Find Them_an apocalyptic survival thriller

by B. R. Paulson

  In a clean room, Jackson sighed as he carefully lowered himself to the bed. This room didn’t stink like urine and misery. He didn’t bother blocking the locked door. Keeping himself in wasn’t a worry anymore.

  Keeping others out? He’d love to see someone try to hurt him at this point. He was invincible. Next, he had to find Cady and let her tell him how amazing he was. He was getting sick of telling himself.

  Chapter 4

  Margie

  Kelsey’s car smelled like vanilla air freshener. The overabundance of the scent suggested she had a stash of them tucked somewhere like other people would hide a rotting lunch. The sweet normalcy of the scent was offsetting and Margie tried to get her head back in the game.

  Ryker climbed into the backseat of the two-door car and hugged his bag to his chest. He stared at his home and Margie’s heart hurt for him. Leaving his dead family behind wouldn’t be easy and the stark pain and longing on his face promised many sleepless nights ahead of him.

  But leaving was the best bet for his survival. Even if, in the next few days to months, he didn’t want to survive alone.

  Offering him a reassuring smile, Margie clicked the seatback into place and joined Kelsey standing at the back of the car. They finished stacking the last of the supplies they’d taken from Ryker’s home. At least what they could get and determined important enough to take up valuable room in the car.

  While Kelsey and Margie had the sleeping items from the convenience store, Margie had asked Ryker to grab a pillow and whatever he needed to bring with him from his own home. She’d promised him they would make room for anything he brought, even as Kelsey shot a questioning look at Margie.

  Ryker had opted for whatever was in his backpack, his pillow, and an intricately designed quilt that someone in his family had probably made.

  Margie glanced over the backseat at Ryker, taking in the items in his hands and the shape of the pack. Nothing resembled a book or photo album. Touching Kelsey’s arm, Margie nodded toward the house. “Give me a few minutes and then we can go.”

  “We’ve already been here too long, Margie.” Kelsey’s whisper didn’t stop Margie. After a few minutes, Kelsey’s words followed her. “Okay, but hurry!”

  Margie braved the stifling odor of dead bodies in Ryker’s family home. She didn’t dare go into the bedrooms. All she needed were some family picture albums or even just a family picture from the wall – anything to tie Ryker back to the people he loved the most in the world. Most houses had memory items stored in the living room or an office, where they were easily accessible.

  She swept the living room with the small flashlight Ryker had handed to her earlier while they’d been looking for food to take and gas cans in the garage. The white LED light sent shadows of objects against the walls and ceiling.

  A wood and metal shelf had been positioned against the far doorway. Books and thick spines on the bottom shelf caught her eye. With one arm over her nose and mouth, Margie approached the collection and grabbed anything that looked like it might hold pictures. The weight of about five books made her lower her hand and the smell of death and disease assaulted her again.

  Rushing from the home, Margie climbed into the front seat of the waiting car. Closing the door behind her, she turned at the waist while Kelsey shifted into gear and drove slowly down the street.

  “Here, Ryker, I think you might want these.” She didn’t dare turn on the light since they could be seen by anyone and they didn’t want to give away their position any more than the brake lights would have to.

  He took them slowly and Margie settled back into her seat, pulling on her seatbelt and trying not to overhear Ryker’s reaction. He lifted up a book and used the dashboard to see it better.

  His words came slow as if he couldn’t believe what he held. “I… Thank you.” The book closed and he set them on the seat beside him. Judging from the soft rubbing sound, Ryker’s hand hadn’t left the books as he softly stroked them. He was grateful for them now, but Margie knew just how much he would want them in the time to come.

  His lack of words didn’t bother Margie. She understood the need for no words, no reaction. A simple thank you was more than she’d expected as he left them all behind.

  “I’m not going to take the freeway. Not yet.” Kelsey finally spoke in a normal volume. “I don’t know about you, but I’m not interested in going through Cle Elum. Not like this. We’re not ready. What if they have the freeway blocked?” She shook her head, her skin pale in the green and orange light from the dash.

