He claimed the chair beside Bailey. She stretched the blanket across to his chair and he scooted even closer to share its warmth. “Thanks.” He smiled, adjusting his hold on his cousin and shaking the bottle he’d brought out for her.
After he got her settled, he lifted his gaze to Bailey’s. “Happy birthday.”
“Thank you.” Bailey’s smile froze and she glanced away as if to move the blanket higher into position. She wasn’t worried about how he knew, about how he’d surprised her with his soft, happy words.
Jason’s red rimmed eyes reintroduced the panic she’d been avoiding. If Jason succumbed to the sickness, everything would be left to Bailey.
Fourteen or not, was she ready for that?
Chapter 12
Beth
Beth wasn’t sure how long it took for survival to kick in, but she dragged herself off the couch where she’d crashed into some kind of blubbering pile of grief and she hadn’t left since finding Tim and Liv’s bodies. Of course, she’d tried to make herself do something other than screaming into the throw pillow until her voice quit working.
None of it was fair. Why did they have to die, but she hadn’t? She’d given them all of the same treatments that she’d taken – albeit she’d downed a significantly larger amount of the elderberry syrup and she’d taken more vitamin C than the whole neighborhood, probably. What was she going to do when she had to go into her room? Or into Liv’s or S.J.’s? What was she doing? Why hadn’t she killed herself yet?
She was strong enough she could do it. Beth didn’t want to live her life alone. That’s what she was doing now. She was alone. Waiting. Waiting for what? What did she think she was doing? Oh, her mind. She couldn’t handle the pain or the thoughts. What was she going to do? She couldn’t even think. Nothing made sense. Not the pain in her chest. Not the emptiness in her gut. She wasn’t whole anymore. She wasn’t Beth. For so long she’d been a wife, a mother, a caregiver and she’d lost who she was as an individual. As she faced her life alone, she realized that she didn’t want to be without her family.
Even her abusive husband had some worth to her in that moment. He could at least grieve with her. He’d loved their children as much as she had. It wasn’t their fault that he’d stopped loving Beth, if he ever had loved her.
She sniffed, her vision black as she held her face smashed into the cloth pillow with the blue flower. She’d bought the pillow as a defiant move against Steven. He hated blue. Hated it. She’d bought it because it was her favorite color and she’d wanted something that was for her in that house.
She had to get out of the house. The smell of their bodies permeated the living room and she couldn’t go in to remove the corpses. If she thought of them as her children, her sanity would snap. If she didn’t move soon, she would wet her pants and be part of the problem.
Survival kicked in and she didn’t let herself sit there to wait for death.
When she’d thought that holding her mind together was going to be next to impossible, her body kicked in and she suddenly had a clarity of her mind.
Gathering essentials, Beth moved her living space out to the garage where a modicum of fresh air leaked in through the slats of the garage door. She pulled down Steven’s old camping gear from the top storage shelf against the far wall and shoved boxes to the middle of the floor space, creating a roomlike area away from the mandoor that led into the house.
The other mandoor was in the corner on the same wall as the house door and Beth steered clear of blocking it with her new living space. She checked to make sure the deadbolt was in place, but other than that, she left it alone.
Multiple trips inside to gather items used up energy and helped tire her out. She really just wanted to close her eyes and rest. Block out all of her losses. But she wasn’t finished. She wasn’t dragging enough from fatigue.
Setting up a cot with a sleeping bag, Beth also plugged in the small fridge Steven had never gotten around to using. The garage was supposed to be his man-cave of sorts, but he’d never been home to utilize the space. His absence had made it easy to turn most of the garage into storage as well as a work space for Beth’s oils and tinctures. All of her oil making products were stacked against the wall on a plastic shelving system she’d acquired from Wal-Mart. They were fairly portable, but she’d set them up to create an order shortly before the whole mess had started.
