Sanctuary's Aggression Box Set

by Maira Dawn

  Scraggly bunches of green weeds pushed their way up through the hard dirt, bowing their heads when the wind kicked up as it often did this time of day. The trail to the cliff started near the cabin he shared with his brother and ran through the forest to where he stood.

  Dylan raised his face to the breeze, enjoying the feel as it raced across his bare skin. The gust buffeted the back of his old t-shirt before calming down. To him, the wind was the only thing that seemed to have true freedom, rushing at will from the valleys to the hills, stirring grasses and clouds alike.

  But it comes up empty, like me.

  Dylan looked down at Colton. It was something he now often did. He didn’t know why--not for sure--but the town drew him. He wished he belonged there, or somewhere, but he'd burnt a lot of bridges. For so long, he'd chased freedom. Now he wanted more. He scoffed at himself.

  More of what? More like today? What are people thinkin?

  He wondered how many times he'd had the same thought. Dylan's friends believed he had an amazing ability to read others, but not Dylan. He often felt people were a mystery to him, which struck him as odd, being as he was one. One ought to know one's own kind.

  Dylan crouched, sitting on his heels and picked up a stone, weighed it in his hand and threw it down the side of the mountain. It made a couple sharp ticks on the rock below as it fell, then nothing. The thought he'd been shoving down all day worked its way to his mind.

  I saw her today.

  Stop. Think about something else, anything else. Wade knows what he’s talking about. She ain't for me. Yeah, think of Wade, Wade going off on his tangent.

  After being closed up in that store with all those people, Wade had been downright irritable.

  When his brother got riled up, one was never sure what kind of crazy would come out. Dylan chuckled. Wade got worked up most days. And if Wade was in trouble, it was often his words that got him there.

  They’d gone down the mountain for a few supplies and to see what all the hubbub was about. That’s what old man Larson called it. Hubbub.

  The old guy had seen people raiding stores in Fenton on TV, and he wanted to know how bad it was here in Colton. It seemed things were falling apart as this disease spread.

  Larson was a curious man. To satisfy that curiosity, he’d walked, cane and all, the good mile or so to the Cole’s cabin and asked the brothers if they’d mind seeing what all the fuss was about. Dylan and Wade agreed to go and get him some groceries too.

  How a man like himself got roped into these situations baffled Dylan, but Larson had hobbled all the way over. And though the Coles weren’t sure exactly how old the man was, they both agreed he looked at least a hundred and one. So, they had to go.

  The brothers scrounged up enough money for each of them to have a hamburger at McDonald’s. They later slumped in a booth biting into hot, greasy burgers while entertained by a drunken Frankie Bailey trying to cross the busy street. They'd snorted and scoffed. Wade had even let out a few loud hoots. The comedy ended when a kid ran up and tried to help him.

  “You think that’s Frankie’s boy? I heard he had a couple kids,” Wade said as he chomped on his sandwich.

  “Might could be.” Dylan's eyes stayed glued to the youngster, watching as the boy did his best to aid his father despite his old man’s efforts to swat him off.

  “Wonder if Frankie whales on him, the way Frankie's dad used to—” Wade stopped as Frankie backhanded the young man in the face.

  Both men automatically grunted their disapproval, each remembering the harsh smack of a man's hand on their own young faces. Wade shook his head. “I reckon so.”

  Dylan's head jerked back as if he had been the one slapped. He looked at the ground, across the street, at the coffee shop—anywhere to ignore what was happening in front of him, to ignore the stone gathering weight in his stomach and the flame igniting in his chest.

  But without permission, Dylan's troubled gaze strayed back to Frankie and his son. The young man pulled at his father, trying to get him away from the rushing vehicles. Frankie teetered on the edge of the sidewalk, ready to fall into the oncoming traffic.

  A few horns blared startling the drunk man. Frankie jerked his arm from the boy’s grasp and pushed him hard, hard enough the boy fell and came back up holding a bleeding head.

  Dylan bolted to his feet.

  “Sit down, Brother,” Wade said, “you can’t do nothing about that, and you know it.”

