The System (Virulent Book 2)

by Shelbi Wescott

  It was a beautiful and unique necklace; the kind of jewelry she would want to buy, but couldn’t. But Lucy already had a necklace around her neck that belonged to a dead girl and that necklace, more than this one, would remind her of all that she had faced on the outside. Huck Truman’s dead daughter’s necklace was an unworthy token compared to Salem’s crucifix and she wished she could tell him that.

  “I’m already brave,” Lucy said and she turned her head away from him.

  Huck laughed. “You are indeed, Lucy. You are indeed.” Then with a sigh, he stood. There was the sound of the door sliding open and then sliding closed, and the female medic from the tank room appeared to the side of the curtain surrounding Lucy’s bed. She motioned for Huck to come closer and then she whispered something in his ear; she made quick eye contact with Lucy before casting her eyes to the floor.

  “I’m quite sorry to hear that,” Huck said and then he added. “The Kings can be notified that Lucy’s in the medic pod now. I’ll accompany you, if that’s okay.”

  The medic nodded. “I’ll wait outside,” she said and then slipped back out the way she came in.

  “Well, Lucy, I’m so terribly sorry to end our talk on such a horrible piece of news…” he cleared his throat and Lucy felt her body turn cold. Somehow she knew what he was going to say; she sat herself up on her elbows and shook her head.

  “No,” she said. “No bad news. No. Don’t tell me anything.”

  “I’m afraid,” Huck continued speaking over her pleas, “that the friend you arrived with—”

  Lucy shook her head back and forth, her damp hair flying, and she couldn’t stop the tears. More than sadness, rage built up inside of her. Big blocks of fury set the foundation for all her other emotions; she teetered upon them and stared into an abyss. “No! Shut up. Shut up.”

  Huck looked as if he had been slapped. His hurt was evident and made Lucy even angrier. “I do hate to be the bearer of bad news…but it appears your friend took his own life.”

  The words hit her ears and she froze. With her chest heaving, her heart pounding, she stopped and stared at him, unblinking. No. That was wrong. That was a lie. Honest Huck. Full of lies. No. There was no way.

  “They found him hanged in the tank a few moments ago.”

  “No,” Lucy said with confidence, all the fight and fire leaving her body. She sat deflated and confused. “How? With what? On what?” She lobbed each question at him with a measured level of disbelief and self-assuredness. “And…he wouldn’t have,” she added in a whisper.

  “It’s so terribly sad,” Huck said again. “To have survived it all…and then end it here.”

  “You’re lying. Grant would never…”

  “Your family will be here soon,” Huck interrupted, his voice carrying over hers. “What’s done is done. What’s gone is gone. The System is about new beginnings. So, I highly encourage you to focus on happy reunions now, shall we?” He sounded chipper once again. Lucy blanched at his nonchalance.

  “Where is he? I want to see him! You say he’s dead? Prove it. You can’t. You won’t. You’re a liar. A liar,” she hissed.

  “Lucy—” Huck said her name in a patronizing tone, chastising her inability to blindly accept the facts as he told them.

  “You said you’d be honest, but then you lie to my face. I won’t ever believe you! I won’t ever believe you!” Lucy yelled at Huck. She picked up his dead daughter’s necklace and threw it at him; he didn’t move as the chain spun through the air and landed short, sliding across the tile toward his feet.

  He looked injured. Surprised. He frowned and shook his head.

  “You’re right,” he said to her. He looked straight at her, his eyes flashing. “Lying never does me any good. So, I will tell you…he didn’t commit suicide.”

  Lucy held her breath and clenched her fists. Her fingernails created little crescent-moons dotted against her flesh.

  “And he’s not dead…yet…” Huck added the last word slowly. “But you won’t ever see your friend again and I need you to accept that.”

  “No. I won’t. I won’t ever stop until I see him again.”

  “I can make many things happen today. I can reunite you with your family; I can make you comfortable here. But Grant,” Huck said the name like it tasted bitter on his tongue, “won’t work within our System, Lucy.”

  “You’re out of your mind,” Lucy replied breathlessly.

