“I’m awake. Give me a second.” Cautious to shake her head or move too fast, Margie shifted herself to her elbows, lifting her torso carefully. She tried not to breathe as fast as she wanted to. If she did, she would pass out again. She looked around the small yard. “What happened?” Margie hadn’t been moved from beside the Festiva where she’d fallen. Her eyes adjusted and she studied Ryker for clues.
Ryker stood and held out a hand. He scanned the area around them as well, paying particular attention on the trees in the direction they’d come from. Keeping his voice low, he gripped her hand and pulled to help her up. “Manson. He hit you with that bar and you went down. Then he went back to the building. I think he’s looking for Kelsey.”
“Kelsey? We need to help her.” Margie stood, leaning heavily on the car and closing her eyes at the wave of nausea encircling her. He’d hit her hard.
Releasing Margie’s hand, Ryker moved around her. “Did you get any gas?” Ryker reached down and grabbed the cans, shaking them side to side. He looked up sharply at the lack of sloshing sound.
“No. He hit me before I could siphon anything.” Margie reached out and grabbed the tube. “I can get some now. It won’t take very long.” She breathed out on a slow whoosh. She had to get her equilibrium back. Slowly, it was coming, but how long would it take and would sucking gas fumes help?
“If he’s going to kill Kelsey, that won’t take very long either.” Ryker’s grim words struck something inside Margie and she nodded, yanking the tube from the tank.
Gritting her teeth, she nodded slowly. She had to suck it up. Who cared if her head hurt? If Manson killed Kelsey, what would stop him from getting them? Or worse? Kelsey didn’t deserve to die. Margie was mad at her, she didn’t hate her. “You’re right. Lead the way. Let’s get to the van and see if we can find Kelsey. Maybe she went back there to wait for us.” If that was the case, then Manson would be nearby. He couldn’t get anywhere in the van without the keys, but what if he held Kelsey hostage in exchange for the keys?
Pushing past the shrub branches that scratched at her clothing, Margie scowled. She was mad at Kelsey, but she wasn’t heartless. She didn’t want her dead. She just didn’t want to travel with her anymore.
They were two entirely different things.
Ryker glanced back at Margie as they walked, trying to move fast, but Margie fought with nausea and a headache moving in. She reached out, trailing her hand along the cement-block wall of the skate plaza exterior for balance.
The clouds moved and more light from the moon shown down on them, illuminating their environment for a moment until another cloud crossed the path, muting the light but not diminishing it completely. A rainstorm looked like it worked its way across the sky. Soon it would be raining and they didn’t want to be caught outside the van in the downpour.
Ryker carried the plastic containers and as they neared the front of the building, he slowed, holding the cans behind him as he stretched out his neck to peek around the side. He pulled back, his shoulders against the building. His whisper barely reached Margie. “I don’t see anyone. There’s no one around the van and the back hatch is still open.”
Pulling her act together, Margie chewed on the side of her tongue to center herself. After a second, she nodded tightly. “When we go, go fast. Put the tanks in the back and climb in through the open hatch. I’ll close it when I get there and I’ll climb in the front. If nothing else, maybe we can lock the doors and wait for Kelsey.” She didn’t mention the crowbar and the damage to the windows Manson could cause, if he wanted to get in.
No, why state the obvious when they needed encouragement and not fear?
Ryker nodded, pressing his lips together while he studied Margie’s face. After a moment, he turned back and peered around the side of the building. He paused and the moment felt like it dragged on forever.
Before Margie could draw another breath, Ryker rushed toward the van. He held the cans out at his sides to keep them from knocking together or hitting his legs. He quietly tossed the plastic containers into the back of the van. As if he’d absorbed every direction Margie gave him and then some, he climbed over the stacked items in the back without making a sound and disappeared into the cave-like depths of the van’s interior.
He’d done it so fast. Margie wasn’t ready, but she knew she didn’t have time to sit there and recover. She blinked, trying to look around and ignore the bright circles blocking her vision. If she could get into the van, she could sit down. Driving would have to be the only chance she had to rest. If she were sitting, she could at least catch her breath. She just needed a minute. A minute she didn’t have right then.
