“Easy, easy,” Darla said. Her messenger bag was empty and light. She set it down on the table slowly and then kicked out a chair and sat down. Plates with the remnants of their breakfast were beside her, and Darla took her pointer finger and made lazy circles with the leftover syrup. Then she brought her finger to her tongue and licked the syrup off with a deliberate smack. Lucy had left a bite of sausage and Darla ate that too. If it bothered Spencer, he didn’t say. Instead, he watched her curiously and anxiously as he leaned against one of the walls, his gun at his side.
After a moment, he cleared his throat. “Enough. I’m waiting.”
“I’m about to honor your request.”
“I hope so. Or why are you here?”
“An unobtainable, rare, valuable product. For your own personal use, if you desire. Or for sale. I don’t care what you do with it once it leaves my hands.”
“My curiosity is piqued.”
“Sure, sure,” Darla waved him away with disdain. “Let’s set the ground rules. First, let her out of the cuffs.”
Spencer blinked. “I don’t know. She’ll bolt.”
“Let her out of the damn cuffs.”
“Tell me what you brought for—”
Darla pulled her firearm out of its holster like lightning and pointed it at Spencer; only her hand and arm had moved—the rest of her body had remained positioned calmly in the chair. “You’ll want what I’m selling and if you don’t then you lose the product and the girl.”
With Darla’s gun still pointed in his direction, Spencer bent down and unlocked one side of the handcuffs. Lucy’s hand fell into her lap. It was numb and sore, a red, raw indent surrounded her wrist and she cradled it gingerly against her body.
“Come over by me,” Darla instructed to Lucy. Whether or not she wanted to bolt, Lucy realized that fighting her request would be useless. So, Lucy slid herself over to Darla’s feet and then wobbled upward. Her legs ached.
Darla pulled her messenger bag down off the table and flipped it open. She reached inside and pulled out a brown box with a lid. Dropping her bag on the floor, she lifted the lid, and Lucy saw that the box was packed with packing balls. They fell to the floor as she reached in and grabbed a plastic baggie. She ripped open the top of the bag, held out her hand, and rolled out four vials.
“This better be good,” Spencer mumbled, clearly unimpressed.
“This,” Darla held the vials in her hand, “is a cure.”
Spencer looked at her uncomprehending. “A cure.” He ran the back of his hand over his nose and cracked his head to the side.
She rose to her feet and held the vials outward, but when Spencer took a step forward and tried to reach for them, she drew her hand back and waved her free pointer finger at him. “Ah-ah-ah…not so fast.”
“You mean…a vaccine.”
Darla smiled, her large, evenly spaced teeth flashing. “Now you’re catching on. I’m holding the only known and only available vaccine against the virus that was unleashed on our dearly departed Earth. Four vials. There is one for you for sure. I have three more…but we’ll discuss their fate next.”
She let the news settle and when Spencer opened his mouth, she continued, without waiting.
“I know you’re incredulous.”
“To say the least,” was his response.
“Of course. I waltz in here, purport to have some cure for a quick-killing tool of genocide used by bioterrorists. Hard pill to swallow?”
Spencer motioned for her to continue.
Following every word with growing anxiousness, Lucy slid her body down into Darla’s now empty chair and rested her elbows on the table.
Darla reached into her bag once again and pulled out a sheet of white computer paper and a digital camera. Still with the vials in her grip, she brandished the paper, like a gift, and placed it in Spencer’s hand. He shifted his rifle to his back and held on to the sheet with two hands, his brow furrowing as he read. “This could be forged,” he mumbled.
“Oh really? With my endless hours of available free time and design experience?”
“You could have traded for it. How the hell am I supposed to know?”
“It’s not a forgery.”
“It’s a scare tactic.”
“You’re right. It’s scary…but it’s no tactic.”
“What does it say?” Lucy said and she stood up.
