Eternal Rains: A Dystopian Trilogy (BOUND Book 1)

by Doug McGovern

  By day five, America was no longer a haven. Sweeping through the east like a great flood, the sickness followed the rain closely, tearing apart everything in its reach. The news gave the disease a name, which was unsurprising. They called it The Red Death, and they couldn’t have been more accurate. It mimics a poem written by Edgar Allan Poe, but it’s almost as though Poe’s twisted representation of tuberculosis was a prediction of what was to come. The sharp pain, sudden dizziness, and then profuse bleeding were accurate.

  Now, along with the continuous rains, people were experiencing the disease Poe predicted over one-hundred and fifty years ago.

  By day six, our gazes don’t waver from the television. The woman on screen doesn’t look too well, and we all know what that means. She has The Red Death and won’t be broadcasting much longer. She points to the infected hemispheres and while Ohio was the furthest infected area yesterday, Indiana is now in the middle of the mayhem. The illness has swept from the east coast, all the way to South Dakota.

  “Does this mean we’re going to die?” Charlie asks, breaking the silence. Bosco looks up at her and lays his head back on her feet. It’s almost as if he can sense what’s happening and knows not to be excited.

  I expect someone to release encouraging words, but nobody says anything. I look around the room and note everyone’s expressions. Romo sits, hands folded in his lap. It looks almost as if he’s going to cry, which I understand. A week ago, we thought we were going to live long, fulfilling lives. But now there’s a one in a thousand chance that we’ll even survive. And if we do, what will be left?

  Charlie and Karter cling to one another. He has tears built up in his eyes and Charlie looks like herself—strong, hopeful, and caring. Mom and Dad sit side by side, holding onto one another. Mom is crying, but she’s trying to stop. Dad is rubbing his thumb along the top of her hand, trying not to draw attention to her fragile state.

  Me? I may be the only one who hasn’t come to accept this inevitable news. There is no way this can be happening. Things like this only happen in movies. They never happen in real life. “This can’t be happening,” I deny. Nobody says a word, but I know what they’re all thinking.

  It isn’t happening. It’s already happened.

  The woman on the news bows over and falls off-screen. The camera doesn’t cut out, but instead, a man rushes around and lifts her. A small stream of blood flows from her right eye and both nostrils. The man who lifts her doesn’t look healthy either. He’s pale and wheezing for breath, but I just watch in disbelief. It isn’t until the screen turns black that I look around.

  Dad holds the remote in his hand and he stands, leaving Mom to curl within herself. “Some people survive this. Not many, but if we stay in here, it can’t get to us.”

  I shake my head, logic becoming my only defense. “It made it to people barricaded in homes in China. It made it through airtight suits. It’s going to reach us just like it reached everyone else.”

  Romo stands and leaves the room, dialing someone on his phone. I can only assume that it is his parents, whom he may never see again. I’m surprised that Karter isn’t doing the same, but I don’t question him. He is clearly more interested in comforting my sister, and I couldn’t ask for anything more.

  “So, what would you do if was your last day on Earth?” Charlie asks, still seemingly unaffected by the news that we’re all likely going to die.

  Nobody answers her. “How are you so calm?” I ask her, fiddling with my bracelet. She is doing the same and it gives me comfort.

  Charlie sits a little straighter and Karter gives her some space. She shakes her head and looks downward. “I’ve never been sure about when I’d die. I never thought I’d live a long life like the rest of you. In fact, I’m surprised I’ve lived this long. I know what the doctors said. I know that they believe I can live a long life, but I don’t think I will. I have seizures, and sometimes they’re so bad, I feel like I may die. Sometimes I feel my heart stop for a second and then restart. Sometimes I’d rather die than keep feeling the pain. So, I’ve accepted that I might die soon. This is just sealing my fate. Now I know I’m going to die, and I like this a lot more than wondering,” she says.