  Margie couldn’t argue. What if the same people who had blown up the gas station were out there. She shook her head and leaned her elbow on the windowsill, looking out into the darkness. “I can’t believe they blew up the convenience store. How did you make it out?”

  Snickering, Kelsey shook her head. “They didn’t blow it up. That was me. You said we needed a distraction. I grabbed some of the lighter fluid and turned on the pumps. A few of the handles had been bound open, probably so they could see what pumps were being used during the day. Gas had spilled from one of the faucets lying on the ground and it went everywhere.” She laughed again, turning down another dark street, seemingly confident where she was driving.

  Margie had no idea where they were or where they were going in the dark night. The only light she could see was from the still-burning gas station off in the distance behind them. She glanced back a couple times just to orient herself.

  Kelsey shrugged, shifting in the seat and glancing in the rearview mirror. “I used a drink cup, stuffed it with napkins that I lit on fire, opened the door, and threw it outside, then started a fire inside, too.” She looked quickly at Margie. “I’ve been wanting to do that for a while now, but I was too scared to do it. I thought I was going to die in there. You at least showed me I didn’t have to stay in there.”

  Motioning with one hand, Kelsey continued talking. “The group of men scrambled to get away from the front. I went out the back and grabbed my car. I saw you as I drove along the back of the parking lot. You guys ducked into the forest and so I followed into the neighborhood I knew was back there.”

  “Wow.” But Margie was more astounded than she let on. Kelsey wasn’t the risk taking type. Her tattoos, piercings, and hair style were for shock value. There was no risk there, just something she did because it garnered her attention.

  Kelsey had been so averse to leaving until the next morning, Margie couldn’t help wondering what had happened to make her change her mind. “Why’d you decide to leave now?”

  Falling quiet, Kelsey didn’t reply.

  After a long moment where Margie thought for sure Kelsey had either not heard her or wasn’t going to answer, Kelsey finally spoke, all humor gone. “Don’t freak out, but they pulled the Bug from the road and were… messing with it.” She swallowed, the sound audible in the silence of the car.

  “Messing with it? What do you mean?” Margie glanced behind them, as if she could somehow see what they were doing with David, her dead husband, and the car he’d killed himself in.

  “No, look, I don’t mind telling you stuff, but there are some things that are better not knowing.” Kelsey cleared her throat and glanced in the rearview mirror. “What about you, Ryker? How old are you? Why haven’t you been sick?” Her abrupt change in topic scared Margie more than she wanted to let on.

  Margie disengaged from the conversation. How bad had things gotten at the gas station that they had spurred Kelsey to leave? Margie didn’t want to know.

  “I’m not sure. My family all got it, but I didn’t. I had a rash on my arms, but that was it.” Of course, Ryker hadn’t had shingles. He wasn’t old enough. There was too much data and not enough information to create variables or track the progress of the disease. As much as Margie was trying to pinpoint the cause and treatment of the virus, she severely lacked the ability to track anything down with any certainty.

  Kelsey turned the car again, heading north this time.

  “Whe
re are you going?” Margie shifted in her seat. She only wanted to head east. If they had to get on the freeway, then that’s where they needed to go.

  “You said your family is up in Spirit Lake. I know a back way to get to Newport and we can go south from there.” Kelsey nodded, keeping her expression tight. “If those men are coming out of Cle Elum, there’s nothing good that can happen, if we go that way. Let’s just go a little longer route and get where we need to go.”

  That made sense. The back country of the Inland Northwest was a myriad of roads and paths. If you wanted to get somewhere, chances were you had more than one option to do so.

  But if Cle Elum had gone bad, who was to say any of the other towns hadn’t gone bad, too?

  They’d lengthened their drive which meant they would need more gas and more food and they had to plan with more time.

  Margie had a sinking sensation that they weren’t all going to make it to Spirit Lake and she wasn’t sure what to do about that.

