Celia’s mouth fell open as she listened to the message, then looked over at her fiance. After all they’d been through, they hadn’t stopped to consider the true implications of the fact that he’d survived the attack by the infected man. What they considered to be incredible luck had a deeper meaning.
He was immune.
If he was immune, he could hold the cure. Now they knew the government needed his help. Well, actually, they needed his blood. Regardless, he was needed. He was needed to help save mankind.
When she looked over at him, he’d simply nodded before rising from his chair and saying, simply, “Well, I guess we’d better get going.”
Within the hour they were on the road, heading north on the I-69 towards Indianapolis via Evansville. They traveled through the night, slowly working their way north as they had to deal with multiple broken down, wrecked, burned, or abandoned cars. When he’d been too tired to drive any further, he’d reluctantly agreed to let Celia drive.
She’d guided them the rest of the way to Evansville before running into trouble in the form of a cluster of infected people who’d been violently attacking a family in the middle of the road. Their presence forced her to swerve wildly to avoid them, which led to their wreck and his gruesome injury.
The sound of glass breaking woke Celia from her exhausted slumber. Sitting up, she looked around, trying to locate the origin of the sound. Glancing towards the door, she saw that the doors were still secure, the items she’d stacked against them unmoved.
A scream came from somewhere on the first floor of the building, the unmistakable sound of one of the infected. Danger was coming, and coming fast.
Taking a deep breath, she turned to Ben, shaking him to wake him as she rose to her feet.
“Honey, we have to go.”
Looking towards the back part of the building, her eyes settled on a partially open door that led to some of the offices. Through the opening, she saw motion inside the room.
Realizing Ben still hadn’t stirred from his position, she leaned down and shook him again. “Baby, come on!”
Nothing.
His body remained slumped against the wall, unmoving.
“Ben?” She leaned down and grabbed his hand. “Baby?” His hand was cold.
Her heart pounded in her chest as she felt panic setting in.
“BEN! WAKE UP!”
She shook him harder, trying desperately to wake him. When she stopped, his body slid over and flopped on the ground, lifeless.
Sitting there, filled with disbelief, Celia heard but didn’t acknowledge the sound of the infected burst through the door of the room.
The man she loved more than any man before was gone. His immunity to the virus hadn’t saved him from the fatal injury he suffered in the crash.
A crash that had been her fault.
Tears flowed from her eyes as she reached down and shook him half-heartedly, knowing it was too late.
“Oh, baby, I’m sorry….”
The infected charged across the room, flinging chairs aside as they closed in on her.
Celia laid down next to her fiance and wrapped her arms around him.
At least they’d be together.
CHAPTER EIGHT
Outside of Lindsay, Oklahoma
The raccoon climbed through the broken window of the dark two-story home and stopped. Raising its head, it sniffed the air curiously, deciphering the scents that permeated the hot, humid, nighttime air. There were humans in the house for sure, but there was also food.
Hopping down from the counter the raccoon scurried across the tiled floor of the kitchen and into the living room, where several citronella candles burned, keeping the mosquitos at bay. Sniffing the air as it walked, the raccoon determined that the humans were on the second floor of the home, far enough away to allow him the opportunity to enjoy his feast uninterrupted.
Moving back to the kitchen, the raccoon hopped up onto a wooden chair, then onto the dining table, where boxes of dried foods sat. Using his sharp claws, the raccoon tore into a box of cereal, spilling its contents onto the table.
Sitting back on its haunches, the raccoon happily shoved pawfuls of cereal into its mouth, all the while listening for the sounds of humans moving about on the floor above him.
Upstairs, resting on a twin-sized mattress on the floor of the master bedroom, seven year old Tamara Elliott clutched her teddy bear to her chest. Her eyes were open, moving about furtively as she listened. Near her feet, her sixteen year old brother Jordan slept soundly on another twin sized mattress, which he had strategically placed between her and the door in order to protect her. On the master bed in the center of the room, her parents Michael and Shondra were deep asleep, her father’s snores dominating the space of the room. His snoring had woken her several minutes ago, and as she lay there trying to go back to sleep, she was nearly certain she heard a rustling sound downstairs. Her ears strained as she waited for a second sound that would give her enough certainty that she could wake her father and ask him to investigate.
If it were up to her, she’d check out the sound herself, but her mother and father had made her swear that she wouldn’t leave the room without at least one of them. She was allowed to use the connected master bathroom, but that was it.
Apparently, she was ‘too important,’
Why, she didn’t know, but she figured it had something to do with the long scars on her stomach, scars caused by the crazed man who’d jumped out from the bushes near the small gas station they’d stopped at, taking her to the ground and mauling her before her father shot him in the head.
Her wounds had brought tears of sorrow and helplessness to her mother’s face.
Her father’s reaction had been similar, and as she watched him, she saw something she’d never seen before: tears.
Staring at Tamara, her father spoke to her mother. “You know what this means,” he said, reaching up to wipe tears from the dark skin of his face.
“Not for sure,” her mother protested, grabbing his arm.
