by Emma Castle
Four hours later, they were almost at her home, and she fought to control her excitement.
“You’re going to love my parents. My father is a sweetheart, and my mom is fierce.” She grinned like a fool at Lincoln, but he wasn’t smiling. “What’s the matter?” she asked. He continued to drive, but he reached out and placed a hand over hers on her left knee and gave it a gentle squeeze.
“I’m worried, that’s all,” he replied.
“Worried? We haven’t seen anyone on the road, and—”
“About your family. Caroline, you need to prepare yourself for the possibility that they didn’t survive.”
His words filled her mouth with an acidic taste, and she shook her head stubbornly.
“They’ll be fine. I’m immune, so they have to be too.” She’d secretly been preparing herself for the worst, but she didn’t want to act like her family was already dead. She’d cling to her hope until the last possible minute.
“We don’t know that,” Lincoln said with a sigh. “Back in December, the CDC said they weren’t sure how the antibodies form, if any do. It could be genetic, but it also could be environmental. We don’t know if something occurred within you, me and the other survivors that creates an immunity. The couple from the sporting goods store were both immune, and they had no shared blood. What does that tell you? A coincidence that two immune people got married? Possibly, but it could be something they ate, took as a medicine or had a vaccine to another virus that happened to work against Hydra-1. We don’t know. I just want to make sure you have accepted the possibility that we might find them gone.”
Caroline felt a sudden surge of panic bursting in her. They were alive. They were safe. Just like her. They had to be. She wasn’t going to think about anything else. She turned her gaze to the window, not wanting to look at Lincoln’s face or she might start to think he could be right.
“How much farther?” he asked when he turned onto the street that led to her childhood home.
“The last house on the right, before the street turns left.” She sat up, eager to see the redbrick house. The neighborhood looked nearly empty of life, but there weren’t any bodies visible anywhere, either. Was that good or bad? They parked in the driveway, and she started to get out, but Lincoln caught her arm.
“Wait. Let me go in. I’ll make sure no one else is there. We can’t have another incident like Omaha.”
It killed her to wait, but she did. He went up to the door, his gun half-raised as he tried the knob. She climbed out of the car and waited, her heart racing. Caroline scanned the street, but she saw no immediate threat, so she started toward the front door. She ran straight into Lincoln’s hard body. He caught her by the shoulders.
“Stop,” he commanded, his tone firm but soft. It frightened her. She lifted her gaze to his and saw the truth in his eyes. “Don’t go in there.”
“No…” The word escaped her in a pained moan. Agony tore through her, and she crumpled to the ground. Lincoln caught her in his arms and settled her on his lap as he sat on the steps just outside the front door. She turned to stare numbly at the door, the merry red paint, the Christmas wreath still up months longer than her mother ever would have allowed it.
“Lincoln, I never had the chance to say goodbye to them. I never got to tell them… I…” It felt as though her heart was bleeding out, and she couldn’t breathe or move. Lincoln banded his arms around her, holding her tight against him while she succumbed to a grief so overpowering it might have killed her if he hadn’t been there. She swallowed thickly, her throat so tight it burned like shards of glass.
They were gone. Her only ties left in this world, her reason for making it through each day. Without them it seemed like everything was at an end. It was as though she’d been climbing the stairs in the dark and miscounted the steps, thinking she had step to take. Then she’d tripped, her heart leaping into her throat as instinct took over as she tried to catch her balance. The shock of it all slowly bled away, and all the while she clung to Lincoln, his heat keeping her body warm, his scent enveloping her. Only his arms around her kept the shock from fully setting in.
“Where are their bodies?”
“In the backyard. Three graves,” he said.
“Three… Wait, three? But my sister was here with her husband…and the baby!” She scrambled off his lap and rushed inside. It was quiet, dark, and musty as she searched every room. Each one was empty. She stared at the glass door leading to the backyard and saw the three graves. The earth was still fresh. How many days had they been dead?