  Not for the first time, she wished one of them had access to a gun of some sort. But Kelsey hadn’t had access and Ryker’s family had been legitimately liberal with their disinterest in owning weapons. Ryker had shaken his head when she’d asked him and he’d scoffed. “My dad didn’t even get mouse traps because he didn’t believe in taking lives.”

  No weapons left them decidedly more vulnerable.

  And Kelsey wanted to drive off the main roads.

  Hopefully, Kelsey knew what she was doing. Margie had no idea how to get back to the freeway which was the only way she knew of to get home.

  Panic clenched in her stomach. What if Kelsey didn’t know what she was talking about? What if something happened to Kelsey and Margie had to find a way home without a map or GPS?

  What if Margie had promised Bailey she’d be there soon and she never showed up?

  Some things weren’t acceptable. Dying in the backwoods of some Washington county was one of them.

  Chapter 5

  Somewhere in Atlanta

  Douglas Whittaker had never seen such an elegant virus hybrid. If he could only meet the creator of the varicella cross, he’d consider his bucket list complete. As it was, he had a lot left to do on his list that he wouldn’t be able to complete before he died. Which, in retrospect was pretty sad considering he wasn’t even forty years old yet.

  He chuckled, the sound dry and forced. Swiveling the chair to the side and then back, he stared into the dim room. His eyes hadn’t stopped hurting and, yet, that hadn’t stopped him from doing what he loved.

  Scrapings of his mother’s pox had given him the bump in information he’d needed. She’d had shingles though and the virus that was decimating the world wasn’t able to reach its full life span in those with a medical history of shingles, chickenpox, or herpes simplex – cold sores on the mouth. What Doug wouldn’t give to see how it affected those with genital herpes – a more localized form of the virus.

  Swallowing to moisten the interior of his mouth, Doug lifted the dictating recorder to his lips, pressing the record button and murmuring into the darkened room. “The virus is… simple while being complex. There is no ability to create a vaccine with the evolutionary traits that have been added in the genetic diversification process which makes the vaccination process null.” He pulled the recorder back, cleared his throat, and continued, “Half of the virus dies as it infects, shunting the white blood cells by killing them on contact. I want to reference it by calling it kamikaze but that simplifies the process more than necessary.”

  Doug lowered his recorder and stared toward the corner of his desk. He had no one who would listen to his reports. No one to study the evolution of the virus or the toxicity of the ointment being touted as the Cure – well, not any more. It was pretty evident by the few who were still alive that the Cure was just another step in a horrible plan to eliminate the human race.

  All of that to the side, Doug wanted to know more about the virus. He reached up and pressed gingerly around the pox on his own skin.

  He’d never had chickenpox, shingles, or even cold sores. He had barely moved from his desk as he’d gotten sicker and sicker, but he’d been fortunate to have various drugs on hand to eliminate the fever in temporary bursts and to treat the general pain.

  Even as prepared as he was with drugs and his own knowledge of viruses, Doug knew when he’d hit the end of his rope.

  If he’d been in better health and hadn’t smoked, maybe… but he knew that wasn’t true. There was nothing that would help him get over the sickness at that rate. He wasn’t young and he wasn’t healthy enough to give it a fighting chance.

  Setting the recorder down with a soft thud on the veneer surface, Doug sighed. Why was he even taking notes?

  His posterity died a few days before and he’d been able to look at the whole situation with practicality instead of with emotion. His own weakness and illness had taken its toll and he’d barely had enough energy to look in the microscopes and work on the petri dishes.

  His religion had always been science. Turning that way as his death loomed before him, seemed only natural. His mother had been comforted with prayers and scriptures. Douglas was comforted, calmed even, by studying the virus that seemed to hold back on killing him.

  Almost as if it, too, wanted to be studied, known.

  Who would listen to his dictations? Would anyone find him in his basement in the next fifty years? Why would they? He was in a random neighborhood, in a random town. There were thousands and thousands of homes all around him. Nothing stood out about his home. His whole life he’d sought notoriety, to be known for a discovery.

