Flashpoint (Book 4): Decay

by Ellis, Tara

  “It’s okay,” Tom assured her, still holding on with an iron grip. “We’ll be in Mercy soon and this will all be over. We can stop running.”

  “Can we?” she asked. Pulling back, Danny looked into his eyes again, searching for some sort of redemption. “How can we ever be sure of who we are, after everything we’ve done?”

  Danny looked away then, defeated. “I was already running long before the flashpoint ever hit.”

  Chapter 22

  CHLOE

  Medical Clinic, Mercy, Montana

  “I guess this means you won’t be able to do much do-si-doing at the dance?” Crissy teased, while holding Trevor’s hand.

  He was propped up on one of the cots that had been set up in the makeshift clinic inside Mercy’s combination elementary/high school. Though Trevor’s face was banged up and he had several visible scrapes and bruises on his hands and arms, it was his left leg that took the brunt of the fall.

  Dr. Olsen used words like “miraculous” and “lucky” to describe the accident scene and how Trevor had escaped with nothing worse than a severely broken leg. Apparently, he’d managed to leap from the opposite side of the wagon as it made its fateful plunge over the edge.

  When she and Crissy got to the clinic to see him the night before, he’d been unconscious from all the morphine the doc had shot him up with. Chloe was already irritated at that point, since they’d sped there thinking he was about to die. Then, the storm hit before they could leave and trapped them in the clinic for hours.

  While Chloe didn’t hesitate to return with Crissy that afternoon, she was already testy. Her patience was running short and she really needed to get back to the farm to help with the cleanup from the storm. Sandy and Bishop risked their lives the night before to secure the herd, and several of them still broke through the fence when a tree blew over and took out a section. They’d been out all day trying to round them up, and the rest of the chores weren’t getting done.

  A coughing fit drew Chloe’s attention to a man on a cot across the room. Next to him was a young girl hooked up to IV fluids. She was constantly moaning, and her parents were sitting to either side of her, attempting in vain to console her. Chloe knew that she had what Dr. Olsen suspected was appendicitis. She had overheard a debate between the doctor and her only nurse as to whether they should risk surgery, and their decision to try the antibiotics first. That led to another conversation about how low they were on the medication.

  Several other beds were occupied by a mix of elderly and young patients who had run out of various drugs and couldn’t function anymore. “Insulin” was a word spoken often, as were “pain medicine”, “psych meds”, and “steroids”. Chloe’s greatest takeaway from her visits at the clinic was that she prayed she never got sick. She didn’t know how Trevor could stand to volunteer all of his time there. Give her a hungry cow and a dirty horse stall any day.

  “I’m afraid Trevor won’t be doing much of anything on his feet for at least two weeks,” Dr. Olsen said as she approached his bed. “Not even with the help of crutches. Total bedrest until then. I managed to reset the bone, but it should have been surgically pinned back into place. If he moves it too much, it won’t heal right.”

  “You should have seen it!” Trevor exclaimed, his face becoming animated. “The bone was totally sticking up out of the skin. Like, you could see the bone!” he emphasized, poking his index finger up and wiggling it like it was his leg bone. “I didn’t think bones were literally white like that.”

  “Ugh,” Crissy moaned, pushing his hand back down onto his lap. “Would you please stop talking about it? Or I’m seriously going to throw up on you.”

  “It’s too bad you didn’t hit your head instead,” Chloe joked, poking him in the skull. “There would have been a lot less damage.”

  Trevor screwed up his nose and made a face at her, but there was a wariness in his eyes that hadn’t been there before. Chloe suspected he saw a lot worse than his leg at the accident, and he was partially coping by focusing on his own injures instead.

  “Not too much talking,” Dr. Olsen cautioned before leaving the three of them alone. “I don’t want his asthma stirred up any more than it is. We’re running low on inhalers.”