“I’m sorry Shondra, but you know what will happen.” Shrugging his wife’s arm off, her father reached into his jacket and pulled the gun out again.
Her mother broke away from him and rushed to Tamara, positioning herself in front of her daughter. “No, wait! Let’s watch her first, see what happens! If she turns, we’ll... we’ll… do what we have to.”
“Shondra, it will only be harder if we watch her turn.”
“Please, Michael! Just give her a chance.”
“It hurts, Mommy,” Tamara cried.
“Just a second, baby,” her mother replied, still facing her father. “Please, Michael. Give our baby girl a chance.”
After several long seconds, her father lowered the gun, reaching up with his other hand to wipe away tears again. He nodded slowly. “Okay, but we have to quarantine her.”
“Thank you, baby, okay.” Her mother turned to her and locked eyes with her. “Listen, baby girl, I can’t touch you right now. I don’t have any gloves, but I’ll get you a wet cloth so you can try to wipe it clean yourself, okay?”
“Mommy….”
Her mother’s face took on a serious look. “Tamara, listen to your mother.”
She nodded, wiping tears from her face with the back of her hand. “Okay, mommy.”
“Good girl. Now, stay here and I’ll be right back.”
Tamara stayed where she was, breathing heavily as she tried to contain her tears. Her mother ran to the side of the gas station, removed her scarf, turned on the water spigot, and soaked it thoroughly. When the cloth was fully wet, she rushed back to where her daughter waited, squeezed out a bit of water from the scarf, and gently tossed it to Tamara. Struggling to hold back her tears, Tamara wiped her skin with the cloth, trying to clean her wounds. The area burned like fire, the warmth spreading through her chest as she wiped it.
When she was done, she held up the cloth. She knew her mother didn’t want to touch it, so she waited for instructio
n.
“Just toss it over there, baby.”
Looking down at the long grooves that had been carved into her chest, she threw the scarf aside.
“Mommy, it really hurts,” she whined, barely able to contain herself.
Her mother looked at her, then at her father, then at the store. “Give me the gun, Michael.”
Her father looked surprised at her mother’s request. “What? What are you going to do?”
Her mother’s voice changed to that serious tone she used when she wasn’t to be challenged. “Give me the gun.”
Reluctantly, he passed her the weapon, handing it to her grip-first. “We don’t have that many bullets, Shonda.”
Her mother held up her hand, silencing him. Walking back to the car, she opened the rear door, waking Tamara’s brother. She reached inside and rummaged around for a bit, then withdrew, holding an old t-shirt in her hand. Walking briskly over to the front of the store, she gripped the gun tightly in one hand, then used the other to wrap the t-shirt around it. Moving to the window with purpose, she drew her arm back, then struck the glass door, shattering it. She stepped back smoothly as the glass fell in front of her, then used her shirt-covered hand to knock away the remaining bits of glass in the door’s frame.
With the opening clear, she stepped through the door, into the store. She emerged seconds later with a first aid kit, a bottle of water, and a small plastic tube. Rushing back to where Tamara was, she opened the first aid kit and took out bandages and medical tape. She set each on the ground in front of Tamara, then explained what needed to be done, coaching her along the way.
When Tamara’s wounds had been bandaged, her mother broke the bottle’s tamper seal and set it on the ground in front of Tamara. With that done, she tore the plastic away from the tube of Advil and set it on the ground near Tamara as well.
“Take two, baby,” she said, her face showing sorrow and compassion. “If the pain gets too bad, you can take two more.”
“Okay, mommy.” Tamara did as her mother asked, swallowing the brownish-orange pills with a gulp of water. When she lowered the bottle, her brother was standing between her mom and dad. His face was a mask of raw emotion.
“What happened?” He asked, eyes wide with shock, fear, and concern.
“She was attacked,” Tamara’s father said, still choking back tears.
“Oh my god!” Jordan took a step towards Tamara, only to have the back of his shirt grabbed firmly by her father.
“You can’t.”
“What? Why?” Her brother cried, tears springing forth from his eyes.
“She might be infected. We're going to quarantine her for a while, see if she is,” her father explained, carefully omitting the fact that he’d been ready to put a bullet in her head.
“No!” Jordan fell to his knees as he began to cry uncontrollably. He positively adored his baby sister, and from the moment she was born, he’d made it his mission in life to take care of her. He’d walked her to school every morning and back home every afternoon. He helped her whenever she needed it, and coached her on the things she’d didn’t understand yet. He was her guardian angel, every step of the way, and he’d just learned that she had been given a terminal diagnosis. “No, no, noooo….”
Her father reached down and rubbed her brother’s shoulder. “Stay strong, son.” Lowering his voice, he added, “Remember, she’s watching you.”
Jordan slowed his sobbing, then ceased it altogether. He stayed there, completely silent and unmoving for several long seconds. When he rose, his voice was steady. “It’s okay, Tam. Everything’s gonna be okay.”
Tears flowed from her eyes as she looked back at her brother. “Are you sure?”
The slight hesitation he showed revealed his true belief. “...of course. You’ll be fine, Tam.” Her brother gave her a halfhearted smile as he stared back at her, blinking as he held back his tears.
