“Hey, you done?” A woman’s surprised voice pulled Margie from her panic.
She’d been so upset with her cage, she’d ignored her captor. Get rid of the captor and she could get out. Margie whirled, slamming her back against the glass. She narrowed her eyes as she took in the woman’s appearance. She had to find a weakness and fast.
A hand on her hip and a triple pierced eyebrow arched high, the cashier’s pink and green Mohawk was from a decade different than the crows’ feet beside her eyes and the sagging skin of her jowls. She was a heavy woman with one arm decorated in a complete sleeve tattoo and the other only three-quarters finished with the outline of a fish wrapping her wrist.
Pointing toward the front, the woman spoke again, flashes of silver coming from her mouth. A sign she’d pierced her tongue as well as many other pieces of metal sticking from the cartilage in her ears, her lower lip, and her nose. “You won’t want to go out there. It’s almost dark.” The woman shrugged, her expression softening. “It’s not safe after dark anymore. Something I never thought I’d say in Easton.” Her smile was kind, but unrelenting.
Margie just wanted to breathe. She needed to get back to David. He was helpless without her. She couldn’t breathe fully until she sat beside him in the car again, or had him in the store beside her. “Why did you lock me in here? I need to get out.” She waved her hand in front of her a moment. “Thank you for the warning. I have to get out there. My husband is sick. He’s in the car. Please, I need to get out to him.” Why hadn’t the woman unlocked the door yet? Didn’t she see how urgent things were?
The woman moved closer to Margie, her name tag defining her as Kelsey. The vanilla name didn’t fit the spicy exterior. She pointed at the Bug sitting at the pump. “Your man’s as good as dead, if he’s sick.” She tugged at the blue uniform shirt with the logo of the gas station on the left breast. “I pulled you in here to save you. You should have brought him with you.”
“He’s too sick. You don’t understand. I don’t care if he’s as good as dead. I need to take care of him until he dies.” Margie didn’t even try to blink back the tears streaming from her eyes. Maybe appealing to Kelsey’s humanity side was the way to get out of the store. “Were you sick?”
Kelsey shook her head, the Mohawk wobbling at the top. “Nah, I haven’t gotten it, yet. But I amp up on immunity boosters. I’ve been exposed a lot. You wouldn’t believe…” She pressed her lips into a thin line, diverting her attention back to the lot and the darkening night.
“What happens after dark?” Margie half-turned, her shoulder absorbing the chill of the glass. The sun dipped below the mountain base, but the light wasn’t completely gone. She needed to get to David. He would be cold and probably in pain. He wouldn’t understand where she’d gone.
Kelsey sighed, stepping closer to Margie. “Looters or something. I’m not sure what to call them. A gang of men come over from Cle Elum ‘bout every night, like they’re on some kind of schedule or route. They kill the people getting gas off the freeway all up and down I90. There are more people trying to get home, more than you’d think.” She studied Margie, curiosity knitting her eyebrows together. “Have you been sick?”
“Not yet.” Margie couldn’t give up. “Can I gas up and get out of here? My husband… Please…” She wasn’t going to give up, no matter how friendly the woman was or how much information she had. Being locked inside negated any good feelings Margie might have for the woman.
Regret dimmed Kelsey’s expression. “I’m saving you, trust me. They come without warning.” Kelsey reached out and patted Margie’s shoulder.
Margie jerked away. “But David…” Margie would beg Kelsey to get out there, if she needed to. She would do whatever it took. She wasn’t averse to humility.
Kelsey tightened her features. “I mean it, lady. It’s not good. I’m only allowed to stay in here because I’m like bait to them. Plus, they can’t get to us in here. If you don’t want to watch, you can rest in the back.” Kelsey’s sympathy reached her eyes and she shook her head. “I’m really sorry.”
“No. You don’t understand. I need to save my husband. I’m all he has.” Margie’s shoulders shook as she jerked from Kelsey, slapping her hand on the glass again, the panel shaking with each slam. “He can’t die alone. He just can’t.” Margie wouldn’t wish that kind of a death on anyone, especially David. Death was exactly what he was facing as the temperature dropped.
Kelsey studied Margie as if searching for some kind of a secret. After a moment, she nodded slowly and pushed her lips together. “Okay, I’ll unlock the door for ten seconds. But you need to understand that this is all on you. I might not be able to let you back in. I’ll turn on the pump, but you won’t have long. You understand me, right?” Kelsey ducked her head, her brow furrowed. She muttered something to herself as she turned from Margie toward the counter.
“Thank you, so much. I completely understand.” Margie faced the door, pressing her hands against the bar as she waited for Kelsey to reach the locking system. The grate of metal would be her signal to run out.
She stared out at the Bug, waiting for the click of the lock. Come on, come on. Hold on, David, I’m coming.
Instead of the lock sounds, the crack of a gunshot came from the direction of the Bug. David’s silhouette slumped to the side.
Pressing her hands to the window, Margie screamed, inspecting the scene to figure out what exactly had happened.
