He had to stay inside. No matter what.
Unplugging the TV, Jackson kicked off his boots and jeans. He shoved them under the bed and then climbed between the poplin sheets. He couldn’t get warm. Did he take a shower? No, he couldn’t remember if water exacerbated the problem or not.
Why hadn’t he researched the second phase more? He’d been so cocky in his vaccine, so confident that he wouldn’t touch the Cure or come in contact with it, that he hadn’t studied it more.
The bed faced the television set up above where the dresser had been. Staring at the blank screen, Jackson waited. There was a faint tingling in his skin where he’d made contact, but that just confirmed he’d absorbed the drug.
If he survived the attack of CJ180d Part B on his system, he’d be stronger for the next time. If… He had to change his outlook. There wouldn’t be a next time. He would survive the ointment. So, when he survived Part B, he would be stronger, but there wouldn’t be a next time.
He wouldn’t be that stupid again.
Lifting his gaze from the empty space where the dresser had been, Jackson blinked at the sudden image of Dr. Phil speaking directly to him on the screen. “If isn’t a strong way to head into the future. You need to believe, make the decision, it isn’t hard to do something when you use strong active language.” He tilted his large Texan bald head toward Jackson. He did the high arch with his eyebrows as if Jackson was looking for a father-figure.
Jackson shook his head. “You’re not real. I unplugged the television. I know you’re not real.” He scoffed as he shifted on the mattress. A fine sweat broke out on his skin as the tingling spread out from his hand to his shoulders. Was he hungry? Should he eat? Dr. Phil kept pulling his focus from what he should be doing. The TV personality looked him up and down in the same manner Jackson’s father used to.
“If I’m not real, then why are you talking to me?” Wrinkles appeared on the doctor’s forehead as he raised his eyebrows impossibly high. “There’s more at work here, than just hating the population. You need to look inside yourself to find peace.”
“I’m not looking for peace. I’m looking for justice.” An itching pain started along the back of his spine, spreading outward. Jackson held his breath as the pain increased.
If… no, when he survived the urtica ferox, he would know he could survive anything. Wait, had he already thought… wait… what…
He ignored Doctor Phil laughing on the screen. “It’s not looking good, Juan. It’s not looking good.”
Chapter 21
Scott
Scott shifted on his feet at the doorway to the living room. He’d been in her house so many times, he knew his way around like it was his own home – which in a way, it was now.
He didn’t want to go into the living room and interrupt the tender moment. Cady, Jason, and Bailey were huddled around Baby Jessica and talking about Stephanie, Jessica’s mother, like she was still alive. Jason told stories about what they would do at family gatherings like Fourth of July.
Jason reached up and rubbed the top of the baby’s head. “Aunt Stephanie one time told Grandma that since chocolate came from plants, it should be considered salad. Grandpa overheard and decided to give Stephanie a chocolate meal every meal time the next day. He got Grandma to agree to it. They did chocolate gravy, white chocolate potatoes, chocolate cake, chocolate pudding, they did so much chocolate.” He grinned wistfully. “Aunt Stephanie ate it, but then refused chocolate the next month. I wish I could’ve seen it. Grandpa tells… told me that story a lot.”
“I’m sorry about your grandparents, Jason. They sound like amazing people. What about your dad?” Cady’s soft voice reached Scott and he felt as if she was talking to him. He hadn’t mentioned Jason’s parents to him. Scott wasn’t sure what had happened to his brother and he didn’t want to guess. He’d avoided the topic like he was avoiding that room.
Jason reached up and pushed at his hair. “I’m not sure. I can’t figure out how to check on them. There are so many places they could be.” He ducked his head. “My mom would love her new niece.”
Sadness set in with unbeatable determination. Scott most likely wouldn’t be alive to see his niece and his nephew get any older. He wouldn’t be able to tell them even more crazy stories of their parents and all the great things their grandparents had done and been. The chocolate story was only the tip of the iceberg. The more he thought about it, the more he wanted to tell them.
Cady glanced up, catching Scott in the corner of her eye. “Scott, come join us.” She patted the couch beside her and furrowed her brow. Did she suspect how he was feeling? Was that concern in her eyes because she saw how weak he was getting?
Scott couldn’t have her thinking he was less of a man. He shook his head, wishing he could tell her everything rushing through him. He cared more than he could ever tell her, more than he would have a chance to tell her. “I think I’m going to get some rest. Thank you… for everything.” Would she understand the emotion he was trying to push through his gaze? He waved limply at them.
She nodded slowly as if worried to let him leave. Jason said something, snagging Cady’s attention and she turned to him, smiling and looking back at the baby.
Using the hand railings along the left side of the wide stairs, Scott climbed each step deliberately, careful not to drag his feet. He wanted to fall to all fours and crawl the rest of the way, but he forced himself to stay on two legs and at least partially upright. He had to make it to the room.