Steven had stored an extra gun in the small safe under the workbench. He’d never changed the code, so Beth pulled it out and loaded it. She couldn’t remember what kind it was, but the blued steel barrel could shoot and she at least remembered how to load and handle it. She wasn’t the best shot, but Steven had once said – back when he had cared – that it didn’t matter if you were a crack shot, so much as it was important that you were willing to shoot. Too many people got to the point where they held a gun, but they weren’t willing to use it. That was always their fatal mistake.
She had to be willing to use it.
Beth had listened more to Steven than he knew. He’d once said that the gun had a five-pound trigger weight and that it wouldn’t be easy to accidentally fire. She wasn’t brave enough to move with it in her pockets. She chambered a bullet to be ready. After the incident with the neighbors, she might not have enough time to put one in place.
Tucking the gun into the waistband of her tight jeans, Beth moved to sit on a camp chair she’d set beside the makeshift bed. What was she supposed to do now? Maybe she could scavenge for food and check on her neighbors at the same time. She honestly didn’t want to face the house and her dead family. She didn’t want to face the smell or the fact that her failures reeked more than the rotting bodies of her children.
Ignoring the house, Beth unlocked the mandoor and furtively stepped from the garage out to the dew-covered grass. Pulling the door shut behind her, Beth stopped to listen for any of the looting sounds from the night before. Why did people cause problems only at night? As if the dark was the only time to misbehave.
She hadn’t brought any bags to collect necessities when she’d left her house, but maybe there would be options at her neighbors.
Going east, Beth already knew her neighbor that way was dead. She wouldn’t have to face him as she dug through his things. She approached his front lawn, prepared to see his body still lying there. As she crossed the driveway, she slowed. His body was nowhere in sight. Had he come back to life or something? What had she missed?
His house no longer seemed a smart option. His disappearance left her with more questions. Unwilling to go past his front door, she turned back to the drive. Was that woman still there? The one who had rammed herself repeatedly into the back of Beth’s car? Maybe she was injured and she needed help.
Approaching from the rear left Beth speechless. How was it possible that the second body was also missing? There was no evidence anywhere of where the body had gone. A blood stain had leaked into the lines of the driveway, stretching out like a black stain in the dark night and lack of light.
An ache in Beth’s chest and pain running down her left arm startled her. It came on like a lightning bolt, sharp and immediate and lingered. She couldn’t feel her fingers and she had to lean against her car. Looking inside, she winced. She clutched at the spot where the pain originated. Was she having a heart attack?
If she weren’t in so much pain, she’d struggle inside and grab keys to her car and just drive away.
What was wrong with her? She wasn’t old enough for a heart attack, was she? She wasn’t old enough for her children to die. Stumbling back to her garage, she rummaged through her medicine bag, pulling out a bottle of aspirin. Dry swallowing the white pill, she sank to the floor, staring at the still-open mandoor.
Her options had limited themselves. She couldn’t move. She couldn’t do anything. All Beth could do was hope something changed so she could close the door and lock it. The open hole would be too much temptation for anyone walking or driving by.
If the aspirin didn’t work or if some
one came in the door, she wouldn’t have to worry about finding a way to join her children.
She could very well die right there.
Chapter 13
Scott
Someone raised the blinds in his room and Scott rolled to the side, groaning. That someone wouldn’t be Cady. He’d told her the light hurt his eyes. Who was in there now?
“Oh, sorry. Is it too bright?” Bailey set a tray on the nightstand with a clunk and lowered the blinds back to their original position. “I’m not… I mean, how are you feeling?”
Scott cautiously rolled back to face her, his eyes adjusting to the previous onslaught as he focused on her. He couldn’t talk very well, but he could still try to communicate. He shook his head, motioning toward his neck and shoulders where the majority of the rash had localized his pain. Oh, what he would give if that was all that hurt.