  “I’m sorry,” Huck said, and Lucy’s head popped up: his two words packed a wallop of emotion—as if he actually was sorry, as if it pained him to take away her friend.

  “You can’t be,” Lucy said through tears. “You can’t be sorry and also take him away from me.”

  “I have more than just you to think about, unfortunately,” he told her and then he turned around. “I’ll be seeing you around, Lucy. Be brave.” Then Huck turned and deliberately stepped over the necklace before punching in a code to the side of the door, which triggered the door to open automatically—like, Lucy couldn’t help but think, the doors in the show Star Trek that her father used to watch despite her and her brother’s protests.

  In a second, Huck was gone. The door slid back into place and Lucy, still shackled to the bed, stared after him with her lip quivering and her mind racing. She was about to be reunited with her family. She was about to see her dad, hug her mom, and be with her brothers and sister again. But Grant. Lucy flopped her head back on the bed and brought the pillow up over her face and then she screamed as loud as she could into the folds of the fabric.

  Grant. Grant. Grant.

  Her friend.

  Her solitary companion.

  Lucy wiped her tears and struggled to sit up, the paper-thin gown they had dressed her in opened at the back. Seeing her family was secondary; she had to find Grant and help him, save him, rescue him from this place. But she was trapped and alone and without an ally. It was the worst feeling in the God-forsaken world.

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  Ethan was dreaming about running. Jogging. With Sophie DiCarlo at his side. Their feet slapped along the concrete, but his dream was in mute—he could see Sophie’s perky pony-tail flop and bounce with each step, see her arms pump at her sides, and feel the wind rush against his face, but everything was silent: a world absent of sound. Sophie turned to smile at Ethan; her bright eyes so alive and trained only on him. She said something, called to him, but he couldn’t hear her. He could just see her lips moving.

  “What?” he called. But even though he knew he was yelling, no sound came out.

  Sophie spoke again. Nothing.

  “I can’t hear you!” Ethan said as they jogged into the neighborhood, side-by-side on the road. Their legs rose and fell in unison against the concrete.

  Then the sound hit him in a rush. The wind, the cars, the birds, a dog barking, and Sophie’s voice: all so crystal clear.

  “You’re going to die,” she said with a smile.

  Then blood began to pour from her eyes and her nose, streaming onto her sports bra and dripping down between her cleavage.

  “What?” Dream Ethan asked her. And when Sophie DiCarlo opened her mouth to answer, a river of blood dribbled down her chin and stained her skin crimson.

  Ethan woke with a jolt.

  He was hot, burning up, and he yanked his blankets off and flung them to the floor. Then he swung his healthy leg to the side of the bed and physically moved his amputated leg over as well. With his shoulders heaving, he inhaled and exhaled in short bursts, staring at the ground, wishing he could get up and walk out of his room.

  It was dark outside.

  Someone had left candles burning on his desk. He sniffed and then hit his bed with balled up fists. His room stunk like lilac. He hated lilac; hated the scented candles his mother used to buy and stock in their hall closet. During her most proficient cleaning spells, the entire house reeked with the overwhelming scent of manufactured Hawaiian Breeze or vanilla bean candles.
/>
  Between his pain and his frustration, he couldn’t even find an ounce of nostalgia for something that so clearly represented his mother.

  Without a nurse, an aide, he was trapped. He had slept all day; the house was silent. Ethan tried to push away the anger he felt at being left alone. What if he needed something? What if he had fallen out of bed? What if he was hungry? Had everyone forsaken him already?

  His leg throbbed, but Ethan ignored the pain and the ache—more than anything, he wanted to move, wanted to get out of his room. Ethan put his left leg on the ground and his body wobbled; he shifted so that he could place his hands against the headboard and steady himself. Then he lowered his stump off the bed too and felt the gravity of his leg pull him downward; there was heaviness despite the absence and it overwhelmed his senses.

  What would he do? Where would he go? To the bathroom? Downstairs? Could he prove to these strangers that he wasn’t a total invalid? But he was and he knew it, even as he tried to shimmy along the side of the bed, his leg in total agony, his hands shaking, he knew that without these people, he would die.

