He moved to the front of the van, pressing his free hand to the top of the engine compartment. Warm. It wasn’t hot, but there was lingering warmth on the metal. They weren’t gone that long. They couldn’t be too far. He’d give them a couple miles at the most.
Turning, Manson’s shoes scraped the blacktop. He folded his arms across his chest and studied the northern skyline. The barest tinges of the northern lights made it easier to identify where the trees were and just how far off things were.
“Where are you, Margie?” Where would they go? North of course, but what would they be doing? Sticking to the road or the sides? He wasn’t familiar enough with the area to know what was ahead. If there were neighborhoods or stores or just the woods, all of that made a difference on which way they would go and what they would do.
If Margie was as tired as Manson knew she was, she’d need a place to hole up to rest. She’d probably be tired enough to make some poor decisions and she’d drag Ryker along with her.
Manson tapped his chin and stared intently into the darkness. He couldn’t be sure what to do or where to go and that was frustrating.
The flicker of flashlight beams – two – just barely penetrated the darkness from a rise way off in the distance. Manson narrowed his eyes. Had he imagined them? He waited, breathing slowly in case his breath was fogging or he was hallucinating – both possibilities.
But no, there they were again! Easily seen and on the road, moving north. He couldn’t even see the lights clearly, it was more what they were illuminating as they swept over the road.
Margie was being dumber than he could even have hoped. Manson almost skipped his way back to the car. Being a beacon in the dark. He could handle that.
Sliding into the driver’s seat and shifting into drive, Manson smiled. He’d reach them in no time and then he’d get his revenge. Margie couldn’t live very long now, but that was okay, He’d find himself a new group. Maybe he’d keep her alive until they got to her daughter’s place. She was the only one who knew how to get there. Manson didn’t need to keep the daughter or granddaughter alive. What were a couple more kills when he was heading toward prepper heaven? Or whatever term Margie had used to describe it to Ryker.
One way or the other, Manson needed new people to lead, but he had to terminate the loose ends of the group he was in.
Admin tasks. What a pain.
Chapter 5
Buck
Hidden in the pool house at his neighbor’s place all day, Buck hadn’t been able to sleep or do much of anything except sweat. Not a normal, hard-work sweat, but a stressed out, sticky, cold sweat.
He panted and tried slowing his breathing down to a painfully slow in-and-out pace. He blew air up toward his forehead. Nothing helped. His heart pounded erratically and he wanted his adrenaline to dissipate. But he couldn’t calm down. The musty heat of the pool house didn’t help, adding to his claustrophobic anxiety the longer he was in there.
It didn’t matter what he did with his eyes – closed them, stared at the wall, stared at the floor, smashed his fists into the sockets, he couldn’t get the vision of his neighbors’ bodies floating in the pool out of his head. Every time he saw the image, his heart jumped and his throat tightened. He couldn’t get the picture of their bloated skin out of the recesses of his mind.
Buck had ducked into the pool house in case the killers were still inside or around. He just needed a safe place to breathe for a second. They wouldn’t mind. Ever again. Plus, he wasn’t planning on staying long. He just needed a safe place to gather his thoughts, make a plan.
Too much was going on though. He couldn’t get a grasp on what he needed to do to survive.
Leaving the neighborhood during the day wasn’t an option. He couldn’t bring himself to walk outside. As tired as he was, Buck couldn’t sleep to pass the time. He was hungry but scared.
Buck Scranton… scared.
Rolling to a sitting position on the futon in the pool house, Buck sighed. It would be completely dark again soon and he needed to take a leak as well as get something in his stomach.
He had literally lain there on the futon, straining his hearing for any threatening sounds all day. Without any fans on or air conditioning, the heat had gotten pretty intense, until the sun’s rays were blocked by the fence outside. That moment had been marked by a couple degree cooling and Buck had actually felt the skin around his eyes slacken.