With a sigh, Darla turned to acknowledge Lucy. The strange woman had deep, dark brown eyes with a tint of green along the edges and long, make-up-less lashes. “It’s a document from a government-run laboratory. Some timeline information about experiments involving the virus.”
“How did you get that?” Lucy asked. But Darla shot her a murderous look and Lucy lowered herself back down into her seat. “I was just asking,” she tried to add, but no one seemed to hear her.
“It says that most victims die between twenty-four hours to thirty-six hours after exposure. Quickly. Instant death. Ninety-eight percent of all…human subjects…did not last beyond that timeframe. Then there is a second wave. The outliers. After exhibiting no symptoms, no reaction to exposure at all…after one-hundred-forty-four hours to one-hundred-sixty hours…another two percent.”
“One-hundred percent death rate?” Lucy said and she looked up. She let that tidbit of truth wash over her. No one would survive this without that vaccine.
“Excellent math skills. Did our fine establishment help you with that ability?” Spencer shot a look upward and then back down at the camera. “So, what Darla,” he said her name with a sneer, “is trying to say is that we just entered a time period where we are all at risk again. Is that right?”
Darla shrugged.
“And how opportune…I mean, what a great fortune for me that she has the perfect recipe to save my life.” Spencer rolled his eyes. “I don’t buy it.”
“The way I see it,” Darla answered without missing a beat, “is that I can win this thing two ways. One, you realize I’m right, and you let me buy Lucy with the vaccine. Or two, you think I’m wrong and you die of the virus. I walk out of here with Lucy either way.”
“Then wait for me to die,” Spencer invited with a toothy smile.
“Happily,” Darla replied. “That was certainly my vote anyway. However, here is the problem.” She frowned. “I need some things. Some big things and unfortunately, you’re the only one I know who can get them for me.”
Lucy’s heart began beating ferociously. She didn’t want to interrupt and ruin Darla’s rehearsed dialogue, but she needed to know if she was in danger. She thought of Salem and Grant out there, outside, somewhere, not knowing that a second wave would soon hit them. Getting out of the school and finding them was key, even if she hoped that Darla’s dog-and-pony show was an act.
“That is an interesting predicament,” Spencer said, assuming his administrative tone, a cross between condescending and authoritative. “So many coincidences. I’m in danger today, but behold…you have just what I need.”
“And if you don’t give me what I need, then yes, you will die.”
Spencer debated, his eyes flashed. “So, what do you need?” he asked.
“Antibiotics. And a doctor.”
He laughed at her. “Those are no easy feats. What makes you even think I can do that?”
“Because if you don’t agree to it…you’ll die,” Darla answered.
“Right, I see. Well, I don’t have antibiotics right now,” he told her unapologetically. “And you think I can just call up a doctor? How exactly do you suppose I go about making that happen for you?”
Darla leaned in closer. “I know how this works. You need specific things and you put different items in the window to call the looters. The traders. The Raiders, like I call them. Right?”
He didn’t answer her.
“You do this for me and you live. The payment is handsome,” she continued.
“Darla the Great, peddling her magical elixirs, preying on fear and a sense of urgency. And of c
ourse you need the girl, but wait, if I don’t give you the other things you need you’ll let me die. A sham. I don’t believe you, so I will call your bluff. No girl, no antibiotics, no doctor. Let’s wait and see what happens. Do you need me to show you the door?”
“Are you done?” Darla asked, unmoving, and when Spencer failed to answer immediately, Darla nodded once. “Good.” She grabbed the digital camera and turned it on, its tiny ding indicating it was ready. She passed it to Spencer, who regarded the first picture with confusion and then disgust.
Lucy stood up and walked over so she could see the screen. Quickly, Spencer clicked through pictures. At first it was just pictures of dead rats in various stages of decay. In front of the rats, someone had labeled them: Day1, hour 2. And then as the rats disintegrated into fur and bone, Day 5, hour 10. But at some point the subjects changed and what Lucy saw—despite the horror of the past six days—made her gasp. She clasped a hand over her mouth and her eyes began to water. She hated what she was seeing, but she couldn’t look away.
