The Variables (Virulent Book 3)

by Wescott, Shelbi

  “Spooky,” Ainsley replied. “He didn’t think anyone was listening?”

  “Soldiers,” Lou continued, ignoring her, “were coming into his city and trying to flush people out.”

  “How?” Dean asked.

  “Fires, mostly. They’re letting entire cities burn. This guy was broadcasting when they got him. Yelling and then gunshots, and after that? No radio. It was like there had been an oversight and this guy found it, then they swooped in and cleaned up the mess.”

  “Any others?” Darla saw a picture of the twins in high school. Baggy jeans and flannel shirts; Lindsey had thick blonde hair and curled bangs. The brother-sister duo posed with their backs together and their arms crossed, pure joy evident on their faces. These adult children had been silent from the moment they had nabbed them off the store porch. Their family pictures told a story of typical middle-class life in a mountain town: pictures with matching denim shirts; Lindsey on a volleyball team; Lyle playing football.

  “No. He thought he was the only one left until the Sweepers came through. We thought we were the only ones left, too, until we heard his voice.”

  “You think we’re Sweepers? You think we discovered your little hideout and came to flush you out?” Darla asked.

  Lou narrowed his eyes. “Where were you headed?”

  She stared, unblinking, in the dark.

  “Exactly,” Lou continued. “Secrets mean I can’t trust you. So, until you’re willing to divulge your plan...you’re a potential threat to me and my family.”

  “You seen anyone else?” Dean asked, changing the subject.

  “The diary boy, from the radio, he had seen others. A family on their way south. Mom, dad, baby. All alive. He had hope of following them, but...” Lou’s nostrils flared.

  “He asked about you,” Darla said.

  “No,” he answered after a beat. Lyle shifted behind her and Cricket looked to the floor. It felt like the air had been sucked out of the hallway; everyone remained rooted to their places, trying to remember their lines.

  “Right.” Darla was unconvinced.

  “Well, then, we both have secrets,” Lou answered. “What, exactly, am I supposed to think about you? Gun-toting survivors in a hurry in an empty world? You didn’t know anyone else was alive, but you have somewhere to go?” He narrowed his eyes. “You think I’m stupid,” he whispered.

  Darla wanted to concede that he had a point. It was the way Lou’s voice trembled as he spoke to her, or how he couldn’t hold eye contact for longer than a second that made her realize that this family feared them in a powerful and visceral way.

  “You don’t make any sense,” Darla whispered back. “Let us go. I’m asking you as a fellow human being.”

  “No,” Lou replied. “Not yet.”

  With a burst of anger, she pounded the wall with her fist, dark hair from her bun came loose and tumbled into her face, and she wiped her hand across her eyes. A picture tilted and then threatened to drop, and Lindsey scooched past her brother to put it back into place.

  “Tomorrow morning, we would have packed up and left,” Darla said. Everyone had paused. They stared at her like she was a bomb about to go off. “No harm to you and this little system you have going for yourself. If we’re so dangerous, why not just kill us? If you thought we were Sweepers, or whatever you want to call them...and I get that, I get making up arbitrary names for things and attaching meaning to them...”

  “She was a Raider,” Ainsley added with a nod.

  “Yeah,” Darla replied. “Thank you, Ainsley.” Then she turned squarely toward Lou and took a tentative step forward. “A Raider, right. No, I wanted to feel important. Like I had a purpose in all of this. It wasn’t just looting, it wasn’t just trying to trade what I had for what I needed...it was a job. It gave me fewer hours in the day to dwell on all my losses. But you have to understand something... I’m sure you are well intentioned, but if you think you can get people to tell you what’s going on out there by coercion, and then things will be better, they won’t. You’re just someone else who has hurt us.”

  “You’ve suffered a lot,” the man stated. He brought up his hand and adjusted his mask.

  “Lou, you’re nothing but a roadblock to me.”

  “And you are potentially dangerous to me.”

  “Yeah,” Darla nodded. “If you don’t untie us, put your weapons away, and let us walk outside of this home tomorrow morning, then there’s no potential about it. I will be dangerous. Count on it.”