He wasn’t stupid. He had to move. He had to get out of there to find some way to live, but he was terrified that he was going to end up wishing he hadn’t survived the virus. If he was honest with himself, he could already say he wished for that instance a few days ago.
What had he done to deserve this? He was a good guy, even if he never played one on the screen. He gave to different charities. Didn’t that count? He wasn’t brave enough to kill himself, so he would chase survival like a kid with an escaping goat. Wait, did kids like goats?
Enough whining. “Get up, Buck. Time to do something.” He didn’t have any reason to complain. He wasn’t in any different circumstances than a normal person. The virus had leveled the playing field. He still couldn’t believe it, but okay. He could deal with it. He wasn’t anyone special and for the first time since he’d become famous, he was getting what he wanted – to be normal.
After forcing himself to leave the futon, Buck faced the front door of the small cottage and took a deep breath. He nodded his head, once, twice, then three times. Reaching forward he yanked open the door and peered out into the darkening night.
Looking everywhere but directly at the pool and its contents, Buck strained to hear anyone or anything.
Nothing but the sound of wind stirring the fronds of the palm trees broke the silence.
He wasn’t going inside their house. He couldn’t. What he could do was return to his home and see what he could salvage. Most likely the looters had taken his car, or guns, or whatever else they could find which was fine. He’d resigned himself to abandoning his things but having them taken from him was something entirely different.
Maybe, just maybe, there was something he could scavenge still. He would check out the neighbors’ place, but he knew his home better and there was a greater chance he would find something that the looters had missed at his place, then at someone else’s home.
Cautiously, Buck rounded the pool, keeping his shoulder to the fence. Once he reached the gate between the two properties, he slipped through the small opening. He wasn’t going to risk creating a sound that would easily carry in the silence.
If he could get inside the garage before it was completely dark out, he’d be able to see better. Without a light, he was pretty limited. Not that he would use a flashlight when it would just showcase where he was. He shuddered, thinking of those men coming back.
Crossing the grassy space between the properties, Buck kept his head low. Half-crouched over, he still limped with pain in his knee.
At the side of his house, Buck pushed his back against the wall next to the garage door. He took a deep breath. What if the men were still inside? They could have liked his house the best and made it their headquarters or whatever groups like that did.
He closed his eyes and listened intently. Nothing that sounded remotely like another human being reached his ears. He reached carefully for the door handle and turned it, pushing through the door and almost falling over the doorjamb. His slipper sole had caught on the metal lid of the frame.
As if his body ran on autopilot, he pushed the door shut softly behind him and waited for evidence he wasn’t alone. He wasn’t sure, but the double-car garage door had been opened manually and left down about a foot.
They hadn’t touched his rig, probably unsure how to run it or get in with the driver’s side blocked with a high stack of tires and snugged up against the wall. He’d paid his valet to get as close to the wall as possible so his most recent girlfriend couldn’t take his rig out. She was a horrible driver and he didn’t want to lose his special toy.
The Range Rover was a toy Buck had bought to fit in with his brand. He didn’t rove any ranges except shopping. Well, that wasn’t completely true. He liked racing through the mountains in the winter months, but nothing like his fans thought he did. The more Buck looked back at his life, the more he realized what a fraud he’d been.
Instead of pretending to know survival skills, he should have been learning them. He could have done himself a huge favor, if he’d known a tenth of the stuff his characters had known.
Checking the cement floor where he walked, Buck sidestepped the various items that hadn’t been wanted by the looters – camping stuff, football and basketballs, a tennis racket – Buck had only gotten it because his second wife demanded it. So much stuff that he didn’t want either. What good was a football when he was hungry? He couldn’t even trade for it.
He moved to the back corner closest to the storage shelves.
A black shiny vault had been pushed over onto its side. He didn’t remember a bang and it would’ve been deafening when it landed. The vault was as heavy as a Volkswagen. Chipped paint around the dial lock and on other parts of the vault showed someone had tried getting in but had been unsuccessful. The ironic thing was there was nothing valuable inside. He’d planned on getting guns at one point, maybe starting his own collection of valuable muskets or something. But he’d never gotten around to it, plus, owning guns legally in California was harder than getting a screening.
