Undone

by A. R. Shaw

  Then her eyes traveled to the rise and fall of his chest. Through the blue cotton sweater, she saw the outline of his ribcage rise and fall. And like the edge of a mountain, below the sloped cratered valley.

  Ace whined, staring at Jason, using his paws to inch closer still.

  Then a sudden shadow crossed the light beam, causing Wren to turn toward the door. Birds, gulls probably, riding the ocean currents, casting their oval shadows like dashes across a page.

  Looking back, his eyes were on her one second and then the next they rolled up inside, exposing only whites.

  “Jason?”

  Then his entire body began shaking. Seizures.

  Ace jumped over him, straddled him, barking like mad.

  “No, Ace,” Wren yelled and tried to yank him off Jason. “Don’t hurt him!”

  But the dog wouldn’t budge, and he wasn’t hurting Jason; he just stayed over Jason’s chest, as if he were guarding him.

  “Help!” Wren screamed and found her feet flying up the wood stairs taking no heed to the rotting landmines.

  “Call Kent. He’s seizing.”

  Nicole was already on the radio, presumably from Ace’s first bark.

  “It’s the fever,” Mae said and grabbed a spoon from the kitchen. They flew back downstairs to the garage.

  “Take his clothes off,” Mae yelled.

  “What? No, I’m not doing that.”

  Mae ran to him and shouldered Ace away. Wren watched as she pushed down Jason’s lower jaw and wedged the spoon between his teeth.

  “Don’t just stand there, help me.”

  “We should wait for Kent.”

  “He won’t be here in time. Help me take his shirt off. He’s burning up.”

  “How do you know all of this?”

  “From watching Kent. Don’t you remember when Nicole and I were sick? Come on. We have to get his fever down. That’s what Kent would do. I’m afraid to move the spoon. You’ll have to cut his shirt away.”

  “Look, the tremors are decreasing now,” Wren said.

  “That’s good but it can happen again. They come in waves. At least pull the blankets away. We have to cool him off as fast as we can.”

  Wren pulled the pile of blankets away from him and then pulled off his socks. “He’s drenched in sweat.” And that’s when Jason began moaning and grabbed Mae by her legs and struggled to push her away.

  “It’s okay. We’re just trying to help you,” Mae said.

  “Get off him! He doesn’t understand,” Wren said.

  “Hey!” came Kent’s voice as he entered the room. He immediately lifted Mae off Jason. “Everyone, calm down.”

  “His fever’s sky high,” Mae said.

  “Yeah, I don’t know if he’s been swallowing the fever reducers effectively,” Kent said.

  Jason moaned again, his eyes roaming wildly.

  “It’s okay. You’re safe,” Kent said, gently pushing his shoulders back down. “Mae, get my bag.”

  As Mae ran out the door, Jason continued to struggle. He seemed disoriented, his arms flailing as if fighting an invisible ghost.

  Wren folded her arms across her chest and fought the tears, knowing Jason had crossed the mental door to that place beyond. He was in pain. A pain she knew too well.

  “Wren. Come here,” Kent said.

  She took the few steps over and Kent reached for her hand. “Kneel down here. Let him see you. He needs to calm down. He’ll know he’s in the right place if he sees a friendly face.”

  She nodded. Anything to close that door for him.

  Ace settled down on the other side of Jason, licking his hand, as Wren whispered, “It’s okay, Jason. You’re safe here.” Little by little, he began to settle down.

  When Mae returned with the bag, Kent had already removed Jason’s pants and outer clothing, covering him with a light sheet for privacy.

  “You did good, Mae,” Kent said as he took out a syringe and a bottle. “This is going to sting a little so just keep talking to him, Wren,” Kent said.

