Isolation | Book 4 | Holding On

by Jones, Nathan

  Chet started his own silent count and trotted towards the last house he'd doused, digging a lighter from his pocket. He reached it at around two hundred and had to wait, fidgeting nervously while poised over the wadded newspapers in front of him. He was ready to light his fire the moment he caught sight of fire in the distance, in case Ben's count was quicker than his.

  Either his brother's was slower or they were both on count, because when he reached three hundred the night was still quiet. For now.

  With a last deep breath to prepare himself, he flicked the lighter and touched the flame to the papers. They went up quickly, licking at the porch and wall he'd placed them against.

  Not that Chet paused to admire his handiwork; he was already halfway across the yard to the next house, heart thundering in his ears. He tripped over a small bush, stumbled against some toy or lawn ornament, slammed against the fence and vaulted it with a surge of energy, and pounded to where he'd set the next fire.

  That one went up equally fast and he was on to the next, then the next. He was very aware of a lurid glow rising behind him as the fires took and grew, and felt a surge of exhilaration as he realized his plan was working.

  Shoe's on the other foot now, Jay.

  Ben was waiting at the last house, which was one of his; flames were swiftly climbing up the wall, clearly lighting his brother's tense, excited expression.

  “Let's get out of here,” Chet panted, snatching up the gas cans he'd dropped by a tree. He waited for Ben to grab his own cans, then led the way up the hill at a stumbling run.

  The going was easier with the glow of flames at their backs, swiftly growing brighter as the fires took and spread. Chet also heard a few shouts of alarm and some screams.

  In spite of his anger, that bothered him more than he cared to admit; he really had believed those houses were abandoned. He just hoped the shouts were coming from people in other houses noticing the flames, or if not then that anyone in the burning houses got out safely.

  They should be able to, since he and his brother had been careful to light the fires far from any exit, and only on one side of the house. It should be fine.

  They reached the truck and tossed the empty cans in the bed. Ben was quick to head for the cab, but when he saw Chet holding back, looking down at the burning buildings, he paused and joined him.

  The first houses they'd set fire to were aflame along at least one wall, probably enough that putting the fires out would be hopeless at this point. The other houses were quickly reaching that state as well. He spotted a dozen people out on the street, pointing helplessly. Others were rushing towards the houses, hopefully to wake up anyone inside and make sure they got out safely.

  “I don't know how I feel about us sitting here admiring our handiwork,” Ben muttered, sounding uneasy. Or maybe guilty. “Can we just get out of here?”

  Chet took one last look at the scattered fires raging in the night, noticing that one fire seemed to have already spread to a nearby house they hadn't intended to burn.

  Oops. Well, the fires Jay had started in Stanberry had spread from their original targets, too.

  “That's a lot of people, bro,” Ben murmured, staring in dismay at the figures down below running around the burning buildings. “Why are there so many people here?”

  “How should I know?” Chet snapped. “Maybe they came back here to throw a party celebrating trashing our house.” Without waiting for a response he turned towards the cab of the truck. “Let's get out of here.”

  His brother was right that there were far more people in Wensbrook than he'd expected, which meant pursuit wouldn't be far behind. Ben seemed to agree, because he wasted no time clambering into the passenger seat as Chet started the engine.

  Minutes later they were well away from the burning town, speeding back towards Stanberry on an alternate route. Hopefully one that would let them get home ahead of any of Jay's people. Chet certainly pushed to go as fast as he safely could on the narrow, winding roads over hilly terrain.

  Even faster, actually; a few times he veered into the opposite lane on sharp turns, or screeched onto the shoulder and nearly went off the road.

  In spite of his dangerous driving and the head start they had to have over Jay's goons, Chet still watched tensely through his rearview mirror, expecting to see swiftly approaching headlights appear behind them at any second. It was almost a surprise as the minutes passed and the road remained dark and quiet ahead and behind.

  They spent the drive in silence, the air heavy with tension and suffocating with the reek of gasoline fumes from what Chet had spilled on his clothes, even though they opened the windows for fresh air. Between the cold wind, fumes, and tension he soon had a splitting headache, as well as a sick feeling in the pit of his stomach he couldn't quite explain.

  He didn't regret taking the fight to Wensbrook. But even so, he found himself wondering why the rage that seemed to simmer constantly in his chest these days continued to burn unabated.

  Hadn't this done anything to settle it? To even the scales?

  ✽✽✽

  “No sign of them anywhere,” a voice blared over the radio, someone Larry didn't recognize. “They have to be long gone by now.”

  Larry ignored the news; at the moment he cared more about saving his town and the people in it than catching the perpetrators.

  He gripped little Bobby Metford tight in one arm while guiding the toddler's confused, scared mother by the shoulder with his other hand, down the stairs of their home. All the while battling the choking clouds of smoke pouring up from below.

  Even though the last couple days had been dry, the humidity hanging heavy in the air should've at least slowed the spread of the flames. But a strong night breeze, maybe from another storm blowing in, had blown clouds of cinders deeper into the town, setting several new houses on fire and threatening to spread the conflagration to the entire town.