  Dylan threw out his arm toward the scene playing out in front of them. “That’s the problem. No one ever does anything about that.”

  Wade compressed his lips and sucked the bottom one in. “It is what it is. Ain’t nothin we haven’t been through.”

  “I’m gonna talk to him.”

  “Frankie?”

  Dylan scraped his foot against the floor and gathered his hands into fists. “Yeah.”

  “I know what you're fixing to do, and it ain't talking. Since when have you and Frankie ever talked about anything. Fight more likely. That’s gonna get you a few days in jail again, and nothin’ll change. It ain’t even worth the walk across the street.”

  Dylan disagreed. The boy was worth the walk. Letting the boy see someone willing to stand up for him—that alone was worth it.

  Dylan took a step toward the door just as a police car pulled up alongside Frankie and his son. The officer waved the young man into the front of the vehicle, put Frankie in the back, then drove off.

  Dylan dropped into his seat and ripped another chunk off his hamburger.

  Wade glanced at him. “See, all taken care of and you didn’t have to lift a finger.”

  Dylan grunted. He wouldn’t have minded a little jail time if he’d gotten to smash Frankie in the face.

  There had been an ongoing fight between Dylan and Frankie since their kindergarten days. Frankie was an idiot then, he was an idiot now. Dylan couldn't abide idiots.

  It was then Wade’s mouth got him into trouble. The TV blared the latest on the virus. The good citizens of Colton, children and all, hung breathlessly onto every word. Wade chose that time to blurt out, “This flu may do us all a favor. Clean this world out. It could lose a good portion of people and still do just fine.”

  If Wade had a normal voice, it would have only reached Dylan, especially given the excessive volume of the TV, and the fact that no customers were sitting at the tables near them. But Wade often used what people called their outside voice when he was inside. His words boomed to every corner of the restaurant.

  Dylan could almost hear the whip of every head as it turned toward them. He groaned. If they didn’t leave now, they’d ask them to go.

  Dylan picked up the final bit of his hamburger and walked to the door. He held it open for his brother, he said, “Wade, do you think just once I could finish my meal before you go riling up the townsfolk?”

  Wade looked around the dining area and took in the scowls facing him. He mumbled, "I ain't saying nothin but the truth." When Wade turned toward his audience to say more, Dylan shoved him out the door.

  The fact was, it was easy enough for the Coles to rile people up. The Cole family, in most of the town's opinion, had been one long line of trouble for generations now. Virgil, their father, had lived a dark life, and as far as most of the folks were concerned, Wade and Dylan weren’t much better. Those that didn’t look down on them usually feared them. Some people did both.

  After leaving McDonald’s, the Cole brothers headed to Smith's, or Anderson's, if you trusted the sign. They didn’t.

  As they walked out of the market, Dylan knew if he was being honest with himself, he had to admit that Wade just might be right. Frankie and a few others could go. Trouble was the disease wasn’t letting them pick, and more often than not, the good people were the ones lost.

  The little jackass in the grocery store could go. Anyone who would take advantage of those around him—they can go.

  Dylan had no choice but to stop him. If the fool got away with that, then
others would try it. People helped each other here—that’s what they did. The way he’d helped Skye.

  Dylan shook his head at himself. It always comes back around to her anymore.

  Unsure why, Dylan nevertheless felt the weight within him lighten as it always did whenever his mind turned to her.

  She's a good woman, ready to plunk that kinda of money down for her friend.

  The wind blew a little harder, lifting his dark hair off the back of his neck as he let his mind linger on her.

  10

  A Sigh of Relief

  Tom sighed as he set down the receiver of the orange phone hanging on the wall of their kitchen. He turned to his wife. Tom had known from Skye’s blank face when he left the coffee shop, she hadn’t grasped the immediate threat of the situation. He and Tricia had been ready weeks ago. In his opinion, Skye dragged her feet at his every instruction.

  Skye had drunk in every word of his advice when she had moved to Colton, West Virginia from Ohio for a fresh start. He'd been happy to provide it and taken pride in using his connections to help her get a practice up and running.