  Chloe eyed the small blue medication dispenser that sat on the table next to his bed. It scared her to think of what would happen once it ran out. Her stomach clenched. There weren’t any labs anywhere producing more medicine, or pharmacies that were open to go buy it from. Once it was gone…

  “Don’t worry,” Crissy was saying playfully, still holding Trevor’s hand. “I’ll save you a dance for next time.”

  Trevor smiled and then looked shyly at Crissy. “Promise not to dance with anyone else?”

  Chloe saw it then. The way Crissy was holding his hand and how she leaned in closer when Trevor spoke. The naturally flirty girl wasn’t just teasing him. At some point, she’d developed real feelings for Trevor, and he obviously felt the same way. It had probably started as just some sort of end-of-the-world infatuation, and then flourished in the closed society that Mercy had turned into.

  Chloe sat back, stunned by the revelation, and not really understanding why. She wasn’t jealous. She had absolutely no romantic interest in or feelings for Trevor. Chloe really couldn’t even fathom how Crissy was interested in the young, often irritating teen.

  But clearly, she was. Another round of light giggles punctuated her thoughts and Chloe had to resist the urge to run from the room. They were both her friends. Her best friends, so she would figure out a way to deal with it. She looked at their hands again, clasped together, and realized that perhaps it was the closeness she envied.

  Over the past week, Chloe had become so absorbed in the work on the farm that she was distancing herself…no, insulating herself from everyone around her. It was easier that way. She desperately missed her parents and was afraid of getting too close to anyone else. They all ended up leaving her in the end, anyway.

  Mortified she was about to start crying, Chloe tried to think of a way to excuse herself without being obvious, but her brain wasn’t cooperating as the intense emotions swelled. Instead, she turned to her old friend, anger. It was such an easier emotion and she slipped gratefully into its dark embrace.

  “Didn’t three people die yesterday?” Chloe hissed, her eyes narrowing. “I don’t think we should be talking about dances and making light of the whole situation.”

  When Crissy turned to glare at her, the shock on her friend’s face was enough to subdue Chloe, and the shame that followed was as familiar to her as the anger.

  Embarrassed, Chloe stood and turned away, hoping that no one else had witnessed the exchange. To her dismay, the new pastor, of all people, was standing only two beds away, apparently praying over someone.

  He was staring straight at her, and not even trying to be polite and hide the fact that he had overheard the whole thing. She averted her eyes from his and stared at his hands instead, figuring he was holding a Bible or cross, or something equally religious. Instead, it looked like some sort of syringe and he quickly stuffed his hands into the front pocket of his sweatshirt. Wasn’t a priest supposed to wear robes?

  Chloe looked back up at his face to confirm that it was, in fact, the same Father Rogers they’d been introduced to when they first arrived at the clinic the day before. It had been a chaotic scene and there were a lot of upset people running around, but Chloe never forgot a face.

  Especially not his, which was very distinct with his poster-boy jawline, thick blond hair, and striking green eyes. He smiled at her then, one she had no doubt was meant to be disarming. However, there was something about the man that made Chloe’s skin crawl, and her eyes narrowed with disdain instead of friendliness.

  Her humiliating scene forgotten, Chloe stood frozen by the exchange, and as his smile turned into a sneer, the crawling sensation spread from her stomach and traveled up her spine.

  Chapter 23

  RUSSELL

&nb
sp; Mercy Parish, Mercy, Montana

  Russell was expecting the knock at the back door of his church apartment. The timing couldn’t have been any better, since he’d just set the tea kettle on top of the woodstove to boil.

  Another round of insistent knocking erupted as he casually made his way to the door, whistling under his breath as he went. Everyone was always in a rush, even the old priest. You’d think the end of the world would encourage people to slow down a little and spend more time enjoying the small things. Someone should caution Father White that all that stress was bad for his health.

  Grinning, Russell opened the door with a flourish, revealing Father White with his hand raised, ready to knock again. “Father!” Russell gushed, pulling the door open all the way and stepping aside. “Please, come in.”

  “I can’t stay long,” the older man grumbled as he ambled inside.