  Larry and his fellow volunteers had all they could do just to keep ahead of the spreading flames, making sure everyone got safely out of their houses with the barest of necessities. A task made all the more difficult by the fact that some of their people had moved into nicer houses since they were available, so he had no idea which houses were occupied and had to check each one. Not just call in through the front door, either, but go in and check the bedrooms to make certain.

  To make things worse, they also had to stay far from the houses occupied by the Zolos-vulnerable newcomers, while still trying to coordinate evacuation efforts with them.

  The last half hour had been a nightmare of suffocating smoke, roaring flames, screams and cries for help and hopeless wailing, running half blind and coughing with every step to get his people out. As for fighting the fires, he'd pretty much given up on that after the first few minutes.

  Maybe if the wind died down they could stop the spread and possibly even save a few of the houses that had more recently caught fire. Maybe. But at the moment he'd just be happy if no one got hurt.

  At the bottom of the stairs Larry led the way to the open door and made sure Mrs. Metford went out first. “Was anyone else in there with you?” he shouted as she took her son from him and started to bolt away.

  “No!” she shouted, not even looking back at him. The poor woman ran until she was in the center of the street, as far from any fire as was possible. Once there she collapsed to the ground, coughing and patting little Bobby's back as he coughed as well.

  Larry left them and ran on to the next house, in time to meet a sleepy young couple as they stumbled out their front door. “Anyone in there with you?” he shouted at them. They stared at him with wide eyes, expressions frightened and confused, before slowly shaking their heads.

  Fine. He ran on to the next house, which turned out to be abandoned, and was halfway to the one beyond that when a hand gripped his shoulder.

  It was Jay. “That's it!” his friend shouted in his face, still barely audible over the roaring flames around them. “The winds have shifted back the o
ther way . . . the fires shouldn't spread any farther. And if they do, everyone in our group is already up and safely outside.”

  Larry felt his shoulders sag in relief, slumping down to the grass right where he stood. He finally took the time to really clear out his smoke-filled lungs, coughing and hacking until he was breathing a bit easier. As he did Jay thumped his back, while also gripping his shoulder supportively.

  After a minute or so Larry forced himself back to his feet, accepting his friend's supportive shoulder, and stumbled out onto the street. A crowd was gathering there, down the street and well upwind from the last houses the flames had spread to. They were mostly in pajamas, underwear, or some half-dressed state, with only a few fully dressed.

  Dozens of soot-stained faces turned to watch as Larry and Jay approached, all looking miserable and defeated and above all frightened. Although a few had moved beyond shock to anger.

  “This was Stanberry!” a woman in the crowd shouted. “They tried to burn us to death in our beds!”

  Larry opened his mouth, then closed it. The evidence certainly seemed to support her claim, little as he liked to admit it.

  He tensed as Jay stepped forward to face the crowd, started to reach out to pull his friend back, then hesitated.

  That hesitation was all Jay needed; firelight showed a hint of smugness on the man's face as he turned back to confront Larry, the crowd symbolically at his back. “So much for your claim that our enemy's happy to let the fight go if we leave!” he said loud enough for everyone to hear.

  Larry was probably the only one who knew Jay well enough to hear the triumph in his voice. “Shut up, Jay,” he said wearily.

  “No!” his friend shouted, turning to face the crowd again. “This is what we can expect from Stanberry! They looted our houses while we were with our loved ones dying in a quarantine camp. They refused to so much as apologize for what they did, and laughed at our demands to return what they stole. We tried to keep this nonviolent, and they're the ones who shot at us. Twice!”

  A rumble spread through the gathered crowd. Larry was dismayed to hear more agreement than dissent.

  Jay seemed to hear it too, and continued with even more zeal. “And now, when we were ready to give up our grievance and return home to live our lives in peace, what do they do? They burn down half our town!”

  We burned down half their town first, Larry thought. And they only came after Wensbrook when we trashed a bunch of houses and deliberately/accidentally spread Zolos to a camp full innocent people.

  But Jay's words drew a roar from the crowd, which now seemed firmly on his side. He seemed to relish the renewed support for his cause, because he raised one fist in the air and lifted his voice to a scream. “They won't leave us alone! If we walk away from this fight now they'll follow us and shoot us in the back!”

  He paused, letting the silence hang as the mood of the crowd stirred to a frenzy, then continued harshly. “The only way we end this is by winning! If we want peace, we have to keep wearing Stanberry down until they surrender!”

  Another roar rose above the deafening noise of the flames around them, people shaking their fists and screaming their defiance.

  Larry watched it all with a sinking heart, realizing he'd lost any chance he might have had of calming his friends. His house was on the other side of town, safe, and he hadn't considered the pure strength of feeling everyone would have about losing their own homes.

  The place where they'd lived and loved, then had to abandon so they could flee to a quarantine camp and watch just about everyone they cared about die. Having their houses scavenged was a harsh enough blow, and Larry certainly empathized considering the raw grief, despair, and rage he'd felt when he'd seen the state of his own place.

  But watching those same homes burn, a symbol that these poor people had really lost everything, would be too much to bear for most. Enough to rekindle the previous rage a hundredfold, to make his friends forget their guilt about possibly spreading Zolos to the quarantine camp, their resolve to come home and try to rebuild their lives.