The night was silent. So quiet. Margie wondered where the other people were. From far off in the distance, a shot sounded, but more like the hollow blast of a shotgun. Had she imagined that sound? There had to be plenty of people out there. There always were. Many had died, but a good number had survived the virus and the Cure that had been distributed for it. Running into the wrong people would be worse than the headache Manson had left her with.
Margie’s pulse quickened. She had to hurry. Every second she stood there, Ryker sat in the van like a mouse in a trap. He wouldn’t be able to get away unseen – by anyone. She had to get there and get them away from Manson.
She’d been right to suspect Manson. Why hadn’t she sooner? He was out to hurt them. There was no other reason to hit someone on the head and knock them out, then to hurt them. Manson didn’t have a gun, but that didn’t mean he was without a weapon.
Whereas Margie was. She had nothing to protect herself with. But Margie had the van. She reached into her pocket and dug for the keys, clamping her fingers around them tight enough to have the sharp edges bite into her skin. Pulling them out, she held the keys in her palm and didn’t let them make a sound.
She took a deep breath, pushing aside the pounding pain in her head. She would have to recover later. Stepping out, she walked slowly toward the van, swinging her arms to move faster. No matter what she did, she couldn’t get herself to run. That wasn’t happening.
Reaching up, she grabbed the plastic loop handle hanging from the bottom of the hatchback door. Margie met Ryker’s wide eyes with her own gaze before slamming the door shut. She didn’t wait for anything else, and rushed the few feet to the driver’s side.
She opened the door, lifting her foot and placing it on the runner to climb in.
A scream rent the air, as if the dark wasn’t a shield for anything but seeing.
Margie half-turned back to the skating building, her eyes wide as Kelsey broke into the moonlight from the darkness of the building. Pure terror covered her face and she ran at a desperate pace.
Spying Margie, Kelsey waved her hands frantically and moved as fast as she could, screaming, “Get in. We have to go!” Kelsey glanced over her shoulder.
Margie didn’t wait for another prompting. She slid into the seat and stuck the key into the ignition. Turning the engine over, Margie caught her breath when worked. She kept expecting it not to. Glancing to the side, Margie gasped. “Hurry, Kelsey!”
Manson appeared behind Kelsey, his calm, average-man appearance drastically altered as his eyebrows had been drawn close together and his lips pulled back in a sneer. He enjoyed the chase. His laugh bounced off the blacktop in a strange echo.
Shifting into gear, Margie yelled, “Run, Kelsey!” She would get Kelsey away from Manson. They’d deal with the travel arrangements later.
From the backseat, Ryker whimpered. “Hurry, Kelsey.”
The older woman set her jaw, running with her arms flailing at her sides. Her strides were weary but long. She had to make it. She just had to.
Manson lengthened his own stride, pulling back his arm which held the crowbar.
Margie screamed at the same time Manson swung the bar down, slamming it into Kelsey’s back. The thud reached Margie and Ryker cried out at the same time she did.
Kelsey fell, her arms spread out in front of her a
s if attempting to catch herself but unable to coordinate the right movement. Moonlight shone off skin patches under the shortly shorn hair.
Skidding to a stop behind Kelsey, Manson hit her back again with the crowbar. The crack as something broke filled the night.
She rolled to the side, holding up an arm and swinging with the other at Manson’s legs. She cried out, “Go, Margie. Go!” Their eyes met for a brief second and then Kelsey closed her eyes as Manson swung the crowbar again. Her scream ripped through the night... then stopped.
Margie didn’t wait. She bit her lip, ignoring the narrowed gaze Manson shot her direction. She closed the door and shifted into drive. Putting her foot on the gas and spinning the wheel, she pulled out of the parking spot she’d parked in earlier. She didn’t have to go fast. As Manson leapt from Kelsey’s unmoving body and raced after the van, Margie careened out of the parking lot, holding her breath until they sped down the highway. She wasn’t going to slow down until Manson was just a speck in the rearview mirror.
Ryker sobbed, gasping as he crawled over the seats to sit beside her in the passenger seat. He opened his mouth, closed it, then opened it again, staring at Margie with more questions in his gaze than anything else.
