by Kate Myers
I lower my voice quieter and lean in. “He said something about a resistance? What’s he talking about?”
Keith scans the room, settles on Quinn, then Max, and then me. “It’s a long story, a really, really, long story.” He pauses for a second. “Short version is there’s a second organized group, trying to fight against the first organized group who unleashed this virus. I guess that’s what they call themselves The Resistance.”
“That’s good then, right?” I say, not understanding the apprehension lining his face.
He exhales heavily. “I just don’t know if we can trust Alex.”
36
Skylar
I doze on and off most of the night, never really feeling like I had fallen asleep. Stuck in the teeter-totter of the in-between. I dreamt of standing in front of the mirror, blonde hair down my shoulders, but at a closer look, I could see all of my teeth coming loose, one by one falling out. Another time, I dreamt Max was on a train and I was running next to it, desperate to latch on to his arm as he passed me by, each time failing. That dream seemed to play itself on repeat.
When I wasn’t battling the terrors of my subconscious, I was staring at Max in the real world. Desperately watching his chest rise and fall with each breath, making sure he was still here. Twice through the night, Quinn drifted in to check on us, taking our pulse, blood pressure, and temperature. Both times she reassured me that Max would be okay and that I should get my rest, that I would need it.
“You hungry?” She strolls into the room carrying a tray full of what smells like heaven.
My stomach growls like it’s trying to answer her itself.
“Yeah, thank you.” I smile.
“Figured you would want to eat in here and not with the stinky boys.” She puts the tray on the solid oak dresser, the first flat surface that’s decently cleared off, and brings me a plate of heaping pancakes.
“Wow,” I say in amazement. “This smells wonderful. Did you make these?”
She shakes her head. “Keith is a master pancake maker.” Quinn takes a seat opposite me and then pauses. “I didn’t ask. Do you mind?”
“What? No, of course not,” I respond, embarrassed she had to ask. The first bite of pancake sends insane amounts of happiness through me, and I suddenly feel guilty Max isn’t experiencing this, too.
“Good, thanks. I hate sitting out there with all of them. It’s so weird, ya know?”
I don’t know, actually.
“What do you mean?”
“Well, things are…strange. Alex is clearly impatient with everything that’s going on, Keith seems stuck in his tunnel vision, which involves not really keeping Alex up to date, and Wiley…poor Wiley is like a fly on the wall, just waiting for his next order. And I mean that in the nicest way possible. Wiley is so quick to do whatever is asked of him, but Alex is Alex, and Keith is Keith, and it’s just…very tense.”
“So, like,” I say between bites, “what’s the plan?”
Quinn swallows the mound of food in her mouth. “Not sure, really. Alex seems to want us to leave, and Keith,” she lowers her voice, “doesn’t seem to be buying what he’s selling.”
“Yeah, Keith is a skeptic for sure,” I say, matter-of-fact, holding on to a syrup-drenched pancake bite dangling from my fork. “What do you think?”
She shrugs. “I don’t know. I barely know any of you, but I trust Keith and Max.”
I instinctually cringe at the last word, but a lot less than I did when we first met. Maybe the fact that Max basically sacrificed himself for me makes me a bit more secure in how he feels about me.
“He should be awake soon, right?” Selfishly, I had been hopeful he would have already awoken, but I haven’t wanted to rush any progress his body could make while he was asleep.
“Yeah.” She hesitates and looks to the clock. “Sometime soon.”
“I…um, I haven’t properly thanked you,” I say anxiously. “You know, for being here. For me, and for Max. I appreciate it more than you know.”
Her cheeks redden slightly. “It’s no problem.”
“And I wanted to say I’m sorry.”
Quinn’s brows crinkle together. “What for?”
Where do I even start? I guess the beginning. “I didn’t exactly give you the warmest welcome, and I’m sorry for that. We had one hell of a few days and we all so desperately wanted to be safe. I was stressed out and emotionally drained. Max and I had been at each other’s throats the entire trip and…and he goes and jumps out of the truck to save this beautiful girl. I let my emotions get the best, or, well, worst of me.” My eyes settle onto hers, red and rimmed with tears. “I’m sorry.”