Caroline put her hand on the knob, holding her breath as she prepared to go out and check the graves. A soft, keening whine broke through the darkness which crowded around her heart. She found Lincoln in the front doorway behind her, his gun up.
“Did you hear that?” she whispered.
He answered with a nod. They both waited, listening again for the cry. When it came, she realized it was more of a whine than a cry, and it wasn’t coming from upstairs, but the basement. She rushed for the door, but Lincoln blocked her path, shaking his head. He opened the basement door and headed down first, weapon raised, his flashlight in his other hand braced just above the gun. He descended into the darkness, and Caroline followed close behind.
The whining continued, and there was a scraping sound and a muffled groan. Caroline bit her lip to hold back a scream as Lincoln’s flashlight swept the room. When she saw what made the noises, she gasped.
“Rick! Oh my God!” She shoved past Lincoln and ran to the man lying on the ground. He was sunken-faced and pale, his clothes covered with sweat. Her nose wrinkled as she approached him and she could smell vomit nearby. Rick blinked against the light of the flashlight as Lincoln joined her and crouched down close to him.
“Caro,” Rick breathed her name and coughed weakly. “Knew you’d come. I told Nat you’d find a way.”
“Rick…” Caroline couldn’t stop the tears that were streaming down her cheeks. “What happened to them?”
“Dead, two weeks ago. Nat, Stephen, and Amelia.”
“Ellie?” Caroline asked, her voice breaking as her heart ripped apart with fresh pain.
“There.” He pointed to the corner of the basement. A baby carrier sat there, it’s shade pulled down so they couldn’t see clearly inside.
“Oh no…” Caroline couldn’t look. “Lincoln…”
“I’ll look,” he said. But as he moved toward the carrier, a dog lunged out of the shadows, growling. Lincoln raised his pistol.
“No, wait! It’s my parents’ dog!” she cried out. “Kirby,” she told Lincoln. She kept one hand on Rick as she whistled for the handsome Irish setter to come over.
“He won’t leave Ellie,” Rick whispered. “He’s guarding her.” He tried to roll his head in the direction of the dog. “Kirby boy… Come…”
The dog whined, and it was then that Caroline realized she must have heard Kirby’s whine from upstairs. If he hadn’t whined, they wouldn’t have found Rick.
Lincoln knelt in front of the setter and held out a closed fist to the dog. Kirby inched his face out, sniffing hesitantly at Lincoln’s hand. His tail wagged.
“You’re a good boy, aren’t you?” Lincoln said soothingly. “Protecting your human pup, aren’t you?”
Kirby’s tail wagged a little more quickly, but the dog was still uncertain. Lincoln opened his fist slightly and brushed the back of his knuckles along Kirby’s shoulder, and the dog calmed. Caroline’s heart raced as Lincoln then reached up to push the shade back from the carrier.
“She’s alive!” Lincoln hissed. “The baby’s alive! We need to get her upstairs, away from him in case she’s not immune.”
“She is…” Rick choked out. “Safe. Nat got sick and was holding her in her arms the night she died. Ellie was fine. Small fever, but fine.” He gripped Caroline’s hand. “Take Ellie. Go. There’s nothing left for her here.”
“No, Rick. We won’t leave you.”
He squeezed he
r hand tightly, eyes wide and bloodshot. “I want to die knowing my child is safe with you. You hear me?” His voice was stronger as emotions gave his feeble body strength. “It’s my last request.” He let go of her hand slumped back to the ground, struggling for breath.
“Caroline, he’s right. We need to leave.” Lincoln stood, the baby carrier in his arms. Caroline could see Ellie’s face, cherubic and plump, her little body tucked under blankets as she slept.
“Here.” Lincoln handed her the baby carrier. “Take her upstairs, and the dog too.”
“What are you—?”
“I’m going to stay here and help Rick. Now go. Wait for me upstairs,” he ordered. She obeyed, because she trusted Lincoln.