Cady had set him up in the guest room just by her own room, at the top of the stairs. He didn’t have far to go, but the more steps he climbed, the further the top seemed. He paused halfway through the flight and stared down at his feet. Okay, one step at a time. Instead of looking up, he trained his gaze on the step in front of him, then the next, then the next.
Once he got to the top, he jerked himself forward, grabbing onto the doorjamb to use it as a support. Scott was almost there. He could sit on the bed and rest, let the past week wash away or catch up to him. He didn’t have to worry for a bit. Cady had all but given him permission to check out so he could get better.
He’d heard the worry in her voice as she’d talked to her friend on the phone. Her concern sparked even more fear in him. He closed his eyes and straightened. He could make it to the bed. He could do it. He had to have faith that everything would work out. He didn’t have any other options.
Lurching forward, he closed the door behind him and stumbled to the bedside, sinking onto the soft mattress with a weary sigh.
Sitting on the side of the bed, he hung his head. He should brush his teeth, take a shower, but he didn’t have the energy those acts would require. How was he going to get better? He needed a plan.
What would be the smartest way to approach the illness? Killing himself? Or sticking it out and hope there was a miracle?
Scott didn’t have a lot of options. He couldn’t traumatize his nephew any more than he’d already been affected – both his death and the sickness would accomplish that. Plus, he selfishly wanted to see just how much time he could get with Cady. She had feelings for him. He knew it. She’d admitted to it. He just needed more time to prove it.
If he rested, actually slept and took the time to heal, he might have a shot. There were no reports of survivors because so many people were using the Cure instead of letting themselves work through the sickness. Traditional medicine might not work.
He’d done the research on chickenpox after Cady had told him what she suspected the relationship was between the two. Maybe the essential oil helichrysum would work. Cady usually used it plus ravintsara on her shingles when she got them. She always sang their praises.
Scott would have to ask her the next morning. Really, anything else besides falling onto the pillow was more than he had the energy for.
If there was an attack on the house right then, he would be worthless. He unbuttoned his pants and lay back on the bed, wiggling out of the denim with small bursts of en
ergy. Somehow he got his pants off and folded and resting on his boots, but he’d never be able to remember how.
If he could just get some sleep, grab some rest, he’d be better. He could fix anything with rest. Lights flashed across his vision when he closed his eyes. Maybe he’d stare at the wall a while. He climbed between the sheets, grateful for their cooling warmth. He stretched out, wincing as his joints stretched and moved.
If the pain was already working its way from his joints outward, he had to expect more pain would attack his muscles.
What exactly had he come down with?
Chapter 22
Cady
Cady tucked Jessica into the hospital-issued basinet and set the plastic portable sleeping box onto the corner of her own bed. With the large size of her bed, her room was the best option for Jessica to stay, at least for a little while longer. Cady would take the baby while she was able to and hopefully she could help Jason and Bailey learn what they needed to in all aspects of running the homestead and not just in how to take care of a baby.
Scott had left them earlier than they had been ready for bed. Jason and Bailey picked a movie from the stack against the wall after laughing over the huge selection and talking more about Jason’s family. Jason’s family was Scott’s family and Cady found herself interested in knowing more about how he was raised and grew up.
The red to his eyes had spread, creating a shadowed look to his features. Cady was worried about him. He was deteriorating fast. Cady hoped it wasn’t evidence that the virus would eat its way through her just as fast. She couldn’t help Scott, or Jason, or Bailey, if she was incapacitated with the virus.
Washing her hands and face in the bathroom, Cady glared distractedly at the soap sitting in the small glass soap dish.
The physiology behind the virus was confusing. If it really was varicella, then there shouldn’t be such a high mortality rate. Thanks to Jackson’s second phase of the plan, there was no real way to see who had survived the illness, because most of the people had died from the ointment. Or they had died from the virus. Chickenpox was known to be harder on adults than children. In fact, children could contract chickenpox multiple times over their growing up years and be just fine.
Adults, however, had a higher chance of sterility and death, if they contracted it in their post-adolescent years.
If she’d known Rachel was back at her house, Cady would have called her at the very least. She could have warned her to stay away from the Cure. If nothing else, Cady could have gotten information from Rachel on the state of the children. Seen if they would survive it.
Looking at Beth’s children, though, S.J. was dead and she hadn’t given him the cure. He was an older teen, but he wasn’t an adult yet.
She knelt by the side of the bathtub, confused by everything that was going on. Keeping everything straight was getting hard. What did she need to help her figure out exactly what was going on and how to beat it?
Paper. And a pencil. That’s it. She could figure it out, if she could make her lists. Back downstairs, Cady peeked in the living room, smiling at the sight of Jason sleeping on one of the couch while Bailey watched the movie they’d chosen on the other. They were good kids. They wouldn’t do anything they weren’t supposed to. Cady had to learn to trust others.