  The back door opened into the kitchen and both men took a seat opposite each other at a small wooden table. The woodstove glowed nearby, the wood inside audibly cracking and popping. With a pillar candle burning on the counter, pushing back the shadows as the sun began to set outside, it was a cozy setting. “What brings you by?” Russell asked, clasping his hands in front of him on the table.

  “I’m going to get straight to the point and keep this brief,” Father White said without any preamble. “While I appreciate your situation and what you’ve been through, I don’t feel you are the right man to help guide the congregation of Mercy.” The old priest cleared his throat and shifted on the wooden chair. “You’re welcome to stay here in the apartment until you can find proper accommodations, of course.”

  Russell hung his head in contrition, enjoying the role-playing. “I thank you for your generosity, Father.” Looking up, he saw the surprise on the pastor’s face and felt a small rush of excitement as his plot unfolded exactly as he’d foreseen it. “I have been doing a lot of soul-searching these past few days that I’ve been in Mercy and I have to say that I agree with you. I’m not currently in the right frame of mind to conduct the work of God.”

  “Well, I…um, I’m glad to hear that you’ve come to the same conclusion.” Father White was clearly flustered by the conversation. Apparently, he hadn’t prepared the proper speech. “Perhaps with time, you will find your way back to the word of God.”

  Tilting his head slightly, Russell pursed his lips and then nodded slowly, as if taking the wise words to heart. “Perhaps.”

  The kettle began to whistle and Russell’s head jerked up as if he’d forgotten he had put it on. “Oh! I was about to have some tea, Father. Won’t you join me?”

  When the priest hesitated, Russell was excited by the extra challenge, rather than concerned he might leave. “I found a lovely blend in the cupboard, as well as some sugar. And I would appreciate some guidance as to what scripture I should study while dealing with my internal conflict.”

  The request for mentorship was something Father White couldn’t say no to, and as Russell expected, he was flattered by the request. “Certainly, Father Rogers. If you would fetch me a pen and paper, I’d be happy to give you a list.”

  Minutes later, as the tea steeped and Father White was distracted by his list-making, Russell stood at the counter and added the liquid antihistamine to his cup. He wasn’t sure if the berry-flavored medication would be enough to do much, but it would have to do. His options were extremely limited and it was the only liquid sedative he could identify at the clinic in the brief time he’d had.

  When the herbal tea was added, it smelled like any other concoction and he figured the priest would write off any odd taste as a cheap brand and lack of cream. He placed the cup silently in front of the other man, as he continued to write, not wanting to interrupt his train of thought.

  Ten minutes later, the cup was empty, the sheet of paper was nearly full of scriptures, and Father White was rubbing at his eyes. “My goodness, it’s barely past dinner time and I’m afraid I’m already needing a bed.”

  Russell removed the teacups and carried them to the sink. With his back to the room, he wordlessly took out the preloaded syringe from his sweatshirt pocket and popped off the protective cap.

  “It’s completely understandable,” Russell replied as he turned around. “You’re a frail, elderly man who’s been sick with radiation poisoning for two weeks. Why, you could drop dead at any moment and no one would think much of it.”

  As Russell moved up behind him, Father White’s hands froze, pen in hand, when he grasped what the other man had said. “Why would you say—”

  Russell moved quickly, jabbing the hypodermic needle into the other man’s right shoulder and injecting him with at least a couple of milligrams of morphine before Father White could bat it away with his sluggish reflexes.

  “Ouch!” Rubbing at his shoulder and lurching to his feet, the priest knocked his chair over as he clumsily spun around to face his attacker. “What…what in the world are you doing?” He blinked twice, slowly, and then staggered sideways a couple of steps.

  Russell dropped the syringe and removed another from his pocket. The subcutaneous injection of morphine was only a means to compound the old man’s sedation. He would have preferred to have done it without the extra aid, but it was critical that there be no outward signs of a struggle.

