Joyce did so gladly. Olivia’ heart surged a bit when the little girl finally removed her surgical mask. She watched it flutter to the floor with something like triumph, so glad to see Joyce’s entire face again.
Olivia messed with the knobs, cutting on the water and getting it to a lukewarm temperature. She then helped Joyce into the tub and pulled the little pin on the faucet to kick the shower on. When the showerhead blasted water down onto Joyce, she giggled and squinted her face up. That little bit of joy stayed with her while Olivia assisted with the shower. Joyce was old enough to scrub at the more obvious areas, but it took Olivia’s help for her to get between her toes, her back, and all the private parts. She then helped Joyce out, wrapped her in a towel, and took her own turn in the shower.
“Stay right there while ‘Livia cleans up, okay?” she said, stepping in.
“Uh huh,” Joyce said, already unwrapping her towel and using it like a cape.
Olivia stepped under the water and that part of her that had gone loose at the thought of a warm bath went even looser. Despite the heat she endured today, she inched the water temperature a little closer to hot. The heat seemed to tug at the knots in her shoulders and back; breathing in the steam felt like having someone cleansing out her nose and throat, as if trying to erase the previous two days.
She soaped down quickly, allowing herself only a few moments of that relief. She had a little girl to tend to and a middle aged hard-working man out in the room waiting for the shower.
When she started helping Joyce get dressed, the girl frowned. “I thought I was taking a bath!”
“You can. But we have to take turns and be fair. Mr. Paul is going to want a shower, too.”
“Okay,” Joyce said grumpily.
They were both dressed several minutes later. When they walked back out into the room, Olivia saw Paul sitting on the edge of one of the beds, clicking through TV channels that were mostly laced with static. While the power was still on, the cable was apparently out. Olivia was fine with this. The last thing she wanted to see was drone footage of what New York City looked like. And she wasn’t sure she wanted to hear just how far the Blood Fire Virus had made it.
“Everything is out,” Paul said, killing the power with the remote and tossing it onto the dresser.
“Well, if it helps, the shower is free.”
He looked towards the bathroom, conflicted. “I’ve been thinking,” he said. “I think the chances might be decent that someone—or quite a few someone’s—might have been in this hotel when things got bad. Maybe it’s just my job talking, but I can’t help but wonder if there might be other people here. People that might need help.”
It was a sad and alarming thought and Olivia found herself torn. On the one hand, she absolutely wanted to help anyone that might be in need. But then again, they now had the security of these walls, a locked door and, for now, a working air conditioner and shower.
“Do you think we should go look?” she finally asked, not sure how she wanted him to answer.
“I want to, but I don’t think we should. What if there are people here but they’re all d…” he stopped himself, noting that Joyce was watching the back-and-forth of their conversation like someone at a tennis match. “What if they’re all like the other people we’ve seen all over the place since leaving New York?”
“Or like Lindsay, on the bridge, or the tall man we passed.”
“Exactly.”
“So…no?” Olivia asked. “We stay here and don’t look?”
“Would you think less of me if I said I don’t think we should?”
Olivia shook her head slowly. “No. If anything, I’m relieved.”
Silence fell between them as Olivia sat down on the other bed. Paul once again looked to the bathroom, as if not sure to go ahead and take a shower. To Olivia, it seemed that taking a shower would mean some sort of symbolic end to the day for them—and Paul seemed to be undecided on whether or not he wanted that to be true. Maybe he was thinking of looking around for food or supplies. Maybe he was thinking about heading outside to find a car where they could scan the AM dial for news reports to get a better idea of what was happening elsewhere in the country.
Before she could ask or Paul could decide, Joyce broke the silence. When she did, Olivia nearly started crying in a sudden, heart-wrenching burst.
“Why are all the people we’ve seen dead?” she asked. “They aren’t just sleeping, right? They’re dead…”
“Yes,” Olivia said, finding it foolish to lie about it or to even soften the blow. She’d seen enough of it and if they were going to get her to her father, she was going to see a lot more. “Yes, sweetie, they’re all dead.”