  Cricket made rabbit and mashed potatoes and gravy. The whole kitchen smelled gamey and sweet; the prospect of a warm meal usurped their anger and exhaustion. It was difficult to be simultaneously angry and grateful. Darla picked at the white rabbit meat with a plastic fork and, despite the rope around her ankles and her pounding headache, she devoured every bit of the food provided to her. The Hales sat and watched; Cricket sat like a pleased housewife oohing and aahing over every enjoyed bite.

  “You’re not afraid of the rabbit being contaminated?” Dean asked as he took another bite, a small fluffy white piece of mashed potato stayed in the corner of his mouth. “One bite of rabbit and then,” he made a noise and drew his finger over his neck.

  “Oh,” Cricket smiled. “These aren’t wild rabbits. We’re breeding them for meat in the basement.”

  Ainsley choked a bit and then set her fork down against the side of her plate. She pushed the plate away. “A family slaughterhouse? No, thank you.”

  Darla shrugged and reached her fork over to Ainsley’s piece and jabbed the prongs into the meat. Then she transferred the rabbit over to her own plate and began to pick out the juiciest pieces. “Makes no difference to me.”

  “It’s quick and I bleed them out and then cook them immediately,” Cricket said. “The rabbits were always one of our major protein plans.”

  “You just...planned? For the end of the world?” Ainsley asked as she pushed around her remaining potatoes around her plate. “What kind of life is that?”

  “Well, that’s the answer, isn’t it?” Lou replied with a smile. “We’re alive.”

  “You’re alive because you’re immune. You’re well-fed because you planned,” Darla interrupted with her mouth full. “Tell me about the day the virus hit. I wanna hear your story. Did you get a little bit excited and exhilarated when you heard the news? ‘Hey mom, guess what? We can finally breed rabbits in the basement like we always wanted to.’” She crossed her arms over her chest and leaned back in her chair. When no one started talking, Darla motioned for someone to start. “I’m serious.”

  Lyle cleared his throat. He looked to his dad for a second and then began to speak. It was the first time any of them had heard the man talk and his voice was deep, brutish, monotone.

  “Linz and I work in the Palouse together and we got the call from our mom that something bad was happening. By then, we knew it was true...we’re in a college town after all, so there were just these kids everywhere, panicking.”

  Lindsey took over. Even in the dark her hair glowed bright and white as the candles flickered. She had chopped it off into a pixie cut, and it only enhanced her fragile features—a tiny nose, thin cheekbones. The woman’s voice was soft and smooth—the opposite of Lyle—but everything about her seemed androgynous. She had a boyish build, absent of curves, and her slim t-shirt exposed the outline of her collarbone and then fell straight down against her flat chest. Where her brother was large, she was slim; where he was lumbering, she was delicate.

  Darla was fairly certain it was Lindsey who had zapped her outside by the fire and dragged her body down the steps. She felt a burning desire to just slap her across her thin face; just a quick act of violence as a reply to the stun gun. It wasn’t that she wanted to hurt her, only surprise her, and make her cry. She hated feeling that way. Hated that she could see how afraid they were and still wish them harm. In any other situation, she would have bent over backward to help the Hales feel confident a
nd comfortable, but not this time. Not now. Darla lowered her head and listened to Lindsey tell her story without watching.

  “We got out before any major traffic blocked the roads up there. Growing up, I thought my parents were out-of-their minds crazy for their stockpiles. But look at us now, look at where it got us. I’m not saying it saved us, but it’s been easier to deal with,” Lindsey said, but her voice was timid, unsure, like a child’s.

  Lou reached out his hand to his wife and she took it and gave his fingers a little squeeze. Then he turned to his kids, “Our turn for dinner. Take them to the basement. Give them the cots. The girls in one room, the man in the other.”

  Lindsey and Lyle nodded in unison.

  “There’s no way you’re keeping us here,” Darla pushed her plate away. As she said it, she realized her hands felt heavy and her head groggy. The room tumbled around her—the walls marching toward her, bulging outward. She closed her eyes and kept spinning. “Shit,” she mumbled. “Should have seen that coming.”