Her screams didn’t stop as she dropped slowly to her knees, but they faded as her throat strained against her disbelief. After a moment, she closed her mouth, realizing that the sound was only in her head. Her chest shook as she sobbed silently.
Her husband had killed himself. He’d left her there to do everything alone. At least when he’d been alive, even though he was a lot of work, he’d been with her – she hadn’t been alone.
David had broken her heart. She was supposed to have more time with him. What about getting back to Cady’s? What about…
He hadn’t even said goodbye.
Chapter 11
Jackson
As if he didn’t have a care in the world, Jackson finished two more laps, then pulled himself from the pool using the rungs of the ladder on the far side of the water. He roostered his chest, throwing back his shoulders and shaking water droplets from his hair.
The belligerent cowboys strode slowly around the marbled flooring, obviously familiar with the slick nature of the wet stone. Their boots clicked and slapped as they walked, the sounds closing in as Jackson rubbed the nearest towel over his hair and shoulders. He purposely kept his back to them as they approached, refusing to give in and check where they were. Judging by the sudden quiet, they were as close as they wanted to be which was too close for him.
Moving slow and relaxed, Jackson dried off his face and pulled on a robe hanging from a hook beside the hot tub. Looping the tie, he tucked his hands into the large terry cloth pockets and grinned as he turned around. He refused to be intimidated. What had they done that was as horrible and great as him? Roped a few cows? Yeah, that’s what he thought.
The first man whose eyes seemed frozen in a narrowed glare, jerked his chin toward Jackson. “You’re sure relaxed for a man in your position. Ain’t you at least a little scared of what we’re going to do to you?” His anger relented enough to allow a cruel grin to split his features. The prickly stubble on his jaw shadowed and enhanced the angles of his face.
Jackson’s shoulders pulled forward as he laughed. “Of what? I just see a bunch of dead men walking.” His drawl came out exactly like he’d always wanted. The moment was how he’d dreamed, but at the back of his mind, he’d never imagined what would happen afterward. Probably because, as he watched the men around him, his subconscious recognized the fact that he might not survive. Who would live in any situation where they called a group of angry men dead men?
One of the four who had followed the main man around the pool reached forward and tapped the leader on the shou
lder. “You gonna let him talk to you like that, Bret?” He smirked and elbowed one of the other men beside him, like he’d told the funniest joke.
Glancing back at the man, Bret cracked his knuckles. He slowly returned his gaze to Jackson. Inclining his head, he didn’t drop his hands after popping them. “You’re pretty cocky for a punching bag. What’s your name before I make it hard for you to talk?”
“Jackson.” He could take a punch. He’d taken more than that over the years when people found out he was Mexican and in the wrong neighborhood. He was Last Man Standing, though, as all the people who had ever beat on him were dying or sick or, better yet, dead.
Jackson lifted his hands and arched an eyebrow. “Take your best shots.” He was prepared to die, if he had to. His pride wouldn’t let him cower. He had never cowered. These cowpokes certainly weren’t going to make him whine like a weakling.
Something in Jackson’s expression angered the men more. Bret pulled back his fist and popped Jackson in the left cheek, turning his face to the side with the force. Jackson ignored the splitting pain, and looked back at Bret, his chin up. He hoped his features screamed Give me your best.
Subsequent blows fell upon his head, shoulders. and stomach. Jackson refused to make a sound. After he reached his physical limit, he slumped to the ground, laying on his side as the blows came slower and eventually stopped. Not a sound left him.
Jackson focused on the barely moving water feet from his face. The surface lapped at the edges, begging him to return to the peaceful depths.
The group made their way to the side of the pool, whispering and murmuring. Their voices echoed off the tile, reaching Jackson as he struggled to breathe without moving his ribs too much. Maybe they’d bruised his bones, maybe not. He had a feeling things could have been a lot worse. They seemed to tire fast which could be a sign they were infected.
“Let’s just kill him.” Bret’s voice was easiest to pick out as his syllables rang with unrelieved anger. Even after all of that, vengeance wasn’t satisfied.
“Of course, kill him. That’s your answer for everything. I’m not sure that’s the way we want to go. Let’s hold off on anything permanent. We don’t know what he knows or even why he’s here.” The man’s voice came calmly and Jackson realized his voice had been decidedly absent during the beating. Maybe the man hadn’t been involved in the beating and had only watched.
Bret’s voice became shriller. “I don’t care why he’s here or what he knows. He killed our father. What else do you need? You want him to kill one of us next?”
Jackson blinked slow, suddenly more tired than he could explain. Well, of course, bleeding from multiple blows would cause fatigue. He had to look at it from a physiological standpoint. There were things he couldn’t control. The things he could, would have to be enough for the control freak inside of him.
If Jackson could get into the chlorinated water, his wounds would be cleaned. Jackson had no doubt that the cowboys were infected. He just wasn’t sure what would happen to open wounds when exposed to the virus.