She choked back her tears and did everything she could to keep herself centered. It was harder to do when Joyce, with all of the innocence of any other curious four year old, asked: “Why?”
Olivia looked to Paul and let out a shuddering breath. She then slid back along the bed, propping her back against the headboard, and patted the bed beside her. “Come here, sweetie,” Olivia said. “There are some things I think we need to explain to you.”
Joyce did as she was asked, sitting against the headboard and curling her little head into Olivia’s shoulder. Olivia did her best to explain it all in the way a four year-old could understand and, in the end, thought she did an okay job. Joyce did not ask questions or show any sort of real response. She simply sat there, absorbing it, listening to a summarized version of how the world she had slowly come to know during her four years of life seemed to be coming to a quick and unexpected end.
Chapter 24
Destiny Ridge, Texas was a small town located twenty-one miles to the southwest of Fort Worth. It was the sort of town that was pretty much unnoticeable on a map and was usually only found by travelers seeking short cuts around Fort Worth, looking for a faster way to either Mexico or New Mexico. While the previous census claimed Destiny Ridge boasted a population of 3,406, anyone passing through would likely believe that number was significantly inflated.
On any given weekday, the main stretch of highway that passed through Destiny Ridge was basically dead after seven o’clock in the afternoon. But given the recent events in New York City and the terror that was quickly making its way along the east coast and very slowly to the west, the highway was quieter than usual. Even the foot traffic along the sidewalks was dried up; there were no hipsters out in front of The Bold Bean coffee shop, and no daring skateboarders out at the corner of Holt and Abernathy Streets seeking the approval of their friends and the dismay of their parents. Even the parking spots in front of the local bar, Terry’s Taps, were mostly vacant.
Sadly, it was the empty parking spots in front of the bar that had Sheriff Toby Hudson worried. He knew the town well and could bring up images of the few faces he considered potential troublemakers: the frequent drunks, the teens that had endured brushes with the law, the back-alley businessmen. Almost every afternoon for the last four years, he could count on at least one or two of the same vehicles in front of the bar, but only one was there tonight. In fact, the empty spots in front of Terry’s Taps seemed like a bad omen.
It still did not stop Sheriff Hudson from sitting in his patrol car, scratching at one of the three lottery tickets he’d picked up at 7/11 an hour ago. He finished scratching the silver cover off of the front of the first one, found he’d won nothing, and shoved it into his pocket. He used to just toss them into the floorboard but he’d ended up having a particularly nasty conversation about that with the town council a few months ago.
As he scratched at the second ticket, there was a little bit of chatter coming through the digital radio attached to his dash. Destiny Ridge had only just upgraded from old school CB radios to the fancier digital versions five years ago, right around the same time Toby had been promoted to sheriff. He missed the old hiss and crackle of the CB radio, but couldn’t deny that the sound quality was better with the digital version.
He listened to the c
hatter as he scratched at the second ticket. Right away, he found that he’d won ten bucks. Not bad.
“Got the situation at the Hanks residence under control,” said the nasally voice of Officer Nyles, a younger guy that Sheriff Hudson didn’t care for. All primping and posture with no real work ethic. “The husband is freaked out about the news out of New York. Trying to insist his wife start wearing a mask. Just a minor domestic disturbance.”
“Roger that,” came a reply from Deputy Beatty. Beatty was a forty year old woman—a recent divorcee that Hudson fully intended to make a run at once the paperwork was all taken care of. “Anyone get a follow-up on that noise complaint over on Henderson Street?”
Crap, Sheriff Hudson thought. He’d really hoped someone else would end up getting to that. But now, being that he was currently parked across from Terry’s Taps, less than a mile away from the noise complaint on Henderson, he supposed he’d be the best choice to check it out. With a sigh, he answered the call and set the third unscratched lottery ticket to the side.