  “Just a small opiate, darling,” Cricket said in a chipper voice. “You’ll sleep well, that’s all.”

  “You drugged us?” Ainsley asked. Her words, too, were starting to slur; she put her hand out in front of her and then let it fall to the table with a heavy thud.

  “The Sweepers are coming. They will not rest until they’ve destroyed all life. I don’t know who you are or why you’re alive,” Lou said in a whisper. “But I intend to find out. I need to find out. For my family...for our survival.”

  “This is not the way,” Darla replied, her eyes drooping.

  “I’m content with my way. Safety is my concern—”

  “No,” Darla added forcefully. “If safety was your concern, you’d have let us pass by. You wouldn’t have even let us inside your house. So, what’s your game, Lou? Why are we really here?” The orange and yellow glow of the room ebbed and flowed; Lou’s face fell in and out of the shadows, his eyes steady on his visitors, his brow furrowed.

  “Please. Please understand. My family has stayed alive until now. I need information,” Lou said. “Tell me what you know and you are free to leave.” Then he pointed at his children. “Get them downstairs and out of sight. Double and triple check your locks.” The drugs had started to make her dizzy, but she thought she heard him add, “I don’t want it to be like last time.”

  The basement rooms were cold and smelled of mold and dirt. Dean had been relegated to the room that also housed the rabbits, and they heard his muffled complaints about the smell from down the hall. Soon, however, his complaints died away and thick snores emanated from beyond the wall. Ainsley and Darla were given a flashlight to share, a bucket, and some blankets. As Lindsey shut the door to leave, Darla wedged her foot between the door and the frame, and shouldered her way forward. She fought against the growing throb of drunkenness consuming her.

  “You know this isn’t right,” Darla said to her. “You’re a grown-ass woman. You can let us go.”

  Lindsey held the Taser forward and took a step from the door, her hand on the knob. “Please...I know...”

  “Look at me,” Darla whispered. “I have a son.”

  “It’s not up to me,” she whispered back. “He’s scared. Paranoid. He thinks you know things—”

  “A son,” Darla continued. “Teddy.” His name sounded strange on her tongue. “Theodore,” she tried again. “He’s been kidnapped.”

  “Oh, God.” Lindsey held the Taser out and raised her eyebrows. “Kidnapped. See? You have secrets.”

  “We all have secrets.”

  “I can’t help my father be unafraid.”

  “I want to see my son!” Darla pushed harder on the door and Lindsey backed up and let her hand slide to her side. The door opened fully, exposing a dark hallway with faded wallpaper decorated with tiny roses. The woman balked, afraid, and then opened her mouth to yell, but stopped.

  Ainsley slipped from the shadows and clicked on the flashlight. The drug-induced sleep had not consumed her yet. She scanned the assembled detritus: an old oak desk, a dusty dollhouse, a large xylophone. Taking one of wooden mallets, Ainsley hit the bar and a dull tone reverberated through the room. She looked up at Darla and Lindsey in the doorway. Then she turned and pounded out a clunky version of chopsticks.

  “I was kept alive against my will once before” Ainsley offered as she hit the keys. “And now I’m being kept in a very strange basement against my will. If there were more people alive, I finally would be able to effectively play that two truths and a lie game.” Her own joke made her giggle, and she put a hand up over her mouth and tried to contain it.

  “I’m sorry,” Lindsey said. She lowered her voice to a whisper and stepped one step closer. “I can’t help you.” She trembled and brandished the Taser. “You don’t understand...even if I could help you...” she stopped and clamped her mouth shut.

  “My son,” Darla said again, her mouth numb. “I need my son.”

  “Step back.”

  “You can help us...”

  “I can’t.”

  Then Darla couldn’t say anymore. The world went blurry and she stumbled backward, and Lindsey seized the moment to slam the door and lock it. As Darla fell to the floor with Ainsley’s giggles in the background, she saw Teddy’s face and reached out to touch his rosy cheeks, but felt only drafty air before the darkness engulfed her.