  Enough to put them back on the warpath.

  He should've either shut Jay up before he opened his mouth, or jumped in and turned this into a debate right off the bat. Instead, he could only watch numbly as Jay moved among the crowd of disheveled men, women, and children, clapping backs and gripping shoulders comfortingly.

  “Come on, back to our camp!” the newly reinstated leader shouted above the rumble of the crowd. “Let's show these SOBs they won't get away with this!”

  Everyone roared their agreement and followed after him.

  Larry stared at the burning houses around him, some of which could probably still be saved if they acted quickly. Then, defeated, he followed the crowd as they made for their vehicles.

  Liza fell into step beside him, face smudged with soot and wheezing slightly from smoke inhalation. She looked as dismayed as he felt, although she kept her eyes woodenly forward. After a few moments he felt her fumbling at his arm, then her fingers closed around his.

  He held her hand tightly, clinging to that small source of comfort in a world that had once again gone completely insane.

  Chapter Four

  Rekindled

  Ellie jolted awake with a gasp, all at once remembering the Zolos outbreak.

  How long had she slept? How many more people had gotten sick in that time? Was there anything she could've done to help them while she'd been here sleeping?

  Irrational as she knew those fears were, they weren't just idle ones. Since she was outside the camp and couldn't safely take part in any of the work that needed to be done, and especially considering she was in charge of running the place, pretty much the entire burden of coordinating the efforts to deal with the crisis had fallen on her shoulders.

  It irked her that so many had asked, with more than a little hostility, why she got to be the one giving orders considering she wasn't lifting a finger to help. Those people had no idea just how much work went into making sure their efforts to contain the outbreak were streamlined.

  She had to organize lists of volunteers and where their talents lay, then match them with the tasks that needed to be done. On top of that she had to make sure their shifts were reasonable and they weren't running themselves ragged, and that they were getting food, water, and other necessities as they worked.

  Then on top of that she had to make sure nobody who was definitely infected was coming in contact with anyone who might be infected or definitely wasn't infected, and ditto for both of those other groups. It made for a nightmarish boondoggle that split the camp into raggedly delineated zones that people couldn't leave, and yet that supplies needed to be safely distributed to and common tasks coordinated for.

  A headache that had only grown worse as more and more people showed signs of Zolos, forcing them to track down everyone who'd come in contact with the new cases and create new quarantine areas and lockdown zones; by the time she'd forced herself to head for bed almost a quarter of the camp had infected people in it, and the cases had jumped to over fifty.

  Considering all the people those fifty would've come in contact with, and everyone those people would've potentially infected, and so on, the number of cases could very well skyrocket within the next few days.

  And given the fact that most of those cases were in the areas of the camp bordering Ellie's own camp, where her and her son and her fiancée and his family all lived, that was truly terrifying. After everything she'd done to protect herself and her loved ones from Zolos, was it possible that now an errant breeze from the wrong direction could kill them all?

  Ellie had been up half the night coordinating the containment, ignoring her own rule about not letting any volunteers run themselves ragged. She might still be up and blundering through the job, making more and more mistakes as her exhausted mind turned to mush, if Hal hadn't gently but firmly taken the radio from her. Ignoring her exhausted protests, he'd informed the leaders in the quarantine camp that she was
ending her shift for at least the next six hours while she got some sleep.

  Then he'd gently guided her to her tent and helped her into bed.

  She'd been irritated at him for insisting she rest during a crisis, but she was also well aware that he was looking out for her wellbeing when otherwise she probably wouldn't have done it herself. It felt nice to know he cared for her enough to do that.

  The position of the sun's light filtering through the fabric of her tent suggested it was midmorning, so she probably had slept for about six hours. She still felt exhausted, her head aching slightly, but she still dragged herself out of bed with a groan and dressed.

  When she ducked out of the tent she found Hal and the kids sitting around the fire, working quietly on what looked like math. Her fiancé gave her a wan smile. “Morning,” he murmured. “Kept some water boiling if you want coffee.”

  Ellie groaned in relief and plopped down next to him, resting her head on his arm. “I'm pretty sure those are the most romantic words I've ever heard,” she mumbled, scrubbing a hand through her hair. Then for good measure she ran a hand through his hair and leaned up to kiss his stubbly cheek. “Good morning to you, too.” Abruptly she frowned. “How long have you been up? You went to bed about the same time as me, so you must be exhausted.”

  “I'll survive.” He picked up a hot pad and pulled a kettle off the fire, pouring some water into a camping cup and then shaking a packet of instant coffee into it. Last of all he wrapped the cup in the hot pad and handed it over to her.

  She leaned over to breathe in the steam, feeling her mind start to clear. She knew she should ask what the situation in camp was, but she also knew that the moment she got into crisis management mode she'd stay on it until she'd once again run herself ragged.

  Better to get some breakfast first.

  “Were those really the most romantic words you've ever heard?” Linny asked, little nose furrowed in a mixture of confusion and disapproval. “Hasn't Hal even said “I love you” yet?”