She smiles sheepishly. “You think I’m beautiful?”
I laugh. “Such a girl to be taking that from what I said.”
At this, she laughs, and then we both giggle at each other like idiots.
A moment passes, and the laughter fizzles out like an old can of Coke.
“Just for the record, he’s not exactly my type.”
She must be crazy; Max is any girl’s type. Tall but not lanky. Gorgeous brown locks falling over his to-die-for forest-green eyes. Plus, the not-so-superficial features, like his selflessness and big beautiful brain. He’s the perfect mix of his parents—Keith’s brilliance, and Maura’s kindness. Don’t get me wrong, he’s also irrational and super dumb at times, but he means well and is one hell of a catch.
“That’s impossible,” I say in disbelief.
“Trust me,” she offers with a wink, and like a switch is flipped, sadness consumes her. “I’m off the market anyway.”
“Oh, no,” I say, realizing we’re totally gossiping like friends right now. “Bad breakup?”
“You could say that,” she says painfully. Something bad happened, something really bad.
Not only can I see it, but I can feel her sorrow pouring out of her like an overflowing bucket.
“Do you want to talk about it?” I offer kindly. “You don’t have to; I just know that sometimes it helps to process if you get it somewhere other than just inside.”
A tear rolls down her slightly freckled cheek, and I ache for her, my heart breaking a little with her. “She died.”
With those two words, so many things click into place.
Not being interested in Max.
Her sadness.
Her being alone.
I cross the room and hold out my arms to her. “I’m so sorry.” I know it doesn’t matter, the words are empty and hollow, but that and my friendship are all I can really offer her right this second. Her person has been taken from her, and she’s had the will to carry on and save my life.
I owe her more than I will ever be able to repay.
37
Keith
Taking a long sip of his coffee, Alex says, “We need to talk.” The Okayest Dad Ever mug Max gave me for Christmas years ago is held firmly in his grasp.
I can’t keep avoiding him no matter how much I try. Go away. I don’t know what to tell him. I don’t trust you. I’m running out of lies and ways to stall him. What if you’re part of the problem? He seems to know a lot of information about both sides of this war, and he claims to be on the good side, but who’s to say he really is. He saved Wiley, yes—he’s proven useful to us, yes—but at what cost to him and his cause? He’s hiding something, and although I don’t know what it is, I can’t help but distrust him in the meantime.
“What’s up?” I say nonchalantly.
“I know you’re avoiding me,” he confirms. “Can we at least get on the same page?”
“Same page with what?” I say, although the whole pleading ignorance thing doesn’t suit me well and he knows it.
“Okay, let’s start with something easy. The blood sample, the mind-controlled. What did you find?”
“Well,” I say, taking a sip of my own coffee. “There were similarities between the mind-controlled sample, and Wiley and my blood. So clearly there are different strains of this virus and they�
��re somehow specific to people.”
“That’s useful.” He nods. “And Max is still an outlier?”
I swallow hard, not wanting to admit that my son’s blood does not match any of ours. That it has no connection other than the life-saving abilities it’s shown with Skylar.
“Correct.”
“Did you test it against the mind-controlled?” Annoyance and aggravation line his voice, like he’s irritated that he’s even having to follow up with these questions.
“Yes.”
“And?”
“Shows no sign of improvement. Seems that this is an isolated incident.”
At this moment, Wiley returns from an excessively long bathroom break. “Sorry, had something stuck in my tooth.” He points to his mouth and sits at the small, square dining table.
I glance at Wiley, but otherwise, we both ignore his presence during our weird standoff of a conversation. Everything I’ve told Alex has been the truth. Max’s blood really is an outlier, it really is somehow potently beneficial to Skylar’s condition, and it really does not impact the other conditions whatsoever. It’s almost like he wants me to create something that isn’t there. Give him some kind of update that says I figured it out. But I can’t. I have limited supplies and resources and I feel like I’m only being told half the story.
“We really need to plan our leave soon. The Resistance will be of more assistance in providing you a proper lab and proper help.”