She faced Rick one more time, knowing that she’d never get the chance to express everything she wanted to say to her family, and there wasn’t time now to tell this man what he’d meant to her.
“I love you, Rick.” Her voice roughened as she struggled to speak. “You were my brother, my friend. Thank you for marrying Nat, for…” She closed her eyes and inhaled a deep breath. “Thank you for everything.”
Rick’s eyes glinted with tears. “Love you too, kid. Just wish I could have stuck around.” His eyes strayed to the baby carrier. “Now go on upstairs and take her with you.”
Caroline’s throat worked as she nodded and tried to swallow her grief. She understood that Rick would have given anything to kiss his child and hold her one last time but the risk was too great.
“Come on, Kirby.” She carried the baby up the stairs, her heart growing heavier with each step. She knew what Lincoln was going to do because she’d heard him talking in his sleep last night. She knew now what kept his dreams dark and full of sorrow.
He’d killed Adam Caine, the last president of the United States. But it had been more than that. He’d killed his friend. Caroline couldn’t imagine the burden that had placed on his soul.
He was an angel of death, and now he would help Rick. She’d watched men, women, and children waste away over days and weeks. It was an ugly, painful, and slow death. No one deserved that suffering. No one. She reached the top of the stairs, her eyes filling with tears. Her body went rigid when she heard the shot ring out. The baby stirred with a mewling wail and they both began to cry.
12
@CDC: We are actively working on a vaccine but urge people to stay in their homes and avoid contact with others as much as possible. Hydra-1 is passed by transmission through touch, fluids, and air. Self-quarantine is the best way to preserve your life and the lives of others. If you believe you are ill, contact our hotline, and we will arrange for transport to one of the one of the nine hundred triage locations that are being established throughout the United States. It is crucial to report if you are ill. Hiding your condition only puts your life and the lives of others at risk.
—Centers for Disease Control Twitter Feed
January 3, 2019
* * *
Lincoln knelt beside the man who lay slowly dying.
“Rick?” he asked, and the man nodded weakly. “I’m Lincoln Atwood.”
“I’d shake your hand, but….” Rick gave a raspy chuckle. Lincoln grasped Rick’s hand, ignoring the possibility that the man was infectious. If Lincoln hadn’t died by now, he wasn’t going to, at least not until the virus mutated.
“You military?” Rick asked as he studied Lincoln.
“Delta Force,” Lincoln answered solemnly.
“No shit.” Rick laughed. “Boy, Caro knows how to pick ’em. I bet you’re one tough bastard.”
At this Lincoln did laugh, the sound hurting his chest because he was damned near close to crying. He’d thought he’d had the last of these moments back in the bunker.
“Tough enough.” Why he said that he wasn’t sure, but he felt Rick wanted to know that Caroline was safe with him.
“Damn, wish I wasn’t dying. Would have loved to share a beer, hear your war stories.” Rick smiled, the expression softening the pained look upon his face.
In that moment Lincoln glimpsed another life. One where he and this man would have been friends. They would have sipped beers and sat in lawn chairs while Caroline and her sister made margaritas during a lazy summer day, connected in a deep friendship the way two brothers-in-law could. But that was life which would never be, a future that was dying with the man on the floor.
“You going to take care of her?” Rick asked. His eyes were solemn and focused despite the pain Lincoln knew he was in.
“Your kid? With my life,” he promised.
“I figured. But I meant Caro.” He closed his eyes for only a second before looking at Lincoln again. “I’ve known her since she was a kid. She’s all heart.” He smiled. “Natalie used to say Caro would save the world someday, if we would just let her.”
Lincoln smiled too. From the moment he caught a glimpse of Caroline, he’d sensed that same thing, she was his future, but somehow not just his, but possibly everyone’s future.
“You’ve got to protect her,” Rick said. “Promise me. She’s tough, but she still needs someone to have her back.”
Lincoln nodded. “I’d die for her.”