  Ethan’s door swung open and Darla entered, waving a flashlight toward the bed.

  “Ethan? Ethan?” Darla said as she tiptoed into the candlelight room. She drew in a sharp intake of air when she saw him standing on the edge of his bed, hunched over, just in boxer shorts. “Are you out of your mind?” she spat and rushed over, dumping the flashlight on the bed and tucking her arms underneath his armpits. “If you popped a stitch, you’ll bleed out. Die.”

  “I don’t want to stay cooped up in this room. I’ll die of boredom,” he moaned as she helped him sit back up on the bed.

  Darla rolled her eyes. “Then I’ll bring some cards the next time I come in. We’ll play a riveting round of poker. What do you want to throw in the kitty? Since you want to gamble your life, how about your meds?”

  “Did you just come in here to give me crap?” Ethan asked.

  Darla smiled. “Hey, I feel like our dynamic duo is suffering a bit with you being laid up in here. I came in for company, to be honest.”

  “The others don’t seem like they’re riveting conversationalists,” Ethan said and he pointed to a half-finished water pouch on his desk. Darla passed it over to him.

  “I’m trying to be nice to them,” she answered. “But something’s not right. I feel it.”

  “Really?” Ethan asked. He was suddenly alert; he gulped the rest of the pouch.

  “I’m a good judge of character, I think,” Darla said defensively. Ethan put his hands up and looked at her sidelong. “Okay, I’m sorry. It’s just…they don’t include me. That’s strange, right? And Spencer moved from the school—”

  “What?”

  “And the doctor and Joey went to his new house tonight. For dinner. They didn’t even tell me…and it feels off. Plus—” she paused, weighing her words.

  “Spit it out.”

  “I could be wrong.”

  “I trust you.”

  That made Darla smile; in the candlelight, she looked younger, less tired. Ethan frowned—he felt like his failing health had left her alone; she and Teddy were the closest thing he had to family now, and he had deserted them.

  “Someone’s stealing. Why, I don’t know. We’re open with our resources, everyone has equal opportunities and access…but the MRE pile took a hit the other day and some of the canned goods.”

  “Spencer?”

  “It’s my only guess. Everyone else is here at the house. It’s got to be…but I’m lacking a motive.”

  “That bastard.”

  “Well,” Darla said, dropping her voice, her tone wary, “let’s not accuse him yet. He’s sneaky and a known opportunist, but why would he steal? The food is out in the open…it’s not like we’re keeping anything hidden from him. And he doesn’t have anyone to trade with anymore.”

  “They’re conspiring against us,” Ethan said matter-of-factly and he crossed his arms over his bare chest. “Private dinners. Stealing our stuff?”

  “Then why save you?” Darla shook her head. “No, something’s off…I can’t put my finger on it.” Then, after a pause, she smirked and added: “Ainsley’s pretty keen on you.”

  “No one says that anymore.”

  “It’s a new world. I’m bringing it back. You watch…all the hip kids will use it,” Darla said and smiled widely.

  “No one says hip kids either.”

  “Wrong again. My world is six people large; maybe you’re just not cool anymore, and it’s time to face the facts.”

  “Ouch,” Ethan said with a smile. “A one-legged Adonis is always cool.”

  “Adonis?” Darla roared. “I’ll give you credit for the Greek mythology reference and downgrade you for narcissism.”

  “Why do you think Ainsley’s keen on me?” Ethan changed the subject.

  Darla sat back in her chair. “Because I need her to be.”

  “I see,” Ethan nodded once. But he didn’t see entirely.

  “If Spencer’s vying for power, this is a competition we need to win. Joey’s a buffoon, but he’s a Spencer lackey. But if we keep the doctor and her daughter on our side, I like our chances. Otherwise, there’s no predicting what he can convince people to do. It’s scary.”

  “Darla,” Ethan adjusted his legs and grimaced. She raised her eyebrows in reply. “What are we vying for? Why does power matter? What’s left to control?”

  The question lingered and the house creaked; outside a gust of wind blew a tree branch against the siding and they turned to the noise, on high alert.