  As the potent opioid was slowly absorbed, it combined with the antihistamine, enhancing its effects. The look of confusion on Father White’s face turned to anger and then fear. He reached out blindly at the table for support, his legs beginning to buckle. “What are you?” he groaned, looking up at Russell, his eyes wide and pupils pinpoints.

  Methodically removing the cap from the new needle, Russell considered the question carefully before answering. Bending over so that his face was close to the priest’s, he spoke deliberately, making sure the other man understood him. “The meek shall inherit the earth.”

  Before Father White could react, Russell slid around behind him. Reaching up with his left hand, he grasped the taller man’s forehead, anchoring his elbow against his shoulder to put him in a modified sort of headlock. Pulling his dazed victim back into his chest to brace him, he reached around with the syringe and lined it up precisely with the carotid artery in his neck. Though an extremely efficient way of administering a lethal dose of drugs, it was also quite tricky. Fortunately, he’d spent some time in the past perfecting the technique.

  With the needle in place, Russell slowly injected the morphine while using nearly all of his strength to hold the man still. Father White moaned against the pain of the large dose coursing through his body and kicked out with the last throes of life.

  “Shhhh,” Russell murmured, his mouth against his victim’s ear. “Don’t fight it. Soon, you’ll simply stop breathing and cease to exist.”

  His mind already moving on to what other steps he had left to complete, Russell waited patiently, staring at the woodstove over the top of Father White’s gray head. Once several hours had passed, when it was well past dark, he would carry the priest’s body the short distance across the yard and into his house. There, he would arrange him so that when found the next day, it would appear that he’d simply died in his sleep.

  The syringe wouldn’t leave a noticeable mark and Russell had a bottle of pain pills to place on the nightstand, which should provide the doctor with enough of an excuse for the Father’s small pupils. That was, if the pupils remained contracted after death, due to the medication. Russell wasn’t sure if they would dilate the way they normally did and it was a curiosity for him. Perhaps he could find a way to be there when the doctor arrived, so he could get the answer firsthand. After all, he was working with the charming doctor now. That was how he’d been able to acquire the morphine.

  A gasping sound reminded Russell that he still had more immediate matters to attend to. Releasing Father White from his hold, he supported his limp body and lowered him carefully to the floor. His color already ashen, he was quickly succumbing to the suppression of his central nervo
us system, with the respiratory drive the first to go.

  While Father White lay dying, the final dregs of air being sucked into his lungs with each hard-fought breath, Russell crouched over him. A hand to either side of his body, he leaned in until their cheeks almost touched. “Don’t worry, Father. I’ll tend to your flock. I have some very special plans for them.”

  Chapter 24

  TOM

  Lewis & Clark National Forest, near Mercy, Montana

  The climb leading up out of the valley had been a somber one. They intentionally waited until the sun started to slip below the ridgeline so they would be in the shadows, and less visible to anyone in the valley who might be looking up. The last thing they needed was for the group of killers to come after them.

  Tom glanced over his shoulder, confirming that they were all still moving. He had to admit to being shaken up. Even after all the things they’d been through, the last thing he thought he’d find that deep in the mountains was a man being tortured to death. He understood Danny’s reaction and all of the personal introspection it brought with it. They were literally in a new world…a sort of purgatory where they had what could be considered an opportunity to start over. To do things better than the first time. Instead, humanity seemed destined to waste the chance at a fresh start and turn barbaric. In some cases, almost primal, where the only thing that mattered was survival, even when that was at the cost of everyone else.

  What if they got to Mercy only to discover that it wasn’t any different than the other places they’d been over the past two weeks? Tom shook his head. He knew in his heart that Miller Ranch would always be a refuge, no matter what happened in the rest of the world. If Mercy was lost, so be it. He’d make sure that Ethan was safe, and if possible, Danny and Sam, too.

  “I don’t see anyone following us,” Danny said, her voice strained. She hadn’t spoken much since running from the spot in the mud where he’d held her down. Tom tried not to think about how he’d felt an overpowering need to protect her. He had his son to worry about, and that was enough.