“Good.” Rick relaxed a little, and then his gaze flicked to the gun Lincoln held. “Don’t let me stay down here. Do what you need to do, and bury me beside Nat in the backyard.”
“Okay.” Lincoln swallowed down the hundreds of other words he wanted to say to this man besides okay. But his lips wouldn’t form any other words, and his throat constricted. The world was full of silence now, silence like the one that transpired between them in that basement, as Lincoln realized what Rick was asking of him. A silence heavy and aching with pain no man or woman should ever have to feel. A pain of a loss so deep that it burned through a man’s bones and left scars. Lincoln was done with being the man who had to take the life of someone good, someone true, someone whose breath meant hope for a better world.
“Fuck…” Lincoln’s eyes blurred with tears, and he wiped his forearm across his eyes, trying to clear his vision.
“I’m sorry to ask you to do it,” Rick murmured gently, a saintly glow around his face now as he stared up at Rick with concern. Taking the life of a good man didn’t just leave a stain on his soul—it left him with a burden upon his shoulders that no one could ever help him carry.
“I’d ask the same if it was me.” Lincoln’s voice broke. “Damn, I wish we were getting that beer.” He would have given almost anything for that, for the future neither of them would have. He squeezed Rick’s hand, afraid to let go or else he’d break like no man was supposed to.
“I’m ready,” Rick said. “Should’ve died days ago. I think I was waiting for you and Caro to come find us. Now you have. I can rest.” Rick closed his eyes, and a hint of a smile curved his lips, and he let out a slow breath.
Lincoln recognized when a man was ready for death. Rick was at peace. It didn’t make what he had to do any easier, though. He wished he had something he could give him to make it quick and painless, but all he had was his gun.
“Just think about that beer,” Lincoln whispered to him. “The two of us, watching our girls and the sunset playing off the water of a backyard pool in endless glints of light. Taste the sweet bitterness of a good old IPA beer.”
“Yeah…I can taste it,” Rick sighed.
For a moment Lincoln was there with him in that memory of a moment that would never be, and he could feel the sun and see the water sparkling and hear Caroline laughing while he tasted that beer. His throat burned, and he could barely breathe.
His usually steady hand shook as he stood and raised the pistol. The sound of the shot rang out like a cannon in the concrete-walled basement. His ears rang for several long seconds as he looked anywhere but at the body lying still at his feet.
Another life to add to the list of his sins, even though it had been done with good intentions. His road to hell was paved with hundreds of well-intended stones.
He stared at Rick. The man
had a name, a home, and a family, all dead save for the two females upstairs. Lincoln was so tired of all this, the deaths, the struggles, the hungry nights and cold beds. A perpetual winter had fallen over the world. It reminded him of the stories by C. S. Lewis where four children stumbled through a wardrobe into a land trapped in winter. There was no evil white witch here to defeat in a glorious battle, just an endless fight against invisible microbes that were armed to destroy humanity forever.
Lincoln squeezed his eyes shut, flashes of the desert heat of Iraq and Afghanistan coming back to him, moments when mortars had shelled his location and he screamed the names of his brothers until he lost his voice. Even in those moments, there had been hope. A world away, he had known that the land of the free, his home, was safe.
But no one had escaped this hell.
He opened his eyes and forced the spiraling dark thoughts into a tiny box inside his head and buried it.
“I’m sorry we didn’t get here in time,” he whispered to the dead man.
He shivered as though an invisible touch had landed upon his shoulder. He’d felt that once before, when he’d lost a man in Kabul. He’d felt the boy, barely twenty-two, die in his arms, heard the death rattle in his chest and saw the distant gaze of his eyes as he’d passed away. He’d felt that same gentle touch then, almost a nudge, and then he’d felt that subtle presence that only his most primal instincts seemed to recognize or understand. Then that presence had faded away like mist before a powerful dawn.
He hoisted Rick’s body up over his shoulder in a fireman’s carry and took him upstairs. He didn’t look for Caroline, and he was glad she wasn’t in sight.