Bodies. Real people. Dressed in paper-thin white robes. Men and women. Girls and boys. All ages, shapes, colors, nationalities. Dead. With signs. Day 2, hour 5. And on and on. Some subjects were shown alive. Day 1. Alive. Day 2. Alive. Some people held their signs in front of them without emotion, staring forward. Some of them had a hint of a smile on their lips. Lucy wondered if they knew what was happening to them; if they knew that they were going to die.
Sure enough, Darla’s clear assessment of the paper’s report rang true in pictures. Out of the people who lasted through the first phase, none of them survived Day 6.
Spencer finished the last photo, compelled to press the forward key until the first picture flashed back into view, and then he set the camera down at the table. His brusque manner had diminished and now he appeared pensive and, Lucy thought, afraid.
He opened his hand.
“Take the girl,” he stated and open and closed his palm.
“Wise choice,” Darla answered. “And—”
“I need two days for your other requirements.”
“Everyone will be dead in two days,” she replied.
“I understand,” Spencer said between his teeth. “Two days and all those vaccines. If you expect me to deliver you a doctor, I’m going to need a way to keep him or her alive and the people who assist me.”
“Deal. The vials are yours. Work fast. I’ll be back.”
Spencer turned his head to the side. “How do you know I won’t just take the vaccines and run?”
Darla smiled. “Because I’m giving you a chance at life. Even when you get me what I ask for, you will still owe me. I’m trusting that has to count for something.”
Then without waiting for a reply, she dropped the vials into Spencer’s outstretched hand. And as they rolled from her hand to his, Lucy noticed they were marked with long strips of masking tape. Each one was clearly labeled with a name: Galen, Malcolm, Monroe. And Harper.
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
The clean air hurt Lucy’s lungs at first. She breathed it in too deeply, too quickly, and her chest ached. She gulped for another breath of air and then another and soon she felt light-headed. With a hand placed firmly against her lower back, Darla led Lucy to a red bench outside the school and sat her down.
“Put your head between your knees. You’re hyperventilating.”
“Don’t…tell…me…what…I…am…doing…” Lucy replied between heavy breathing, her ribcage rising and falling.
“Fine,” she replied, nonplussed. “We don’t have long. It’s not wise to stay out in the open like this. Come on, stand up. You’re fine. “
“Give me a second.” Then Lucy raised her head and examined the woman standing before her. In the sunlight, Lucy could see that her skin was flawless and she was tan. Not the orange glow of Oregonian girls, but the deep golden browns of someone who developed a bronzed body over time. After a deep breath, Lucy looked straight at Darla and steeled herself up to ask the question she needed to ask.
“Those vials in there…with vaccine.”
“Let’s be careful here, Lucy,” Darla answered and she looked past her, into the parking lot, her eyes scanning the rows of cars with diligence.
“I need to know. Where did they come from? Why were my brothers’ and sister’s name on them…you have to tell me.”
“Sorry,” was the curt reply. “Those are questions you’ll have to ask later. I don’t have answers.”
“Liar,” Lucy muttered under her breath. She was seething. One night enduring Spencer’s craziness, handcuffed to a table, and the woman didn’t have the decency to give her a straight answer.
“Excuse me?”
“You know. You just told Spencer all of that stuff in there.”
“Come on, Lucy Larkspur King.” Darla said the name with a mix of kindness and amusement. “Let’s get going.” She put her hands on her hips. Then she took her thick black hair and tied it up into a spiky ponytail.
“Who are you?” Lucy asked. She tucked her hands up under her thighs and bounced her legs; the cement in the parking lot, still full of cars, was wet from the showers, but the clouds temporarily parted revealing blue sky surrounded by threatening, ominous dark gray rain clouds on the horizon.
“I already answered that. I’m Darla,” she replied, annoyed.
“You know what I’m asking.”