He kicked a fallen backpack out of his way, but then stooped to look through its contents. He’d used the pack in a movie almost a year ago and, if he remembered right, he’d stashed protein bars in the bottom of it. Digging through the main compartment opening, he sighed in relief when his fingers closed around the slippery wrappings of a bar.
Pulling it from the pack, he dropped the canvas bag and tore into the wrapper. He finished the bar in three bites. Closing his eyes, he waited for the ache in his gut to subside. At least his stomach didn’t feel like it was gnawing on itself.
He bent over, twirling the dial on the vault and tossing the garbage to the side. The slight metal ticking as the tumbler clicked around and around was the only sound in the garage for a minute. He might not have used the vault, but his gardener had once asked to use it. Buck had waved him off. Maybe…
Then Buck realized his breathing wasn’t the only one in the garage. Eyes wide, he jumped from the front of the vault and scanned the dim interior of the garage. Where were they? Someone else was in there. But who was it?
And what would Buck have to do to stay alive?
Chapter 6
Bailey
Bailey scratched at her neck again. Thankfully, she’d cut her nails off when she started taking care of Jessica so she would scratch her. Rubbing at her skin with the tips of her fingers was almost painful while also relieving.
She didn’t know why, but the itch was almost like a burn. She probably had hives. There was so much stress surrounding them, covering them like tar. She wasn’t sure what was wrong with her mom, but it would make sense Bailey was overly stressed since they were on the run. And they weren’t even sure what they were running from. Just plain fear pushed them forward.
No one seemed to follow them up the wrong way ramp of the highway. All of the red signs screamed they were going the wrong way, adding a tinge of overkill to the already traumatic situation.
Mrs. Turley, Bailey’s English literature teacher, had often talked about dramatic overkill. If they were in a book or in a movie, Bailey would have to comment that the red and white reflective signs in the headlight beams that Cady had turned on, were unnecessary at that point.
Of course, they were going the wrong way. But not only literally was it the wrong side of the highway, but in a figurative sense, they could have easily made a bad decision in leaving their home. What if they were supposed to stay there? What if their home was the safest place for them to be? They didn’t know what the route to her grandma’s would bring. Just thinking about it left her stomach tight.
Forget the men shooting at Bailey and Cady as the women thundered from the drive. What if they hadn’t run? What if they’d turned and fought to keep their place?
Bailey and Cady had guns and they were good shots. Maybe they could have protected the house. Maybe not. But they could’ve tried. If nothing else, they should’ve tried.
If it was Bailey’s choice, they would’ve tried instead of run away.
She cuddled Jessica, grateful that both her mom and Scott hadn’t put up too much of a fight about Bailey taking the baby with them. After everything she’d lost so far, she wasn’t sure she could lose the sweet innocence of Jessica’s presence. She’d do whatever she could do protect the baby, but she had a feeling she needed Jessica more than Jessica even needed her.
They’d only been driving twenty minutes when her mom crossed onto the right side of the highway using the intersection at Williams Road. No cross traffic which Bailey didn’t know was a good thing or not. At least they were on the right side of the road and things felt somewhat normal. Something about driving on the right side of the road released some of the tension in the cab.
Bailey just wanted to get somewhere to rest. She was tired and wanted to be safe. She wanted everyone to be safe.
Jessica fussed, pushing her fist against her mouth, her eyes still closed. Bailey reached into the bag she’d shoved by her feet and pulled out a bottle, slipping the nipple into the baby’s mouth. The gentle sucking sound filled the cab and Bailey could almost imagine things were normal.
Almost.
If the virus hadn’t spread, she wouldn’t have a baby at her age; they wouldn’t be driving like the hounds of hell were chasing them; and Bailey’s nerves wouldn’t be strung tight enough to strum. No, if things were normal... All that aside, and maybe she could feel like things were normal – for just a minute.