  His eyes had settled on hers. She told him about the beach and the candy store and how the coffee shop used to make the best mochas. She remembered warming her hands on the cups and watching the steam rise on cloudy mornings and she hoped they could make the Sleeping Monk as good as it once was. She told him about the house they once took refuge in and how she played the piano and she mentioned how Kent was afraid of the ghosts that lived in the mansion. She told him of the dogs they kept on Horseshoe Lane and how much she missed Oakley the yellow Labrador and his goofy grin and how he leaned on her side with all his weight while she kept watch for intruders.

  She hadn’t noticed Kent was through administering the shot. Jason never flinched the entire time.

  “He’ll sleep now but we need to move him upstairs. That was a serious fever spike. I need to keep a closer eye on him.”

  “Where’s Mom?” Wren asked.

  “She’s downtown still. Organizing the crew.”

  “Organizing? There’s a crew?” Mae asked.

  “Okay. Preparing might be a better term,” Kent said.

  “That sounds more like Mom,” Mae said with a smile. “She’s going to go all ‘Art of War’ on them now. I know that’s what she’s doing.”

  “Preparing for what?” Wren asked as Jason’s eyes fluttered shut.

  54

  Kent

  When they arrived at the Sleeping Monk again, more people were there, more than in days before, though he never took the time to count them. Their numbers increased significantly overnight. Perhaps instead of twenty to thirty there were now fifty to sixty individuals standing around with firearms either slung over their shoulders or strapped to their persons. Some had steaming cups of something in their hands. Most did not.

  “Still not enough,” Sloane said.

  “More will come but not enough. We have to figure this out and do it soon.”

  “Hey,” the old man said. “We found one of those survivors. He’s one of the old guards. We’re not sure what to do with him.” Kent approached the old man and his voice became a whisper. “We have him tied up out back,” he said with a sideways nod of his bald head.

  “Is his case anything like Boyd’s?”

  The old man shook his head. “I don’t know. Some say he was mean. Some say he was just doing his job. I don’t know who to believe. That’s why we brought him to you.”

  Kent was about to remind him of the well-known fact that he was a doctor, not judge and jury in the apocalypse, but Sloane piped up first.

  “What’s his name?” she asked.

  “He goes by Chuck,” the old man said.

  Kent sucked in a quick breath.

  Sloane shook her head. “I don’t think I know him.”

  “He was more a guard on the outside. He was one of the ones that went and picked up the found caches. With or without force. I’m not sure.”

  “I…heard of him. I can tell you Ace is not a fan,” Kent said.

  Sloane looked at him curiously.

  “Where is he?”

  “Back there,” the old man said.

  “Let’s get started here first and then I’ll take care of that later. Good morning everyone. This is Sloane, my…” He turned to her. “What the heck are you?” he whispered.

  “Part-ner,” she said.

  Secretly, he was hoping for a little something more but that would do, too. “My partner. I’m a doctor by trade but Sloane is a master at defense and strategy.”

  “She wouldn’t be here if she wasn’t,” someone from the crowd said.

  “That’s right. We were prepared for a few different contingencies and she foresaw something like this. I did not. If there is anyone amongst us who can help formulate a defensive plan, Sloane’s your…person.”

  He could tell she was nervous. She’d been a French teacher in the old days. Not a community activist, military leader…none of that. But perhaps a teacher was what they needed right now…one that carried
and slept with a Glock as if it were her teddy bear.

  “Good morning,” she said.

  Some of the men tipped their hats at her. Some of them returned the greeting. He wasn’t sure how they take having a woman lead them. But she was the best they had at this and now that she was her old self again…as much as possible, they needed to use her to her best abilities.

  “I was only a teacher in the old days, but I’ve learned a lot since then from the right people and expounded on that. I know a few things and I bet you’ve also learned a few things since this all began. Like he said,” she pointed to the man who commented earlier, “we wouldn’t be here if we hadn’t learned to survive. That’s a skill. A skill we need to use and improve on. In fact, we know of the coming threat. We don’t know how much they know yet. They may still think it’s business as usual but once they figure out their regular supplies are not coming in…they’ll come here looking. We need to use this time to our advantage and we need to be ready to bring it to them.”