“Yes, I do. Well, a week ago I was a resident of Los Angeles, working as a wealth manager for a small capital management firm. But seeing as how all my clients are dead and there’s no more stock market and I’m pretty sure currency is pretty much invalid, I found myself unemployed. So, now I’m a Raider. Among other things.” Darla smirked. She wiped a stray hair out of her eyes and then put her hand back on her hips, standing with a wide stance above Lucy, her presence large and assuming, invading Lucy’s personal space.
“I heard you use that word in the office. What’s a Raider?”
“It’s a term I made up.”
“That’s not what I asked.” Lucy looked around.
“Professional looter. Raiding people’s houses for items of perceived value to trade for other items of perceived value. In less than one week after the annihilation of mankind, it didn’t take much longer than twelve hours to set up a pretty intricate web of black market trading. Although, I suppose it’s not a black market if it’s the only market. Principal Spencer here…he knew he had it made.”
“Which is why he didn’t want anyone near the school.”
“You did the right thing by staying at the school. It’s not pleasant out here,” Darla added and she looked down on Lucy with mothering warmth, her affirmation the vocal equivalent of a pat on the back. “The first three days were the worst. Killing people who came on your property without so much as a pause to see if they were armed or hurting. Violence, disaster. You know the basics.”
“My brother sent you?” Lucy asked.
“He did.”
“He’s alive.” Lucy sighed and smiled.
“He is.”
“Is he the one who needs a doctor?”
“I don’t think I need to answer any more questions right now.”
“Am I going to die?”
Darla paused and cocked her head to the side. She looked genuinely perplexed and then a wave of realization passed over her face. “You’re fine sweetie. You’re not in danger.”
Lucy let out a small hum. “Yeah, people keep saying that to me. So far I’m not convinced.”
“You aren’t going to die.”
She thought of the vials and the fact that her name was not among them. But what did any of it mean? The questions seemed too big and unanswerable, and Lucy kept breathing deeply, trying to calm the heaviness in her chest.
“That’s all I know, so you’ll just have to live with that.” Darla reached into her messenger back and pulled out a pair of canvas slip-on shoes that Lucy immediately recognized as her own.
“I noticed you were witho
ut footwear yesterday. You own a surprising number of shoes…none of which are great for walking. So, what, the King family doesn’t like to hike? Whatever, we’ll make do.”
Lucy mumbled a thank you as she slipped the shoes on her feet.
“Come on. Follow me.”
Darla moved toward the bushes, pushing long branches with leaves out of the way and ducking under the greenery. A twig caught in Lucy’s hair and as she moved forward it tugged on her scalp; she batted it away. Then something wispy and thin brushed her cheek and it felt like the remnants of a spider’s web. She shivered and ran her hand over the tingling skin. She hadn’t given much thought to the survival of all living creatures. Did spiders even still exist now or had they also been banished from the earth?
Lucy kept pace with her and matched her step for step. Their feet crunched along gravel. They passed some school storage buildings and one of the doors was wide open, the glass broken on the windows. Next they crawled through an open space in a fence and found themselves in the bus barn—fifteen buses parked for service in their usual spaces, bright and yellow. Darla put out her hand and stopped Lucy, then drew her gun up, flipping the safety off.
When Lucy opened her mouth to ask something, Darla snapped her fingers and motioned for Lucy to stay quiet.
With every step, Darla would pause.
Then even Lucy heard the crunch of gravel that continued after they had paused. Behind them were a set of secondary steps trying to match their own, but the attempt was imperfect. While Darla turned her head around one of the buses, her back flush against the exit door, Lucy felt someone grab her arm and she shrieked loudly. Darla spun back, aiming her weapon.
“Put down your gun!” Darla called. “I’m a better shot. I can already tell just by looking at you.”
Lucy staggered forward and pulled out of the person’s grasp. Then she turned to see Grant’s sallow face as he stared down Darla. Grant stood there, holding Lucy’s revolver in his hand and his whole arm was shaking.
Virulent: The Release Page 17