“This is Hudson,” he answered through the mic, injecting a bit of bass into his voice. “I’m headed there right now…will update ASAP.”
“Roger that,” Beatty said.
Yeah, you go ahead and roger that all you want, Hudson thought while envisioning Beatty’s blonde hair done up in that tight little ponytail that made her look about ten years younger.
He pulled out of the spot on the other side of the street from Terry’s Taps, driving with one hand and stuffing his winning ticket into his other pocket. As he got rolling down the main stretch and toward Henderson Street, he turned the volume down on the communications radio and turned on the car radio. Ever since the nightmare in New York, he’d kept his car tuned to an AM station out of Fort Worth. The news never seemed to be getting any better, but Toby had always adhered to the position of it’s best to be fully aware of the bad news rather than turning a blind and hopeful eye to it.
Besides…the virus that a lot of people had started calling Blood Fire was spreading insanely fast and unless some genius in a lab or conference room in Washington DC came up with some sort of miracle solution, Toby fully expected it to reach Texas within just a few days. He figured the people that were not out and about tonight felt the same way—even the town drunks who had decided to stay at home rather than hit up the bar. And if something as deadly as that freaking virus was headed their way, reporting to check out a minor noise complaint seemed silly on the surface.
But that was the job. In a town as small as Destiny Ridge, sometimes the top of the totem pole got knocked down a peg or two. He’d unlocked car doors for people that had locked their keys inside, had reported to small businesses to help shut down alarm systems, and yes, he’d looked into his fair share of noise complaints. Domestic disturbances, the local metal band practicing too loud after hours, and now whatever was awaiting him down Henderson Street.
He had the address, but it made no sense. It was an old furniture shop—the sort of place that had done well about twenty years ago but had slowly gone out of business, the owners blaming it on the internet. He had no idea what sort of noise would be coming from a building that had been vacant for about five years. Maybe another band? No…there was no electricity. Maybe a teenage couple getting frisky and making no attempt to keep quiet? Whatever it might be, the mystery of it kept nagging at him enough to make him want to know the answers. It was enough to temporarily forget the third scratch ticket that awaited him in the passenger seat, anyway.
Toby came to the address that had been reported fifteen minutes ago, called in by a resident of Henderson Street that had been out walking her dog. He parked in the long-abandoned parking lot and stepped out. For a moment, he heard nothing more than the ticking of his engine and the buzzing of insects getting in a few last loops around town before the sun went down. But then he picked it up—a droning noise that seemed rather dull at first but carried a faint beeping sound behind it. It was almost like hearing some distant engine rumbling, layered with a faint smoke alarm that wouldn’t shut up.
It was slight, though, nothing more than background noise. He had no idea why anyone would call in something like this as a noise complaint. He approached the old furniture shop and focused on the strange sound. It might be coming from inside, but he had no idea who would have gone in there. He wasn’t even sure who owned the place anymore.
Toby closed his eyes, really trying to focus on the sound now. After a few seconds, he thought he understood why it might be a noise of some interest. The droning engine-like noise wasn’t the real center of it; it was that higher-pitched alarm-like sound. It seemed to be getting a bit more shrill and noticeable. And he thought he heard breaks in it…little spaces that made it not one long continuous sound but a series of rapid beeps.
“What is that?” he asked the empty parking lot.
He cocked his head to his shoulder mic and pressed the send button. “I’m here out at Henderson Street,” he reported. “There’s definitely a weird noise, sort of mechanical in nature. Maybe like machinery running, maybe. About to make a circuit to check it out.”
He made a few steps towards the front door before he got twin responses from Nyles and Beatty. “Roger that,” Beatty said sweetly. “Ten-four,” Nyles said, sounding like a nerd.