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  Cass waltzed in with the same energy and flair as before, this time holding a leather-bound journal and a small package of chocolates. She tossed the book to the foot of the bed where Ethan was resting, and then pulled up the empty chair from under the Manhattan skyline print and dragged it to his side. She plopped down, crossed her legs, and leaned back, balancing the chocolates on her knee.

  “I returned,” she said. “Five visits now. And per your unspoken request, I’ve brought you a journal. You’re welcome.” She fidgeted with the edge of a black-tiered skirt; a long string dangled from a fraying edge and she yanked it free and then wrapped the string around her finger, tightening it across her skin. “Every time I come back, you look surprised. Are you surprised?”

  Ethan smiled. He shook his head. He wondered how his voice would sound if he spoke to her. Would it be rough and gravelly; would it be weak? Could your voice atrophy from underuse? He had tried to speak a few times in the isolation of his room. Tried to open his mouth and form the words he wanted to say, but it wasn’t that he was willfully quiet; he could not find his voice amidst the turmoil of his heart.

  Each time Cass floated into his tiny room, he wanted to tell her that he looked forward to her random visits. She never presumed he would talk, and it was refreshing to know that her expectations were low. When his mom visited, she yelled at him and fretted, getting more agitated that he refused to listen to his physical therapist or try to leave the room. His last visit had gone predictably awful when she divulged that Cass’s announcement had come true: Teddy was no longer in her care.

  “Chocolates?” Cass asked and opened up the package. “Stolen chocolates. Contraband. They taste better.”

  He put his hand out and waited until she placed an unwrapped morsel in his palm. Popping it into his mouth, he tried to savor, but his excitement got the best of him and he started to chew the chunk until it melted away on his tongue.

  “I can’t be long today. I have to pack. It’s not much, of course, but moving day is soon and I want to be prepared.” She said this with a mouth of chocolate. Ethan watched the way she moved the small piece around her mouth as she spoke. “You’ll be moving with your family. I happen to be privy to your housing arrangement and you’re living with your parents for a bit. No more hospital stays for you on Kymberlin. You should—and I apologize for interfering—try out the leg more.”

  He shook his head and looked at it sitting up against the wall. He’d given it a shot. When he walked around the strap gave him rashes and blisters against his thigh; it wasn’t worth it.r />
  “You’re a stubborn one,” she said with a smile.

  He shrugged.

  “Your sister doesn’t know we are meeting.”

  Ethan turned and looked straight at her.

  “Should I tell her?”

  He shrugged slowly and tried to look confused. How does one convey without words that they genuinely don’t know the right thing to do? Cass helped him feel better because she told him stories of Haiti and long torrid tales of ex-boyfriends gone wrong. She flounced around the room, arranging flowers and spending time with him as if she enjoyed every second. And when they spoke of Teddy, she would touch him, slightly, on the wrist, and tell him that she would do everything she could to help him get Teddy back. Maybe the talking about saving Teddy was an excuse to spend time together—he had thought of that, of course. But it was this tidy conspiratorial relationship that kept him from the edge of a deep cavernous abyss.

  Cass had never done anything to wrong him. She had never tried to pretend that this place was something it wasn’t. She had allowed him all his eye-rolls and disturbed faces and frustrated sighs without judgment.

  Sometimes, she made him feel whole again.

  And not in a way that felt like a betrayal to anyone.

  “Lucy is my friend. And I’m not a person who enjoys keeping secrets,” she said. “I’ll honor your privacy if that’s what you wish...but you should know...Lucy will feel sad when she finds out that you and I...” she trailed off and then smiled. “Became friends. Is that what this is? Are we friends?”

  Ethan looked right at her and nodded.

  “A strange friendship this is,” she laughed. “The architect’s daughter and the mute.”

  He wanted to ask her if those were the best ways to define themselves, but of course he couldn’t. Even though his chest hurt from wanting to say something, anything, back to her, he physically didn’t know how to form the sounds.

  She laughed and hit at his good leg playfully.