“Dad would’ve hated all of this.” Bailey lifted her gaze to stare out the windshield. They never talked about Dad and his death. Or any of the deaths they’d experienced. They didn’t talk about much of anything.
Bailey needed to. She needed to talk about the things they’d witnessed. Her mom was too quiet, too accepting of things. Bailey wasn’t like that. She couldn’t be. Not when she wasn’t sure what exactly had happened and why. If nothing else, she needed to talk about her dad, bring his memory back. Everything else was too scary to bring up.
Cady laughed drily. “Your dad would have been fine with it, if we were going hunting or fishing. Everything else, you’re right, he would’ve hated. He wasn’t the best under pressure.” Bailey’s mom’s grip on the steering wheel seemed to tighten, as if she were trying to wring moisture from the metal curve.
“Mom? Why is this all happening? I’m so confused.” Bailey hated admitting that she didn’t know something, but her confusion was scarier and worse than humbling herself to ask. Her mom was smart. She had to have more of an answer than Bailey had.
Cady didn’t reply for a minute as she continued staring over the steering wheel. When she did, her words were measured as if she were trying to repeat a recipe. “I’m not sure. I do know that one man, Jackson, hated people for reasons that never made sense to me. We had a lot of the same ideas about things – too many people in the world, too much pollution, too much waste, but never did I want people to die. Now, Jackson is dead and we have a virus still out there and people who have died from the virus or from the ointment he sent out as a cure. I don’t know… why.” She muttered the last part to herself like Bailey was a nuisance for asking.
Cady’s answer was uniquely unsatisfying – both in the emotionless delivery as well as the lack of information she gave Bailey. Bailey knew all of that already. She understood that technically it wasn’t her mom’s fault. She didn’t blame her mom.
What she wanted to know had nothing to do with the start of the virus or the man behind it. Bailey tried to reign in her frustration, but nothing was simple. “No. I mean, why is this happening? We d
id everything right. Why couldn’t our house be safe enough to stay there? Why did we have to, oh, I don’t know. I’m not even sure what I’m asking.” She shook her head, pulling the bottle from the sleeping baby’s lips. Jessica left her mouth open, a little bit of milk pooling to the side of her lips. Bailey smiled. As long as she was fed and taken care of, Jessica didn’t let the stress affect her.
“Are you wondering why us?” Her mom glanced at Bailey then back ahead to the road. “I’ve thought the same thing, but I keep coming back to ‘why not us?’ Why should we be so lucky when the rest of the world is dealing with the same thing? We at least have more answers than most people. We know how to treat the virus.” Did she really feel that way? Or was she just thinking with her analytical side? Bailey was never sure.
“Yeah, but we don’t have to worry about the virus anymore. So that’s useless information.” Bailey reached up and rubbed her neck. At least they had that going for them. Information they didn’t need. Great.
“Well, about that…” Cady took a deep breath, a tremor in her voice sending a shiver of trepidation through Bailey’s chest. Cady cleared her throat. “Jackson… he had the rash from the sickness. He took the only other vaccine and he got the virus.”
Her words worked themselves through Bailey’s mind, slicing and cutting up the logic of the last few weeks that she had left. Jackson had gotten the virus. He’d gotten sick, even though he’d had the vaccine.
Flashes of how Jason had been when he’d been sick crossed Bailey’s mind. The black stuff coming from his nose and mouth, the feral gleam in his eyes as he’d chased after Bailey and Jessica. The way he didn’t care that he’d been shot as he’d come determinedly toward them on the roof.
No. Just no.
Panicked, Bailey reached up and clutched at her chest. Because what her mom wasn’t saying was that Jackson hadn’t been the only one to take the vaccine – Bailey had as well. If Jackson had gotten the vaccine and he’d gotten sick, then Bailey would most likely get sick.
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