  I take in everything she’s saying and I finally feel the tears as they prick my eyes. I’ve always known that seizures were hard on her, especially because of how often she has them, but she’s never admitted to feeling this way. “Charlie,” I whisper. Mom stares at her in shock. “Why didn’t you ever tell us that you felt this way?” I ask.

  “I have a great life,” she explains. “I don’t want to die, and I don’t want you to believe that I do, but sometimes it’s really hard. Sometimes I just wish I knew that I’d be okay, but I don’t. It’s nice to finally know what’s going to happen to me.”

  “Charles, we won’t die. None of us are sick and it’s already swept through here. Doesn’t that mean anything?” Bosco rests his head on Charlie’s foot and she reaches down to rub his head.

  “But we haven’t been outside, and as soon as one of us gets it, all of us will. Karter, who usually comforts Charlie relentlessly, instead stares straight ahead, evidently coming to the realization that he too will likely perish to The Red Death. Maybe it’s denial or my persistence to survive, but I can’t accept that this is happening.

  “It may be time to accept that there’s nothing more we can do,” Mom says hesitantly, as if she doesn’t want to believe it herself, but she’s never been one to give us false hope.

  “Karen,” Dad begins, but mom cuts him off before he can get much further.

  “Joe, we both know how this will end. If the media isn’t even attempting to cover the severity of the disease, there is nothing more we can do. We’ve never had a case like this before now and if they are saying that it kills over ninety-nine percent of people, we won’t live through this. And I’d rather not give our children false hope,” Mom insists.

  Dad sighs. “There is hope.”

  Mom shakes her head and looks at the floor, tears streaming down her cheeks more profusely than before. “Do you think this is easy for me? Telling my two beautiful children, who have such incredible potential, that they will likely not live to see next week? Joe, this is the hardest thing I’ve ever had to admit to myself and the hope is so minuscule, it’s virtually nonexistent.”

  Cutting off Dad’s response, the doorbell rings. I wonder how any person could possibly make it to our door in the middle of this skin-melting acidic rain, but when I open the curtains once again, I realize that the rain has stopped for the first time in six days. I rush to the door and fling it open. On the other end of the door, a weeping Lydia stands.

  She immediately flings herself into the house and onto me, which I accept full heartedly. I don’t bother thinking about the repercussions until she speaks. “It killed them. Mama and Papa, it killed them both,” Lydia bawls. It takes me a moment to come to my senses, but once I do, I realize that I likely signed a death sentence for myself.

  “Lydia,” I begin, “Please tell me that you weren’t around them,” I beg, but judging by the dried blood covering her clothing, I know the truth, as does everybody else in the room.

  “I watched them as they…” Lydia trails off and continues crying. In her frantic state, she releases a small cough and covers her mouth with her hand, not noticing the blood that dots her skin. But I notice, and I don’t take an extra second to think.

  “Get out of here,” I say to my family and friends. “Don’t come near us and go as far away from here as you can,” I plead. A single tear runs down my cheek, but I don’t allow more than that. Nobody sees but Lydia.

  They all know it’s too late, though they follow my orders with heavy hearts. Charlie tells me how much she loves me and for the first time, she looks as if she’s in denial. She’s accepted her death, but not mine. Bosco follows and Mom blows me a kiss. Dad stands, but instead of following, he comes closer to me and wraps his arms around my shoulders. “You’re not going through thi
s alone.” Mom looks astounded and devastated, but leads everyone else away from the contamination zone.

  But in the long run, running from the Red Death didn’t save anyone who was destined to die.

  *****

  Chapter 13

  Three Months Later

  The hard gravel crunches beneath my worn boots, but I know better than to complain. If I was strong enough to survive until now, I am strong enough to find a new pair of boots before these become completely shredded. No matter the circumstances, if I notice available supplies, I should always take them. I learned that the hard way, and my worn boots are proof of my mistake.

  “Jo, do you plan on hobbling back there, or are you going to join us up here?” I groan and attempt to pick up my pace. The fabric on the back of my boots skin my ankles, but I don’t complain. I did this to myself.