  Tom and Tricia were born and raised in this town, and if they had nothing else, they had connections. Tricia's tender heart and whimsical nature drew people to her like bees to honey. She often gave Skye the answers she needed to the history of the townsfolk. And Tom, in his capacity as Sheriff, often worked with Skye through official channels.

  Tom's practical, no-nonsense nature was offended by Skye's inability to see what was right in front of her. Whether it was her anxiety or the famous Jackson stubbornness, he felt like he wasn't getting anywhere.

  It's like slapping a brick wall. Like Skye doesn't hear me anymore, or I'm the one that's lost all good sense. How am I supposed to help her if she won't listen to a lick of what I say?

  Tom looked back at his wife. "Skye still isn't getting it. She thinks there's gonna be a cure."

  "She ain't the only one. There's plenty more like her." Tricia’s accent was more colorful than Tom’s. She'd grown up on the mountain, not far from the Coles and the Baileys. At least, not far in mountain terms.

  At home, she could be herself even if she had begrudgingly suppressed her musical way of speaking while at college, and during her business endeavors to avoid some harsh teasing.

  Tricia took her husband's hand in hers. “Sugar, you know she can’t help herself. She's afeared. Her anxiety's always got her running from where she needs to be looking. She got the things you told her to get. Skye's done what you said needed doin. She’ll get it when she needs to get it. Push comes to shove, the girl always womans up, don't you worry yourself none.”

  "Barely! She does just enough so as I won't be after her is all, not cause she sees the need. On top of that, she's still got clients! Skye's in her office, breathing the same air as people that could be Sick or Infected." Tom shook his head and ran his hand through his hair. "She's takin too much risk."

  "Skye's worried about them." Tricia's voice was calm as she explained, "Those young'uns depend on her, and she don't want to let them down. You know how bad off some of them are. She's the only sane thing they've got."

  As Tom's anxiety rose his voice became sterner. "I know, but she needs to stop. She can't help anyone if she gets sick." He grimaced at the thought of Skye with the AgFlu.

  "I'm gonna see her tomorrow. I'll ask her to take a little break 'til we see how this all sorts out. I'll let her know you're worried about her." Tricia gave Tom's hand a little squeeze as she said, "Right now, I need to get some dinner on." She patted his hand, then let go.

  As Tricia turned to the stove, the long, red hair cascading down her back shifted. It caught the light and glowed, a sight Tom never tired of. His heart constricted. He worried that the horrors he witnessed outside this house would one day invade it. He prayed the love of his life would survive when it happened.

  The next day, Tricia stirred a large pot of soup as she waited for Skye to arrive. On a normal day, the two women met for lunch at one of the local restaurants, but Tom had nixed all public appearances for Tricia for the near future. So instead, Tricia asked Skye over for a homemade lunch.

  Tricia hadn’t taken offense at Tom’s orders for her to stay put. She was happy to stay safe and sound in her house. Tom let her know what was going on outside these walls, and she wasn't in any hurry to see it herself. The thought of Sick people on every corner not only saddened but also frightened her.

  A few days ago, Tricia closed the doors to all three of her successful Appalachian Gift Shops, hoping it wouldn't be permanent. While she was still trying to run the online store, the AgFlu had brought sales to a standstill. She worried that the business she built from the ground up would never again open.

  Focusing on today, Tricia hummed to herself and tasted the steaming soup she cooked. When she shook in a little more spice, the deep scent of thyme, basil and oregano filled the room. Technically soup, she added so many extra root vegetables, it bordered on, if not crossed the line to a stew. Just right. Skye's gonna want the recipe for this one.

  A sniff of the baking biscuits and a quick glance into the oven told her they were coming right along too. She'd already laid out the table, now she added farm fresh butter and her own homemade strawberry jam.

  Tricia brightened when she heard Skye's car coming up the drive and hurried to wash her hands before greeting her.

  Skye walked in and gave Tricia a smile and a tight hug. The delicious aroma from the kitchen enveloped her. Not only was Tricia an excellent cook, but to Skye's taste, her kitchen was almost perfect.