Understanding his desperation for answers and the fact that the images in his head wouldn’t go away no matter what anyone said, Margie shook her head and reached out. Patting his shoulder, she whispered, “Don’t think about it. Just… don’t…”
There was nothing to think about, nothing to say.
Chapter 11
Scott
The gunshot from the deck startled Scott like someone had slapped him across the face. He rushed outside from where he’d stood, staring at Jessica’s sleeping form. He was detached from the last of his living family – and he knew it. But there was nothing he could do about it. Not right then. He couldn’t get his head on straight.
Gunshots in the night didn’t help anything.
Long strides carried him to the slider door where he threw it open and came to a sudden halt.
Beth’s body slumped to the side on the Adirondack rocking chair. Dark spots flecked the glass. Scott would give anything to turn on the lights to see just how bad it was. What was she thinking? He glanced out into the dark yard. Had someone else done this? But the shot had been too close to the house. He wasn’t dumb. Scott could recognize suicide when he saw it. He just didn’t want to see it.
Another moment passed and then Cady rounded the corner of the deck, squinting at Scott in the shadows. “What happened?” She glanced around the yard, looking for something or someone. Did she not see Beth hunched over and dead on Cady’s favorite chair?
A flashlight flicked on and she shone the small beam around the yard, then focused it on Scott. The light paused on him then slid down to Beth’s dead body on the chair. Cady whimpered, groaning as she realized what happened. Beth’s right hand had fallen back into her lap, fingers loosely gripping the .45 she’d killed Jackson with.
Not only blood speckled the glass and chair behind her. Brain matter and bone splinters cast tiny shadows in the light of the flashlight. Suddenly Scott regretted his need to see more clearly the details of the scene. He didn’t want to see anything. He wanted to go back inside and stare at Jessica, see only the innocence laying there in sleep. Reality was too much and he didn’t want to bear it any longer.
Shaking himself from the horror, Scott approached Cady, slowly taking the light from her hand and turning it off. He could take the image from their immediate view, but never would they be able to erase the grisly details from their minds. The candle light didn’t reach that far outside well enough. They could pretend for a moment that nothing was wrong while they caught their breath and didn’t speak.
A sound at the door drew Scott’s attention. He let go of his tremulous hold on Cady’s arm and rushed to the slider, shaking his head at Bailey as she moved to open it. He swallowed, trying not to let his voice shiver with emotion. “Not right now. Beth is… We’ll talk in a bit.” He moved his shoulders into her line of sight, blocking her view of the scene on the deck. There was no way Bailey needed to see that. She’d seen enough of terror and destruction already.
Part of Scott’s numbness had to do with Jason and Bailey. Scott recognized that. He couldn’t blame Bailey. Not until he knew what was happening, but at that point, she needed to be protected from the deck scene. Scott would talk to her before they left. He had to know what happened to Jason. But not right then. Not. Right. Then.
He glanced back at the fallen woman when Bailey turned away from the slider, sadness on her face. Why had Beth killed herself?
“What happened?” Scott twisted to face Cady who hadn’t moved from her spot on the deck. “Did you talk to her last?” What could have broken her? She’d seemed strong and present. She’d been solid mentally, enough to kill Jackson. Scott folded his arms over his chest and stared at the shadowy lines on the deck. “Do you think the numbness was wearing off?”
Ignoring Beth’s body, Cady swiped the gun from her friend’s lap and pushed past Scott. Inside, she leaned her head back and pressed her hand at the back of her neck. She didn’t need to have an ulterior motive or know what she was even doing. Scott looked to her for leadership and the realization threw him. He wasn’t even sure he could trust her, and there he was waiting for her to make a decision? No. He had to make up his own mind about how he was going to survive.
Ranger gave a soft woof from the edge of the dark toward the garage. His eyes reflected the slight light from the candles shining in the window closest to him. Scott motioned toward the garage. “We’re okay. Get some rest.”
Glancing back once more, Ranger turned and used the dog door to go into the garage.