Jackson edged closer to the water. He didn’t care if they returned and continued beating him. He could withstand whatever they gave him. If they killed him, so be it. But he didn’t really think that way. He hadn’t destroyed the entire world just to die in that backwoods ranch home.
The marble was cool beneath his skin and he stopped twice before reaching the water. Carefully, he reached down to splash his face and rinse his hand. The warm water revived him and he rolled to all fours, then into a crouched position. He continued cleaning himself off, staring with irritation at the blood spots on the white robe. Even the nice things he stole couldn’t stay nice.
He stood, wiping his hands on the robe as the group started back toward him. Their decision obvious as they closed off their expressions and Bret’s mouth twisted to the side in victory.
As they got closer to Jackson, they slowed and glanced at each other, turning and pivoting as if to make sure everyone was on board with killing someone.
Unanimous decision with no doubt allowed.
It was one of the reasons Jackson had refused to work with anyone. He had made all of the decisions and no one had been able to veto him. He laughed at the concept, crossing his arms.
Bret jerked his head back. “What’s so funny? We drew your blood and you’re laughing?” He looked around at his partners in shock. “Can you believe this guy?”
Jackson sighed, shaking his head as if talking to a child. “You decided to kill me and tried to convince the rest of them to do it. Good effort and all that, but they’re not all on board with you and that’s going to come back and bite you.” He glanced at one of the men and his eyes widened as he nodded, then looked closer at Bret and his hairline. “Ah, I get it. You think beating me up will make your sickness go away. Or at least divert their attention from seeing it.” Jackson motioned toward the men behind him.
Bret’s face tightened with disbelief, his anger fading as the rest of the group broke into murmurs and worry.
“You’re sick?”
“You said you were fine.”
“Bret, what’s going on?”
“Why would you lie?”
Jackson focused his attention on the man who spoke last and laughed. He pointed at the faint pink of his cheeks. “And you’re not lying? Look at you, flushed and pale at the same time. Your eyes are red-rimmed. If you don’t have a rash yet, you will in the next few days.” Jackson looked at each man in turn as Bret turned to face them as well. Jackson continued. “I bet you all said you were okay, am I right? Wait, let me guess. Body aches, fevers, itchy spots but no rashes to pinpoint, and extreme tiredness. That’s only to name a few symptoms.” He lifted his hands palm up, inspecting each man in turn. “Am I right?”
They glanced at each other, trying to see just who was right and who wasn’t. “Why aren’t you sick?” Bret whirled, desperate to reclaim his leadership role. The other men turned their accusing gazes toward Jackson, unsure just what was going on or what they should focus on.
Jackson’s chance had been dropped into his lap and he wasn’t stupid. He’d snatch it up and laugh around the graves of his tormentors. He changed his expression from cocky to earnest, wiping at his bloody nose. “I was. I took the Cure. I’m better. It works almost immediately. But you have to use it before the pox start weeping.”
Bret’s anger turned to doubt and fear. “How do you know?” To survive the sickness was more important than holding onto vengeance.
“I’m… I’m a doctor. I don’t blame you for being mad. I put your dad out of his misery. There’s no humane way to do it. Especially at the advanced stage of his disease. His wounds were weeping extensively. I came up for a house call.” Jackson forced tears to his eyes. He hated that he even had to convince them of anything. “He begged me. I only came in here to swim because I can’t face the town. I want to forget what’s going on out there.”
As a group they nodded, as if they, too, understood what it meant to get away from the horrors all around them.
He almost had them. “I don’t blame you for wanting to kill me. I get it. I’ve faced the disease and I wanted to die. Had I been in your father’s shoes and no one had brought me the Cure, I would’ve begged for relief in whatever way I could find it. The Cure wouldn’t have helped him. He was too far along.” Jackson stared at each man until they met his gaze. “You all have time to get the Cure and avoid the same fate as your father – or worse.”
“Do you have the Cure here with you?” A nameless man turned toward Jackson as if he didn’t care what Bret’s answer was, but Bret turned to him for the answer as well.
They were all desperate to survive whatever they had, the same thing that was killing their friends, family, and neighbors. The same that had claimed their father.
Jackson shook his head. “No, but I can get it.” He would leave and never come back, if they let him leave. The temptation would be strong to get the Cure and take it back to them,
just to watch them suffer. They deserved something horrific after the beating they’d given him.
Bret laughed, shaking his head. He lifted his finger and wagged it back and forth. “Have you leave and never come back? Nice try.” He shrugged. “We’re cowboys, we’re not stupid.”
The men huddled together, leaving Jackson out of the group which was fine. He moved to the side, using his self-control to hide any sign of pain or damage. A pounding started in the back of his head. Just what he needed, a headache from the beating. He needed water and something to eat.
He dropped the robe, pulling his clothes on over his wet underwear. They’d dry. He had to get ready to escape. It didn’t matter how empty the world was of people to see his nakedness. It would never do to finish up the end of the world in his skivvies.
Too Late: an apocalyptic survival thriller (180 Days and Counting... series Book 4) Page 7