His pain. He’d started to cling to the reminder that he was still alive. Even as unbearable as it was, he could fight it. He could take each wave between the application of the oils as they came. Except when they came when he was sleeping. They seemed to attack with a brutal savagery in the quiet of his rest with his defenses down.
Scott flicked his gaze toward the door and motioned toward Bailey. Why was she in there? Where was Cady? He didn’t need words for Bailey to get what he was saying.
She nodded, pulling out a roll-on tube and taking off the lid. “Mom… well, she’s in her room. She came down with the virus and she’s starting to get weaker and weaker. She came in here last night but that will probably be the last time.” Bailey avoided his gaze as she leaned over and carefully tugged his collar to the side. “I’m not sure how much to put on. If I roll it on, can you rub it in?”
Scott nodded, carefully. Any head movement was giving him an attack of nausea and he had nothing in his stomach to eject.
Cady had come in the night before, but the dark had hidden any red-rimming of the eyes and any other sickness signs she might have had. He was so engrossed in his own debilitating situation, he hadn’t even considered where she was at with everything.
If Cady had come down with the sickness, then he’d been in that room for roughly three days or so. That was long enough. It was time to get up and start contributing.
Bailey wouldn’t be able to take care of him and the baby, even with help from Jason.
Scott took a deep breath and opened his dry lips to try to speak. His throat cooperated but haltingly. “How… Ja-"
“He’s good. Don’t try to speak. It looks like it hurts.” She bit her lip and leaned back, grabbing the other tube of oil.
Scott narrowed his eyes. Jason was good? Bailey wasn’t telling him everything. He held up his hand before she could apply the other one and he wagged his finger at her.
She sighed, blowing the air out with a puff. “Okay, so, I’m going to vent for like a minute and then suck it back up, okay? Mom is sick and last night when she was explaining to us what could happen, she discovered that the baby is sick, too. She showed us how to apply the oils and stuff, but it felt almost like a weird goodbye? You know?” Bailey reached up and wiped tears off her cheeks with the tips of her fingers. “You were crying out last night because of the pain. I didn’t realize it hurt that badly.” She pressed her lips together, then scrunched her nose. Her next words came in a whisper. “Jason’s eyes are red. I’m not sure I can take care of everyone by myself. I’m scared, Scott. Someone is going to die because I’m not doing my job right.”
Staring at the comforter for a minute after she finished talking, Bailey then shook her head and wiped the rest of her tears from her face. She forced a brave smile. “Thanks for listening, not that you had a choice. I just… needed to be heard, I guess?” She leaned over and took advantage of Scott’s silence to apply the last coat of oils to his rash. “Okay, you can spread that around, if you can reach.”
The relief from the oils was almost immediate and he welcomed the faintly aromatic smells like flowers and corn silk.
He could lift his arms after she applied it to further rub in the oil and he winced as he realized just how pox-like his rash was becoming. In some instances, the bumps had an almost sharp point to them. There would be a point that no one would be able to touch his rash – not even himself. The oils would be useless at that point.
Did he have enough strength to get to that point? Right now, the ebbing of the pain as the relief from the oils held his sanity in place. He could count on it, but when the oils were no longer available or accessible, what then?
Bailey left and Scott leaned back on the pillow. As the pain disintegrated, he could focus and think more clearly.
He couldn’t burden Bailey any more than absolutely necessary. The vitamin C, helichrysum, and ravintsara had gotten him through a huge part of the terror the virus imparted, but they were temporary.
He had to relive Bailey’s burdens somehow. She deserved better. He’d already put more pressure on her by bringing a baby and Jason back with him. In all honesty, he hadn’t needed to come back. He should have just stayed down at his parents, taken care of them and dealt with his fate there.
He’d planned on staying at his house, recuperating at his home. Maybe he could return there. Go back to his place. After he ate, he might have enough energy or strength to walk out of the house. Maybe after a nap.
With the relief from the pain, he felt himself sink into sleep. It was inevitable and not something he even wanted to try to fight. Plus, he didn’t want to leave when everyone was up and would try to stop him.