  The restful room made her feel as if she'd stepped back in time 100 years, not in a cheap, phony way, but in a real wood and stone way and with updated appliances. On three of the walls, stained medium-grained wood cabinets spanned almost floor to ceiling against a beige painted background. Some cupboard doors were solid wood while others were thick-paned glass. The fourth wall, made of large rocks, held a large fireplace that Tom helped build. From the beamed ceiling in one corner, Tricia had even hung the obligatory herbs that dried on strings.

  "It smells amazing, Tricia! And I am starving," Skye said after walking over to the bubbling soup pot and giving it a stir, "Mm-mm."

  Tricia lit up and thanked her. Both women finished carrying the food over to the table, and after serving, Tricia sat and asked how Skye's day had gone so far.

  Skye had sunk her teeth into one of Tricia's extra fluffy Angel Biscuits loaded with butter. She nodded and took a minute to enjoy the golden goodness, closing her eyes and sighing in pleasure before answering Tricia.

  "Pretty good until now. I planned on a long lunch with you, then going back to work at my office in town. But my afternoon appointments have all canceled." Skye fretted as she picked at her nails. "I'm worried they are Sick."

  "Have there been a lot of cancelations from AgFlu?"

  Skye rolled her eyes. AgFlu short for Aggressive Influenza. "I hate the stupid name the Disease Control has given it! Like it is just another contagious strain of flu, so they don't panic people.”

  "Tom says they're technically doin everything right with all their announcements. They tell us about precautions and what to do if you catch it, but they sure don't get to the point," Tricia said. "The point being your family's gonna die if you don't get medical help. And medical help being quarantine away from your family." She waved her hand in irritation. "They're so afraid of a media backlash over a real quarantine they give a weak message. That may be helpin the panic, but it sure isn't helpin to slow the disease."

  "The news talked about a cure again as I was driving over here."

  "Pfft. From Atlantis? People have gone plum crazy."

  "I don't think it is literally Atlantis. It's just a name they use. But it's a cure."

  "So they claim. Maybe they just let people talk, so we keep our minds busy with something else 'sides dying."

  "Maybe," Skye swallowed a spoonful of soup. "I noticed most people are still out and about
almost as much as before." She frowned, realizing it hadn't stopped her from her daily routine. "But some are staying in. Perhaps that's where my kids are."

  "Better that then being sick with the AgFlu."

  "If they are, I only hope they're getting the medical attention they need. Some families have little money, and some are, well, rather private about their business. I hope they're at least keeping the Sick away from the healthy. I've tried calling them all, some I got through to and others I didn't."

  "Some reckon they or their young'uns will get exposed to the sickness in the Doc's office if they don't already have it."

  Skye grimaced and nodded. "I'd feel the same way, but it's a necessary risk."

  "I saw a line out the door of the Doc's last week. It’s overflowed his office, so Tom and his men have been helping move all the AgFlu patients into the school gym. Hopefully, more are going to Doc than we know." Tricia shot a look at Skye. "Tom said you went to the grocery store last night?"

  Skye threw up her hands. "Yes, it was crazy! Someone took all the Bengay and wanted to sell me one for sixty dollars."

  Tricia’s brow creased. "You use Bengay?"

  Skye laughed. "No. Mrs. McCleary was there, and she needed it. I was helping her out."

  "That's why everyone takes a liking to you, Skye.”

  Skye blushed and put a hand to her cheek. "Oh, stop. It wasn't that big of a deal, besides helping others is part of my job. What kind of person would I be if I only helped people when I was on the clock? Anyway, I enjoy it. And I would like to help you by saying," Skye laughed and wagged her finger at Tricia, "get to the store sooner rather than later."

  Tricia giggled. Then became serious as she leaned forward and took a deep breath before beginning her appeal. If she was going to say something to her cousin-in-law, now was the time to do it. "Skye, Tom's so worried about you keeping on with your sessions. Things are gettin crazy. Look at all our friends getting ill. Any of those young'uns could be ill and then where would you be?"