Toby tried the front door but it was locked, as he’d expected. He knew there was a large workshop and old dilapidated storage shed around back, where the builders used to put together cabinets, hutches, and overpriced coffee tables. Maybe he was hearing machinery. Perhaps some curious teen had gone digging through the mess in the back and somehow kicked on an old saw or planer. Still…Toby was pretty sure you’d need electricity for that and this place hadn’t been open for at least five years.
Genuinely curious now, Toby walked around the right side of the building. As he did, he couldn’t understand how he hadn’t heard the sound right away. The thrumming layer of it was prominent now, sort of like the lull of an airplane that starts to blend into the background and drag you into sleep. The background alarm noise, the series of shrill beeps, seemed to be getting louder and he was now almost certain that they were escalating.
He came to the back of the furniture shop and found that the storage shed was in worse shape than he’d remembered. The entire roof had come crashing down on what it had once protected—old lumber, saws, and other machinery. The small, abandoned lot behind it all was bookended by the ruins of the shed and a thin grove of trees that stretched out for a mile or so, separating the residential area from the shops and businesses of Destiny Ridge. The little workshop area was in better condition, but just barely. The walls had been graffitied and the roof was starting to sag. The single door that led inside had been busted and stripped off of the frame, revealing the musty, empty interior.
But Toby barely even gave the old workshop a second look. He was all but certain that strange noise was coming from underneath the wreckage of the storage shed roof. And now that he was this close, something about those high-pitched beeps did not seem totally mechanical—certainly not a sound an old piece of wood-crafting machinery would make.
He made his way to the edge of the debris and carefully started to step through it. He stepped over an old length of board and the old saw band from a rotary saw. There was old paper, tufts of dried up sawdust, and a series of bolts and nails scattered everywhere before the slanted wood and tin of the roof concealed it all. Standing so close to it, he could now hear the slight echo effect of the noise, cluing him in to the fact that the noise was coming from under the old roof.
The remains of it had fallen at a slant, giving him the slightest bit of room to peer behind. He could actually step beneath it a bit without having to crouch but he instantly felt like he was stepping inside of a tomb that might very well fall in at any moment. When he hesitantly took a single step back away from the roof, he just barely caught a glint of something silver beneath the old, tattered roof.
He felt around at th
e belt on his waist and pulled out the miniature flashlight he kept strapped on his left side. He clicked it on and aimed it into the darkness beneath the roof. The light bounced off the silver object at once. His first thought was that it was some sort of weird refrigerator. It was roughly the same size as one of the nicer stainless steel fridges he’d never been interested in owning. Yet, as he took that single step back under the fallen roof to get a better look at it, he saw the curvature of it. He could only see about a foot of it, as the rest was buried under some sort of old black tarp. And it was then, as he looked at the tarp, that he saw the unnatural state of the strange thing. The tarp had clearly been placed there intentionally. There was no chaos or disorder to it as one might expect from the state of the rest of the debris and fallen objects within the old shed. No, the tarp was a bit neater, thrown over the silver shape clearly on purpose. More than that, the tarp looked newer somehow, not having collected nearly as much dust and grime as everything else.
Nervous now, Toby reached for the tarp. He could just barely reach it by pressing himself against the old concrete wall and stretching his arm out as much as he could. He leaned in a bit, the top of his head brushing the fallen roof. His fingers grazed the tarp just enough to hook it. He pulled back, not realizing he had been holding his breath until the tarp fell.
He had no idea what he was suddenly looking at, but it sure as hell wasn’t a refrigerator. It was about the same size, but a bit stubbier. It almost looked like some weird sort of prop from a science fiction movie…complete with a series of wires snaking along the back and a black screen at the front. As he looked at the screen, he noticed a series of numbers. They were scrolling like a weird stopwatch, not in a countdown but in what seemed like a random string of quickly changing numbers.
Two thoughts occurred to him in that moment. First of all, the odd noise was definitely coming from this strange silver colored object. Even the rapid beeping—which he was pretty sure was getting even faster now—seemed to be in time with those scrolling numbers.
It Falls Apart Series | Book 1 | It Falls Apart Page 21