  The one time a discovery was made that actually mattered? Doug – and the world – were too far gone to do anything about it. If he could’ve discovered it earlier, found a way to treat it, he could’ve gotten the Nobel Peace Prize. Maybe.

  Or, he would have just been pushed under the rug while a higher up scientist had taken the credit.

  None of it mattered anyway.

  All the conjecture weakened him further and he sighed. Rubbing his eyes, he glanced at his fingers as he pulled them back from his face.

  Blinking, he then squinted at the black tar-like material smeared across his skin.

  That didn’t look good.

  Chapter 6

  Scott

  The smell. Scott couldn’t escape the smell, no matter which way he turned his head. A general rotten food smell came from his house, which wasn’t a big deal. Cady had mentioned something about Rachel digging through his kitchen. She probably had left the fridge open and then with the power outage and animals having free access, things weren’t being saved properly. No big dea.

  But he hadn’t thought about the way Rachel’s body would stink as it decomposed on his lawn. The smell of rotting flesh wasn’t something one got used to. Even Ranger kept his nose down as he watched the road.

  Breathing out of his mouth didn’t help either.

  Scott couldn’t figure out what hurt more, his skin, his muscles, his bones, or his soul. His hands shook as he leaned back against the porch steps, watching for more coyotes, more predators, any danger. He had to be out of ammunition soon. His gun didn’t have unlimited bullets, no matter how much the movies made it seem possible.

  An engine and metal creaking announced a visitor. Small headlights glowed in front of the house, visible before the actual ATV was in view. He raised the gun and then hastily lowered it to his side when he realized who the driver was.

  Bailey seemed to come out of nowhere, the rattle and bumping of the trailer over the shallow ditch as she cut the corner on his drive jarring to Scott’s sensitive hearing.

  Ranger’s whine was more of a gentle admonition that Scott was okay. The dog had settled beside Scott, on alert as if he knew Scott wasn’t going to be able to do much from where he sat. He knew who Bailey was. The dog wasn’t worried. In fact, he was probably glad to have someone see that Scott had been saved.

  And yes, Scott was going to be
okay, and it was all thanks to his best-friend. His tears started anew that Ranger had made it home. Not for the first time, Scott reached down and rubbed behind Ranger’s ears, grateful to see his friend again.

  Seeing Bailey’s shape and dim features in the silver light of the moon was almost as much a relief as seeing his dog again.

  Bailey pulled to a stop and stared at Scott. She took in his boxer underwear and the pale skin of his lower thighs and knees. Arching an eyebrow, she jerked her head toward the trailer. “Okay, I’ve seen too much, Scott. Why’d you leave? And in your underwear.” She shook her head, as if amused by the crazy man’s antics.

  Scott tugged the hem of his shirt. The chilly spring night worked its way across his flesh. Of course, he would notice the dropping temperature when he was most vulnerable. Why hadn’t he noticed how cold it was when he was trying to leave Cady’s? That would have been more appropriate. He could have turned back.

  He patted Ranger’s head. No, if he’d gone back inside, he would have missed out on finding Ranger. That wasn’t something to miss.

  Ranger stood beside Scott, watching Bailey with curiosity but also keeping an eye on the road and the direction the coyotes had scampered off in.

  Bailey reached under Scott’s arm and helped him stand. Shaky, he’d gripped the gun like a lifeline and tapped it against his bare leg nervously.

  “I’m going to load you in the trailer. I can’t carry you or have you leaning on me on the four-wheeler, okay? It’s going to be bumpy. We have to hurry. Jessica is by herself at the house.” Bailey helped Scott make his way to the back of the trailer.

  As the adrenaline faded, Scott’s aches and pains became more apparent. As much as he hurt, the pain wasn’t the same kind that he’d been plagued with while he was sick. Settling on the plywood bottom of the trailer, Scott reached up and felt his forehead with the back of his hand. If anything, his skin was damp with sweat, but cool. He didn’t have a fever, anymore.