Tamara turned away from his gaze and stared at the pavement as she struggled to deal with emotions far heavier than any she’d been ready to deal with at seven years of age. She loved her father, her mother, her brother…But when their eyes met hers, they expressed a sadness that said it was the last time they’d see each other.
Looking down at the pavement, she let her eyes unfocus as her young mind absorbed the enormity of the moment.
“Tam?”
It was her mother, speaking softly as she tried to get her attention.
Shaking her head, she took a breath before answering. “Yes?”
“Are you okay?”
She paused, willing herself to reply without cracking. “Yes, momma. Just sorry I made everyone so sad…”
Her mother’s voice cracked as she burst out into uncontrollable crying. “It’s okay, babeee….”
Her father’s voice interjected, “It’s not your fault, sweetie.” He sniffled loudly, then his voice cracked before he added, “If it’s anyone’s fault, it’s mine….”
Tamara looked up from where she sat, her eyes finding her father before she went on. “It’s not your fault, Daddy.” She choked loudly as she tried to hold back her emotions. She was losing the battle, but still she tried. “I love you, Daddy….”
Her father managed, “I love you, too, sweetheart….” before he lowered his head to the pavement and released his emotions. He sobbed in a way no one present had ever heard. It was like a cold, jagged knife had penetrated his soul, finding his inner depths before being twisted, ensuring maximum damage. As she watched, her once strong, imposing father was reduced to a quivering mass.
They remained there, each of them crying, for some time before her mother sat up and regarded her with the no-nonsense eyes she was known for.
“Alright. We need to be sure you’re going to be okay,” her mother said with finality, as if any other outcome was off the table.
Tamara watched as her mother’s eyes scanned their surroundings before settling on a small shed behind them and off to the right.
“There,” she said, pointing. “Baby, follow me.”
Her mother led her to the shed, then stood aside as she motioned for her to enter. “Go on, sweetie. We just need you to wait there for a while.”
Tamara looked at the shed, evaluating it. It was dark, dusty, and cluttered. Looking back at their mother, she asked, “Are you sure, momma?” She asked, her voice straining as she again fought against the emotions that welled up within her.
Her mother nodded. “Yes, sweetheart. It’ll be okay. Just go inside.”
Tamara noticed that her mother refused to look into her eyes as she answered.
“Okay, Momma,” she replied as she walked forward, entering the shed before turning back to look at her mother again.
Her mother grasped the handle for the sliding door of the shed before allowing her eyes to find Tamara’s. “I love you, baby,” she said, before sliding the door closed in Tamara’s face, not waiting for a response.
The next day and a half was a blur of sweat, panic, and worry, as she waited inside the shed, alternating between pacing, sitting, crying, and combinations of the three.
At some point, her father pried open a section of the shed’s roof and dropped in water and food (beef jerky and crackers), giving her the slightest glimpse at the sunlight of the day before letting the metallic shingled roof fall back into place.
Later, after hearing her distress about having to pee, he reopened the roof and lowered a metal bucket and a roll of toilet paper into the shed. Using it was both embarrassing and gross, but she did it, transporting herself away while she went by closing her eyes and imagining herself back home in the small bathroom she and Jordan shared.
When it was over, it all seemed worth it.
Tamara emerged from the shed to a welcoming full of unchecked emotions as her parents and brother showered her with love and affection, all the while saying how amazing it was that she was okay, how it must be a gift from God that she was still with them.
For her part, Tamaara simply shrugged
, choosing instead to simply focus on the feeling of relief and gratitude that she felt as she absorbed the love of her family.
That was three days ago. Before they left the small town of Portland, Texas. Before they heard the message that her parents said was meant for her.
Before she was classified as ‘immune.’
They spent the days that followed on the move, working their way northeast as they avoided all signs of other people, hiding in the shadows when that was an option, running with everything they had when it wasn’t.
Their first real break had come last night, when they’d stumbled upon the big, empty house they now occupied.
After five days on the road, they’d finally sat around a dinner table again and had dinner, savoring the amazing flavors of the canned food they’d found, never once acknowledging the fact that less than a week ago Shondra Elliott would have forced someone out of their home for simply presenting canned chili as a dinner option.
When they’d finished, her mother had dutifully gathered the dishes and placed them by the sink before coming back to sit by her daughter’s side while Tamara’s father and brother dragged the mattresses into the master bedroom.
Once her brother and father were out of earshot, her mother crouched in front of her and grabbed her small hands. Staring into Tamara’s eyes, her mother’s voice took on a solemn tone as she spoke.
“You’re special, baby girl,” her mother said as she stared at their clasped hands. Nodding, she corrected herself. “Actually, you’re important.”
Confused, she asked, “What do you mean, Momma?”
“It means you could help end all of this...craziness….” her mother answered, shaking her head.
Tamara considered her mother’s words for a moment before responding. “I want to help, Momma,” she said, angling her head to align her eyes with her mother’s.
Surviving Rage | Book 2 Page 7
