I mean.” She jiggled Bryony up and down on her knee.

  “I’ve looked everywhere,” said Aggie. “I can’t see how else to do it. You want him to remain flat, right?”

  Betsy nodded.

  “And we agreed we can’t use Jim’s cars. They would never make it through the rivers.”

  Betsy smiled, but she’d already moved on to her next thought. “Can’t we hold off on moving him until Hedwig gets back with the van?”

  Aggie frowned. Betsy could have suggested that before she’d gone to all the trouble of rigging up a system so Indie could pull him. “We might be able…” She was about to agree that Betsy was right—they should wait and put Paul in the van—when it occurred to her that the shit was literally about to hit the fan. Not only that, everything they’d done in the last week or so had run into problems of one kind or another. Literally, everything that could go wrong had gone wrong.

  She’d spent her life, all 15 years of it, preparing for disaster and making sure they had enough food and water and medical supplies and everything-you-could-think-of on hand to comfortably bug in, but a couple of measly girls had stolen that out from under their noses. One day they were safe, the next they weren’t.

  At least she had skills to fall back on once they got to the salt mines. She knew how to hunt and fish and make a fire. It wasn’t going to be comfy, but they’d survive.

  But anyway…

  That decimation of their supplies was just one of the many disasters that had unfurled. Even if everything they’d ever canned or dried or put in the cellar hadn’t been stolen, they couldn’t stay put. They were at the mercy of the wind. Even this far north of the reactor at Indian Point they couldn’t assume they’d be safe. They had to act as if they wouldn’t be. They had to do everything “now”, even if it was hard, rather than “later”.

  Time was of the essence.

  “We need to move right now this very instant,” she said. “If we meet Hedwig on the way back we can transfer Paul to the van, but she could get stuck somewhere or decide to stay at the mines. We don’t know where she is or how long it’s going to take her to get there…” Shoot. She hadn’t thought to give Hedwig a walkie-talkie. They were cut off, unable to communicate, really living in the Dark Ages. They hadn’t even agreed on a route or a meet-up plan. She’d allowed the excitement of seeing her parents cloud her judgment.

  So much for having prepper skills.

  Panic makes idiots of us all.

  The back door opened. Mimi popped her head onto the porch. “Is this a private meeting or is anyone welcome?”

  Now that Betsy had blurted out that Mimi was dying, Aggie could see how drawn her grandmother looked, how sallow her skin. She and Mimi had never spent much time together—Mimi had raised three boys and didn’t seem to have much use for girls—but that didn’t mean her grandmother didn’t love her.

  “Who’s with Paul?” Betsy shifted Bryony off her lap and stood.

  “He’s asleep,” said Mimi. “I figured I’d come and find out what was going on and what our plan was…”

  “The plan is to get going. Now.” Aggie pushed past Mimi and headed towards her brother.

  “Did you get some antibiotics from Hedwig?” Betsy shouted after her.

  Damn. Damn. Double damn. Aggie’s brain wasn’t even half working. She knew that Paul needed antibiotics, just to survive on a day to day basis, and she hadn’t grabbed them when she had the chance.

  She turned back to Betsy, who was now in the kitchen, gripping Bryony’s hand in hers. “How dangerous is it to move him before he’s had any?”

  “We want him to have as much protection as possible…” Betsy hadn’t answered the question.

  “I get that, but is it safe to move him?”

  Mimi did a little huff; not a laugh or a snort, but about three-quarters of the way to snorting without the nose noise. She wasn’t impressed by the question. “We were about to move him. That was the plan, right? Let me ask you this, was it safe five minutes ago?” She looked at Betsy then back to Aggie. “I’ll answer, seeing as you both seem to have been struck dumb. No, nothing we’ve done has been ‘safe’ for a while now.”

  “Not useful, Mimi.” Aggie had never challenged her grandmother before, but now wasn’t the time for judging and telling people what they were doing was wrong. Now was the time for coming up with solutions and coming to the right conclusions. She needed accurate data. Betsy wouldn’t have mentioned the antibiotics if they hadn�
�t been necessary. The question remained, how important were they? “You said he could die without them…”

  Betsy blushed. “I was upset and stressed out. I overstated the severity of the situation. He’s not at death’s door. But neither is he in the clear. The truth is he has no natural defense mechanism anymore. We’ve kind of unplugged his alarm system and left him naked in the woods. Sorry. That was a bit garbled, wasn’t it?” She looked down at Bryony, smiling and petting the little girl’s hair. “I tell you, I’m looking forward to getting to the mines and having a good, long sleep. Doesn’t that sound good? A nice sleep?”

  “I want to see Uncle Jim,” said Bryony.

  “Don’t we all.” Betsy tucked a strand of Bryony’s hair behind her ear. “Now. Why don’t you let me talk to Agatha for a minute and then we’ll pack our bags and get going. How does that sound?”

  “I don’t have a bag,” said Bryony.

  “Don’t you worry about that. Mimi will take you to the attic and help find you a nice little backpack. I think we still have a lovely mermaid princess one in the cedar chest over by my sewing machine.” She handed the little girl off to Mimi with a nod and a wink and took Aggie into the hallway where Paul was, just as Mimi had reported, sleeping peacefully.

  It didn’t help, seeing him like that. He looked so young and vulnerable. Aggie wanted to dig half her own spleen out and give it to him, but that wasn’t even a thing. Absent that, she had to do everything in her power to protect him. “I want to know whether I should take Indigo and go after Hedwig to get the drugs or just chance it and take him now.”

  “I hear you,” said Betsy. “I like the way your mind works. Very methodical. You’d make a great nurse. We need to evaluate the risk-reward ratio...”