~~~
The dark brought with it a whole new level of agony as the oils wore off. Scott grimaced as the first wave of pain drove him from his sleep.
He hadn’t been able to drink in a while and going to the bathroom had become nonessential, but he still longed for the ability to walk from bed with ease.
The pain was enough to rip a scream from him, but he shoved his face into his pillow before that could happen. He wasn’t certain on the time, but he didn’t want to wake anyone, least of all Cady, as he prepared to force himself from the house.
After he adjusted to the new level of pain, Scott threw the blankets off him and pushed his sweating body to the edge of the mattress. His head felt like it swung from a chandelier while the rest of his body was being dipped in acid. Hold it together. He had to focus.
He would never get his boots on. It just wasn’t going to happen. He looked forlornly at his boots and jeans sitting beside the chair. Who was he kidding? The pants weren’t happening either. He glanced down at his boxers and t-shirt. Fine. He could make it to his house in that. He wasn’t that far away. A few hundred yards at most. He could struggle along. He could do it.
He had to.
Pushing himself to his feet took concentration a new wave of pain was determined to shatter.
Pulling open the bedroom door may or may not have happened. Scott had to pause and gather his bearings before he could be sure.
Only having gone roughly five to ten feet, Scott wasn’t sure if his original plan was going to work. He gritted his teeth. It didn’t matter what he thought. He could do it. Go, Scott.
He pushed to the top of the stairs, wincing at the television light streaming through the door to the stairs from the living room.
Someone was up. How was he going to make it down the steps without falling head first and crashing to the ground, waking everyone?
Lowering himself to his rear, Scott scooted down one step, pushing his legs out in front of him, and then dropping quietly to the next one. He used the rail above his head to keep him from pitching forward and he chewed on his tongue to make sure he didn’t scream from the pain mounting along his back and neck.
He closed his eyes and took one step at a time until his bare feet hit the smooth, cool floor of the first level. He snapped his eyes open and searched for any possible witnesses. No one had seen him. Yet.
Pulling his body upright, Scott winced as the railing creaked.
�
�Did you hear something?” Bailey’s voice was clear and easy to hear.
Jason’s reply was less coherent and more like a mumble.
“I’ll check anyway. Just a second.” Her stable voice sounded like Cady’s with its steady cadence and motherly security.
Scott pushed himself around the corner of the stairs, hiding behind the wall separating the stairs from the front hallway. Hopefully, the lack of light on that side of the house would keep him hiding from Bailey’s search. He didn’t have to worry as she only checked the stairs and the front door, locking the deadbolt to make sure.
From back inside the living room, Bailey’s voice came cheerfully back to him. “Nothing there. We need to stop watching these scary movies.”
“Journey to the Mysterious Island is not scary.” Jason’s voice rose enough for Scott to hear.
Using the cover of their giggling and conversation, Scott made himself reach for the front door and slowly, slowly twist the deadbolt open and then turn the door knob to escape.
He closed the door behind him and just wanted to stop right there and rest. He could curl up on the deck and sleep, no one would know. The cool air soothed his neck and he leaned his head forward as if to allow it more access.
But Scott wasn’t stupid. As soon as they knew he was gone, they would start searching for him. Hopefully, he hadn’t made more work for Bailey this way. He was truly trying to alleviate the stress of having so many people to take care of. Plus, he wanted an escape plan. He needed one. Things were coming to a head and if Cady had a backup plan with her gun, he needed one as well.
Moonlight lit up the front yard and the loop of the driveway. Scott wasn’t sure how he was going to make it home. The short distance he’d traveled so far had taken more energy out of him than even the pain did.
Now, though, he had to keep his recliner in the forefront of his mind as his motivation. He could get home and fall into his favorite chair. That wouldn’t’ be so bad.
180 Days and Counting... Series Box Set books 4 - 6 Page 18