  “There’s not enough of us,” someone pointed out. “How can we fight them? I’m here to find out if I need to take my people and leave now. Unless you have a plan, that’s what I intend to do.”

  Sloane nodded. “I understand, believe me, but there are a few things I’ve come to know. There is safety in numbers, but they don’t know how few we are. We’re going to make them think we’re huge. That we’re an army to reckon with. There are a few advantages to Cannon Beach. We’re going to use those advantages to our benefit.”

  As Kent listened to Sloane her voice became more confident. Stronger. He was mesmerized for a while. He knew she could bring it, but he didn’t know how they were going to accept her. By the looks on their faces, she’d won them already…heart and soul. That’s when the radio in his jacket went off. Nicole’s voice was near a frantic pitch.

  “Something’s going on,” he said to Sloane. “I’ll be right back.”

  “Are they all right?” she asked quickly as the crowd waited through the interruption.

  “Yeah, it’s something about Jason’s fever. I’ll come back as soon as I can,” he said and briefly kissed her on the cheek and ran for the truck.

  55

  Sloane

  When she returned her attention to the expectant crowd in front of her, one man on the right spit on the ground before he said, “I mean no offense, lady, but I think you’re setting us all up for slaughter.”

  Sloane took a deep breath and calmed herself. She couldn’t blame them for doubting her.

  She didn’t respond right away. She let the pause linger a while, until the silence was nearly uncomfortable for all those standing around.

  “Appear weak when you are strong,” she quoted, “and strong when you are weak. The supreme art of war is to subdue the enemy without fighting. If you know the enemy and know yourself, you need not fear the result of a hundred battles. Let your plans be dark and impenetrable as night, and when you move, fall like a thunderbolt. Sun Tzu conveyed these teachings a long time ago. How many of you know the Art of War?”

  As she scanned the crowd, a few of them raised their hands. More of them looked around at the others in the midst. They were the followers. The sheep. Seeking to go with the majority. To trust or not to trust.

  “You sure you were only a French teacher?” someone said.

  She nodded. “We’ll be ready. We’ll use terrain, the town and deception. There’s no place like Cannon Beach, Oregon. We have survivors here and we know her best. Not if…but when we’re challenged, we’ll be ready. In the meantime, we’ll prepare for all contingencies.”

  She paced in front of them then, more to see how they took having her lead them. If their eyes followed her. If they were just checking out her butt. She looked for tells in each of them. Assessing them as she went.

  “All warfare is based on deception. Hence, when we are able to attack, we must seem unable; when using our forces, we must appear inactive; when we are near, we must make the enemy believe we are far away; when far away, we must make him believe we are near. Sun Tzu’s lessons have stood the test of time and yet they’re forgotten today. There was a battle once a long time ago. The Spartans followed these rules in their own way and the battle of Thermopylae is a great example.

  “With only a narrow coastal path to gain entrance into Greece, only 300 Spartans held off the Persian army for three days against the largest empire in ancient history. How did they do that? They used geology. They used deception. They used training. And they used a hell of a lot of determination. That’s what we’ll do, too.” She stopped then and took them all in. All eyes were upon her.

  The guy who spit earlier spit on the ground again. “This isn’t Thermopylae. We’re not the Greeks and they are damn sure not the Persians. And if I’m remembering right, Leonidas lost the battle of Thermopylae.”

  She agreed with a nod of her head. “Yes, the Greeks lost the battle of Thermopylae, but they fought to the last stand over those three days, which enabled the Greeks to win the war.”

  “You’re saying this will take some sacrifice.”

  “I’m saying we never give up.”

  The naysayer nodded then. “I’ll get behind that. What do we do first? Fix up the town?”

  “No. Not at all. At least…not that anyone can tell.”