In her office, she grabbed some notebooks and pencils, checking the phone for any other calls. Nothing. She would have to go another night not knowing where her parents were or if they were okay.
Back up in her room, she sat on the side of the bed and took notes on everything she could.
Everything was fuzzy. She had no idea what was killing who, but Rachel had been in so much pain she’d opted to die. Well, that wasn’t completely true. She’d killed herself because of more than just the pain of the sickness.
Cady had no idea just what the possibilities were that someone could survive the virus. She had no idea what the end symptoms were. But as she mapped what she knew, things became clearer, even if the treatment wasn’t.
The only definitive answer she could come up with was that the pain became so severe, the victims were desperate to escape it, desperate to do anything to stop it. Would she need her gun for her? Was that the way she would take it?
What about Scott? Was his pain debilitating yet? It was only a matter of time with the disease. Cady knew that. Scott knew that.
She had to check on him. She had to see for herself that he was okay, at least for the night. Opening her bedroom door, she crossed the few feet to his door and pushed the panel open, knocking softly as she entered. “Scott?”
The blinds had been closed. Scott had burrowed deep under the blankets she kept on the queen-sized bed. He sprawled across the center of the mattress. Thankfully, Cady had put the room in for when her parents visited. Scott’s jeans had been folded carefully and set on the wing-backed chair beside the bed as if he wasn’t sure where to put it. The edge of the pants hung off the seat with a lopsided look.
Cady shifted the pants further back on the chair and dragged it closer to the bed. She sat, folding her hands as she stared at him. The strong features of his face were pale and she longed to have the right to reach up and push his hair off his forehead.
She’d protected Bailey, but she’d failed to protect her mom and dad, her close friend, her sister-like friend, her neighbors, and so many other people. Scott was there, in her home, because she’d failed to warn anyone. He was sick. He’d lost his parents, his brothers, his sister, so many people.
Cady leaned forward, resting her forehead on her clasped hands. Her tears were silent and hot as they streaked down her cheeks. Did she deserve the chance to pray for forgiveness for things that in hindsight she should’ve done differently? She’d never looked closely at the probability of a God or other being out there, but as the world crashed down around her, she couldn’t deny that she longed for the comfort of something out there, something to put more faith into than the science that had turned its back on her.
After a moment, warm fingers wrapped around one of her hands. “Cady…” His voice rasped like gravel scraping together.
She looked up, wrapping her hand around his. Her tears didn’t stop flowing, even as she sniffed. Guilt weighed her down, and she couldn’t control the sob that broke free. “Scott, I…”
He seemed to summon some kind of strength from a preserve he hid deep inside. “Sh. Let me talk. I’ve been wanting to tell you for a while now, but this apocalypse drama keeps getting in the way.” His grin was wry and tired, like he was just trying to force humor into his eyes but he was failing. “I’m falling… No… I mean, I’ve fallen for you a long time ago. I’ve just always waited for the right time to tell you, plus, you know, your husband… and now, just when the chance actually arrives, I’m going to die through the right time. This is going to have to be the right time. I think I’m babbling.” He shifted his gaze to a spot above her head and licked his lips.
“You are babbling, but it’s sweet.” Cady’s eyes hurt from crying so much over the last few days and weeks. There had to be a limit for how much crying was survivable. She could see losing herself to dehydration than anything else. “No. We don’t want to end up sick and dying and confessing our feelings. That’s so cliché. We’re not cliché, okay?” Cady tried matching his attempts at humor, but she fell flatter than his attempts did and that scared her. She wasn’t sure what was going to happen and her lack of knowledge left her with a sinking fear deep in her gut.
“Say you care about me.” His whisper was more demanding than any shout could be.
Cady nodded, blinking back more tears. “Of course, I do. There’s no question. But if you die on me? I’ll never forgive you.” She shook her head, biting her bottom lip and narrowing her eyes.
He chuckled. “I promise. I won’t die.” He weakly squeezed her hand as his breathing grew more ragged.
“Look at you, making promises you can’t keep.” Cady sniffed, already feeling mad at him for breaking his promise. Beca
use he would die. She didn’t see any other way out of his fate.
Or any way out of hers.
“You’ll see. Just wait and see.” Scott released her fingers and sighed, turning his face away from her. He moved his legs, moaning at something only he felt.
Cady studied him, nodding after a moment. She stood, leaving him to his rest.
As Cady climbed into her own bed, careful not to jostle Jessica, she didn’t hear the answering machine click on in the kitchen all the way downstairs.
“Cady, it’s Mom. Shingles. It has something to do with shingles. I’m alive. I’ll try calling again tomorrow night… if we haven’t left by then. If you have the virus, or you’re getting it, try all of your treatments for shingles. I need to find some oils. Do whatever you can to stay alive. I’ll get to you. I love you.” The machine clicked when Margie hung up.
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Too Late: an apocalyptic survival thriller (180 Days and Counting... series Book 4) Page 12