Scott followed Cady inside. He had to tell her he couldn’t trust her and that he had to figure things out for himself. He closed the slider behind him and moved to stand at the far end of the table away from Cady. He wasn’t sure if he was still attracted to her, but he needed to keep his distance at that point. He was a mess of confusion and that wouldn’t help anything when he was trying to make a clear decision.
“Bailey? Can you come in here, please?” Waiting for her daughter to join them, Cady braced her arms on the table. When Bailey took a spot at the table between Scott and Cady, Cady glanced at each of them in turn. She had a tired, haggard expression with shadows under her eyes enhanced by the shadows of the candlelight. “We need to get out of here. Too many things are bringing attention to our location. We can’t stay safe here.” She lowered her head as if to think then lifted her gaze to study Bailey and Scott. There was more than logic in her gaze as she flicked her eyes side to side.
Panic. Cady was panicking. She wasn’t the type to panic. Something had happened and it wasn’t Beth’s suicide. He couldn’t get her to open up and that scared him.
Scott shook his head. He had to put his foot down, establish independence. There was no way he could rely on Cady when she was panicking herself and making rash decisions. He wasn’t sure how he felt about her anymore, but he couldn’t follow her blindly. That wasn’t what was going to save them – at least not him. “I’m not leaving. There’s no way.” He moved to stand opposite Cady, leaning on the table himself. “I won’t leave my home. What about our families? What if someone shows up? We have to stay here for them. Everything we need is here.” He thrust his finger at the table top, setting his jaw in determination.
Cady arched an eyebrow then folded her arms, standing with her shoulders pulled back. “No, this is my home. I’ve told you we’re leaving. You’re leaving, too.” Would Cady honestly kick him from her house because she didn’t want him to stay there? Why couldn’t she say she needed him to go with her? Why couldn’t she let him stay there and protect the place? Why couldn’t she stay with him and let him make the decisions for once?
“Mom, Grandma and Grandpa are coming. They’ll be here. We can’t leave. We have to give them time to come.” Bailey’s voice broke, like
there was too much to take in. She bent one arm and wrapped her fingers around her straight elbow.
Scott glanced at the girl with pity. She had no idea what little bits of terror they’d seen. She had no idea the things that were out there. If Cady made her leave, she would know. She would experience horrors and then she would wish she was dead.
Maybe it was better Jason was dead. Maybe Scott should kill Jessica to save her from the nightmares ahead of her. He had options. There were so many options. Hadn’t he already killed so many? What was one more on the list of sins against him?
Cady turned toward Bailey and sighed. “Grandma and Grandpa probably won’t make it back, honey. Grandpa… he was really sick with cancer. There’s no way Grandma will make it back with him. It’s too much.” She swiped at tears coursing down her cheeks and shook her head. “Too much. This is all just too much to take in, right?”
Nodding as if she’d been asked about her day, Bailey stared at Cady with her brow furrowed. “They aren’t coming? No, Grandma said she was coming back, that she’d be here.”
“Really? When was that? She hasn’t made it. They’re not coming. We can’t wait for them. We need to leave. We can’t stay here. Do you understand me? There’s nothing safe about this place. Not anymore.” Cady lifted her chin and turned to Scott, the challenge strong in her expression. “You can come with us, or not, but we need to know what you’re doing.”
“No. Mom, I don’t understand. If we leave, Scott’s coming with us. Right?” Bailey cut through the tension between Scott and Cady, glancing between the two of them. “What are we going to do? Scott? You’re going with us, right? Wait. If Scott isn’t leaving, we don’t have to. Right, Mom? What are we doing?” Bailey’s pleas didn’t penetrate Cady’s cold determination.
“We’re going to leave. There’s nothing else we can do.” Cady glanced at the wall clock above the office doors. Time hadn’t stopped when the power went out – not for battery-operated clocks. Not yet. “It’s ten. Be ready to leave in an hour or so. We have no idea what will happen and I’d rather not wait to find out.” She glanced at Bailey, then at Scott. “If you’re going with us, I’d suggest you get your things together. I’m going to pack up as much of my stuff as I can. If you want included in that, meet me outside.”
Move On: a post apocalyptic survival thriller (180 Days and Counting... Series) Page 5