  56

  Wren

  He ignored her question downstairs. She was tempted to ask Kent again what he meant about preparing for war. They weren’t telling her something she should know.

  In her heart she knew. They couldn’t just level an entire place and expect no one to give a crap. Her mind flashed on the graveyard…more crosses emerged from the ground before the forest. That must be it. There’s more of them.

  A familiar fear ran through her as she sat beside Jason. It was as if she was back in the dark closet again, waiting for the inevitable torture to come.

  “You have to get better, Jason. You have to get stronger,” she said, knowing Nicole overheard her conversation with the sleeping patient.

  Though Nicole seemed to wear the earphones from the radio all the time now. It was as if she was listening for something constantly, that or it was like a security blanket.

  It was a real effort carrying Jason up the rickety stairs. She and Mae helped but the four of them nearly broke the staircase on the way with all their weight.

  “Why don’t you fix these?” Mae asked at the wrong time.

  With Jason’s weight in his arms Kent said, “Your mom likes them this way. She says they’ll foil anyone trying to sneak past them.”

  “Like that’s working,” Mae said with a snicker.

  They all knew Wren had decoded the stairs by now.

  “Well, most people wouldn’t know this. And Wren, how do you know your mother’s not aware of your travels?”

  “Because she’d stop me,” Wren said.

  “Is that so?” Kent said, glancing at her.

  She’d ignored his implied suggestion at the time but now it irritated her. Was her mother really aware? Did she know she’d spent hours decoding the staircase? That she’d snuck out to face the dawn, to see Jason, to breathe the moist air alone before anyone else got to steal the day from her? Did she know that her strength came at those moments alone? Why did she have to be so aware? Why couldn’t she mind her own business? It was one thing to know your little sister was following you at a distance; it was another thing entirely when your mother didn’t let on that she knew what you were up to. That just wasn’t right. Was she spying on her too?

  Then she remembered her mother’s screams after what felt like a sledgehammer ripped through her shoulder the night they escaped. It wasn’t the physical pain that was so bad—she barely felt it then—it was her mother’s harried cries, right after several more returned gunshots, that really pushed Wren beyond the brink. She’d never heard that sound come from her mother before. It was as if she was losing her soul as she held Wren in her arms, bleeding out. As if she herself was being
murdered then and there.

  Kent had grabbed her mother then. Wren knew that because her mother’s arms left her, and she lay helpless on her lap. Wren remembered feeling him shake her. “Help me,” he said. “Grab her. Let’s go.”

  Then Wren was in and out of consciousness. Only her hearing took note of their frantic pace back to their home.

  “She’s breathing. There’s a pulse. Must get out of here. Are they following us? We’ll see how bad it is. Keep going,” he’d yelled in a strained voice.

  Wren had no sight, no control over her body. They ran with her between them. At one point, Kent had put her over his shoulder and she jostled up and down as they fled through the forest. The pain had hit her then and had taken even her breath away. She’d lost a lot of blood and then shivered like mad. She’d passed out entirely somewhere along the way.

  Then a comfortable bed. Her mother’s scent near her always. “You’re going to be fine Wren. Give it time.” Then a sliver of light. She would be fine in given time…or close to it.

  “What are you listening to?” Mae asked Nicole as she passed behind her and disturbed Wren’s thoughts at the same time.

  Nicole sat up from the chair and slid the earphones off her hears slowly. Her feet barely touched the ground. “Nothing.”

  But there was something…Wren could see it in Nicole’s eyes.

  “Okay,” Mae said, not believing her either, “Wren, Kent asked for you to take his temperature every hour and then Nicole will radio it to him.”

  “I…” Wren said, knowing she’d have to put the thermometer into his mouth. “What if he bites it? And then there’s the other problem…with the tongue.”

  Her sister looked at her like she was a freak. “No…You’re using the basal thermometer over there on the table. You just point it at his forehead. I mean, we can use the glass thermometer, but I think that’d be a little traumatic for him.”