  “Me being up there won’t do anything for you guys,” I shout, catching up quickly.

  Moe and Jonathan scoff as I stand between them. “You’ve saved our asses more than once,” Jonathan say. He holds his rifle loose in his hands and Moe has his pistol in the holster on his hip. Moe was a cop before the rains and Jonathan was a hunter, much like me. I’m by far the youngest in our group, but it has been mutually agreed that I’m also the best shot.

  “Is that why you keep me around? Because I’m a good ass saver?” I ask sarcastically. We all know that that’s part of the reason, but they didn’t have another choice. When they come across an able body, which isn’t easy to find, they take it.

  After the six days of rain and The Red Death, not many people were left. There was no government or military. There was no order. And there were virtually no people. There are so few people left, we go days without finding a single living person, though there are bodies everywhere. Jonathan, Moe, and I are a small part of the militia. There aren’t many of us, but we commandeer any abled bodied man or woman who survived.

  “And you’re pretty to look at,” Moe says. It seems that there are far more men than women left, so I’m a rarity. The blight killed most women along with the rest of the population, but it didn’t kill me.

  “I’m not just a pretty face, dipshit,” I throw my body weight into him and he barely flinches. Did I forget to mention that all the men in our camp are incredibly strong?

  “I beg to differ,” Moe jokes. He’s in his early twenties and closer to my age than any of the others, so we became friends almost immediately.

  “Moe, you know she could kick your ass in a shooting competition any day. And she’ll fair better against the clans than us,” Jonathan defends. I continue walking, but don’t argue with him. While we recruit the abled body people, there are others. The others—or the clans as we call them—aren’t good and don’t value life. It’s almost as if they wish to be the last survivors, so they kill anyone in their way—us included. We do our best to avoid them, but we’ve had a few hostile encounters and lost a few members of our group. Though as a whole, we have done a good job surviving.

  Moe doesn’t comment, knowing that he’s lost this battle. Jonathan is much older than Moe—maybe in his late thirties or early forties—but age doesn’t matter anymore. The two have been practically brothers since joining the militia. From what I’ve heard, they were close before joining as well, but everybody seems to have a partner when they join. Everyone but me, of course. Charlie would have been my partner.

  “We’d better get back,” I say once we reach the end of the street. “Our section is clear and I doubt any of the clans will find us this far from a town.”

  We plan our nights strategically. We never sleep closer that five miles to a city and try to limit our time inside civilization. Not only is there a greater possibility to run into the clans in a city, but the rotted bodies spread disease and smell worse than anything I could have imagined before the rains.

  “She’s right,” Jonathan says, stopping and looking at my feet. He shakes his head and pointed. “Are you going to be able to make it back in those?”

  I nod, adamant to make it as far as possible. If I would have been willing to take a pair of boots from a woman’s corpse, I’d be much more comfortable, but I couldn’t do it. “I’ll make it.” Jonathan doesn’t look like he believes me and Moe looks as if he doesn’t care. As long as I’m here to cover him, my comfort is irrelevant to him. He’s a good friend, but he’s here to survive.

  We make our way to camp at a slow pace and I contemplate removing my shoes and walking barefoot, but I know not to do so. Without proper supplies, an untreated cut could become infected and mean death.

  On our way back to camp, I notice something that I didn’t before. It looks like a dog, but it may be some other unlucky animal. Dead animals aren’t an uncommon occurrence. The acid rain killed off most animals and the ones that survived were pets or well-sheltered. Most pets perished when their owners died and the rest of the wildlife died when they drank the water, so I haven’t seen an animal, aside from Bosco, since the rains.

  But the animal on the side of the road didn’t die from the rains, drinking toxic water, or starvation. It’s stripped of meat entirely. Clean cuts are spread throughout the creature’s body, which makes it obvious that it was killed by a person. I turn toward the animal and walk in its direction. “Jo, what are you doing?” Moe asks.