  “I think that’s obvious,” she replied when the outside noises died away. Darla looked at him, her mouth drawn into a straight line. Then she crossed her arms and leaned back in the chair, her feet planted firmly on the ground.

  “I’m lost,” Ethan said and he shrugged. “Spell it out for me.”

  “You, Ethan.”

  He still didn’t understand.

  Darla continued, “Your dad knew about the attacks and the vaccines he left saved our lives…”

  “So?”

  “Are the pain killers making you dense?”

  Ethan grumbled and slid down in his bed, rolling over and fluffing a pillow against his stomach.

  “Stop pouting,” Darla chastised. “What will happen when Lucy gets to Nebraska? What will happen when your family knows you’re alive?”

  “I hope they’ll come for me,” he answered.

  “And when they do?” Darla asked. She paused, her eyes pleading. “What happens to us?”

  The question caught Ethan off-guard and he dropped the pillow to the ground and looked straight at Darla—and she was looking straight back at him, her eyes raised in an expectant pause.

  “I don’t know,” he answered, his voice small.

  “You think they’ll just take us all?”

  “Yes,” Ethan said almost in a whisper.

  “But if they don’t…if it doesn’t go down like that…you think Spencer and whoever else he can gather with him will let you go without a fight?”

  “I’ll make sure you and Teddy get to come with me. I’ll make sure of it. No one is leaving anyone behind. You have my word.”

  “You won’t have a choice.”

  “If my family wants to see me again, then they’ll let me bring you too!” Ethan was getting worked up and he could feel the tears coming. He shut his eyes tight. Displaying emotion wasn’t a norm for Ethan; he wished he could slip back into simple days and one-word retorts.

  “Your dad may be the reason our family is dead—”

  “Stop.” Ethan put his hands over his ears, like he used to when he was a child. He was trapped. Normally he’d storm out, make someone follow him, make someone continue the conversation, but on his own terms.

  Darla stood up and walked over to the edge of the bed. She dropped down, her face inches from his. “Hey,” she said in a soft voice. She ran her hand alon
g his forearm and tugged his hand free. He let his hand fall and he looked at her. “Hey. I’m just telling you…there might be a new war brewing. And you’re at the center of it. Who controls Ethan, controls their future.”

  “I’m not important,” Ethan corrected. “I’m just an injured kid. A nothing.” He started to hate the way he sounded, but he couldn’t stop himself.

  Darla patted the top of his head. “You’re my friend, idiot.”

  “Thanks,” he answered. “Are you just my friend because you think you can use me for a better future?”

  She winked. “Nah, kid. But now you’re catching on.”

  It was Ainsley who brought him breakfast. It was one of his father’s MREs: a biscuit with sausage gravy, and it was room temperature and gelatinous. He gagged it down, under Ainsley’s faithful eye, and then handed her the debris.

  She made a face at the leftover brown goop before dumping the remaining packaging into the wastebasket by his desk.

  “Some future, huh?” she said nodding toward the container.

  “What’d you have for breakfast?” Ethan asked incredulously.

  “I haven’t had anything yet,” she answered, stepping in for her nursing rounds, which Ethan thought seemed like nothing more than making sure he didn’t have a temperature and that his heart was still beating. He certainly didn’t need Ainsley’s warm body leaning over his, touching his arms, his chest, to tell her that he didn’t have a fever and he was, in fact alive.

  “When I’m up here eating that shit, I just keep imagining that it’s a big party downstairs and you’re all feasting on bacon, eggs, pancakes,” he paused and assessed her reaction. She didn’t even glance at him. “That’s ridiculous, I know.”

  Ainsley shrugged. “I’ve dreamed about milkshakes for the last two nights,” she said. “Giant, cold, smooth, chocolate milkshakes. Except in one dream, the milkshake was talking. I don’t know what that was about.”

  Ethan paused. Besides divulging that she was a nursing student, it was the first time Ainsley had muttered anything about herself. It wasn’t revealing or intriguing, but it was a start. Darla’s comment about Ainsley’s potential attraction played on a loop as he watched the girl take his blood pressure, her hand on his arm, clammy and soft. He debated about whether or not she was pretty.