  I point at the animal as if it’s blatantly obvious, but they don’t notice. “Clean cuts. A person did this for food,” I explain. Years in my dad’s butcher shop has taught me what a butchered animal looks like. This one is messy and surely done by someone inexperienced, but it was done by a person.

  I reach for the animal and stop myself. It is a dog, and not just any dog. It’s a husky, just like Bosco. Memories of Charlie flood through my mind and I can’t help but feel an ache in my chest.

  It’s was three days after the rains and Lydia died the day she infected us. I was devastated, but the pain didn’t compare to when my dad lied on the couch, blood streaming from each edifice in his body. Bosco barked in the other room, almost as if he knew that Dad was dying. Dad coughed up blood onto my pants, but I didn’t worry about the sickness. All that mattered was Dad. I knew it would be only minutes before he passed, and while I tried to prepare myself, I couldn’t.

  Dad’s coughing slowed along with his breathing, and before I knew it, I listened to his last strained breath and rested my head on his chest, hearing the beat of his heart come to a stop.

  I rushed to the door through which I had been communicating with the rest of my family for days. I stayed three feet from it and wiped my tears on my sleeve. They were streaming down my face and I knew that the death would destroy my mother. I debated not telling her, but I couldn’t lie. “Charles,” I shouted. The only sound from the other side of the door was Bosco’s persistent barking. Nobody responded to my call. “Charles.” My voice sounded more frantic.

  “Jo,” I heard from behind the door. Before I knew it, the door was wide open. Romo stood on the other side. “It’s Karter,” he said.

  I shook my head in denial. I thought I had the infection contained on my side. I convinced myself that it was contained, but I should have known better. The Red Death was on their side of the house as well, which meant everybody was exposed. Nobody was safe.

  I stare at the dog in front of me and close my eyes, taking a deep breath and shaking away the feeling in the pit of my stomach. The dog isn’t Bosco. Bosco is alive. “Jo,” Jonathan, says, placing a hand on my shoulder. I shake it off and rest my palm on the dog’s head—the only place that isn’t cut open and stripped for meat. I observe the blood surrounding the dog and furrow my brow. This is recent.

  “It’s been dead for two days, maybe three. The blood is starting to dry on the pavement, but it’s still damp. Someone’s been here,” I elaborate. “They can’t be too far, so keep your eyes open.”

  “Do you think they stuck around here?” Moe asks.

  “I think it’s a possibility, but people are unpredictable,” I explain. I fee
l like the leader, but I know I’m not. I simply have experience where these men don’t.

  We’re more paranoid as we approach our camp, listening for any indication of movement. We discover nothing and make it to camp without any complications. “I need to tell Randy about the dog,” I say. Moe’s face goes hard.

  “I’m going with you.” Moe has always had something against Randy—our “leader”. He has always been odd toward me, but I assume it’s because of my gender. I know I’m not the last woman on earth, but because we don’t have any more females in our group, some of the men act different around me. We make our way to the center of camp and find Randy and a few other people setting up camp for the night.

  “Randy,” I shout. He turns toward me and stops what he’s doing. In an instant, he’s in front of Moe and me. “We found something concerning about a mile from camp.”

  “Continue,” he orders.

  “There was a dog on the road stripped of meat. It wasn’t expertly done, but it was done by another person. It had to have been about two or three days ago.” Randy takes a deep breath and when he exhales, I get a whiff of his rancid breath. The end of the world has given him an excuse to let himself go. He has long, greasy gray hair and messy facial hair, unkempt and untrimmed. His stench rolls from him in waves, but I push my disgust aside.

  “We’re staying here, but we’ll have an extra watchman tonight. Fantastic job, Jo,” Randy praises. He doesn’t praise anyone other than me, which I’ve noticed recently. In fact, he is demeaning and rude toward everyone other than his partner and me. I am the only one in the camp who doesn’t have a partner, but I have Jonathan and Moe.

  As Moe and I walk away, he nudges me. “You know to stay away from that dude, right?” Moe asks. I smile and nod.