“I’m not going anywhere,” I do my best to maintain my cool, even though I want to yell at him, tell him to get out of my house and never return. Thanks for your help, but see ya later.
Alex’s jaw tenses, and for just a second, I think I see Wiley flinch in my peripheral.
“That’s going to be an issue,” he counters.
I point in the direction of Max’s bedroom. “You realize my son is in there partially sedated, running a fever and housing the entire contents of Skylar’s tainted blood supply in his veins. He’s fighting for his life, and you want me to plan a little vacation to The Resistance?” I then point to Wiley. “Not to mention his niece is recovering from a whole-body blood transfusion after being barely held alive the last few weeks.”
He cuts me off and raises a hand. “I understand.”
“Do you?” I say mockingly. “Do you really? Because I don’t think you understand that my family is here, right in this house. And I will not begin to even consider leaving this cabin until everyone is on two feet.”
“We had a plan,” Alex continues.
“I don’t care about your plan, Alex. Not until I know my family is safe. Otherwise, what would be the point? You honestly expect me to just drop everything and leave with you? Listen, I’m incredibly appreciative of what you’ve done—saving Wiley and bringing him to the cabin, and the dangerous supply runs—but you expect me to trust you even though you’re hiding something from us?”
Perhaps my words striking a nerve, his whole demeanor changes, confusion settling in. “Hiding something?”
I throw my arms in the air and exclaim, “Yeah. You know we’re not stupid. I don’t know why you can’t tell us the whole story. You just conveniently know so much about The Resistance and The Reformation?” The words come out in a rush, and part of me is regretful, the other part glad I finally got it off of my chest.
“We did our research,” he explains.
I narrow my eyes on him. “Research? You’re claiming you know all of this based on research?”
“Listen, we’re on the same side. Fighting against the bad guys. The guys who have taken things and people from us.”
The way he says ‘people’ sends chills up my spine. What does he know about having people taken from him?
From the corner of my eye, Wiley catches my attention, furiously chewing on his nails. I make brief eye contact with him, and he shrugs, clearly impartial to what’s going on around him.
“I get it,” Wiley concurs. “You’re not wrong by not throwing your trust around freely. And if what Alex is saying is true, he’s not wrong for urging this process along.”
“Then what?” I petition.
“Then, I don’t know, but you’re both not wrong. I don’t think anyway,” Wiley retorts.
I can’t do this right now. I don’t have the time. Max should have been awake already, and even though this whole thing is entirely interesting, the danger that I’ve put my son in is a bit more pressing.
Alex clears his throat. “I had brought Wiley with the intention of recovering you, Sinclair. If you’re no longer of use to us, then I’ll have to take my leave without you. I’ll give you until forty-eight hours to make a decision, at which point I’ll be leaving. I do hope you make the right choice.”
Nothing like one hell of an ultimatum.
I won’t be pressured into going with him just because he wants it. Unless Max and Skylar both make some miraculous recovery, there’s no way they could handle the journey—at least not with the world the way it is now.
Calm and collected, Alex leaves the room.
Wiley’s eyes widen as he points to the absence and chuckles, “This guy?”
A smile cracks its way to my face, something Wiley always seems to manage. Even if Alex leaves, at least I have my family. Max, Wiley, Skylar, and even the newest member, Quinn. That’s all that really matters anymore, and if the world is going to crap, this is the place where we should be. We have plenty of rations, medical equipment, clean water, electricity. Without Alex, we will have one less stressor. One less bodyguard but one less person to feed.
“He knows too much,” Wiley articulates.
He catches me off guard, and when I look to his face, I see that he’s no longer speaking lightly.
It’s then that I realize that that’s not it, he would be one more person who knows about Max’s blood, and how he’s virtually the only thing known to help rid this virus. He would run straight into the arms of his group and blab to them about all of this. Max’s blood, the transfusion, the entire setup I’ve spent many years of my life building and securing. They would most definitely come for us.
I can’t let that happen.
I can’t let Alex leave.
38
Skylar
“He should be awake now, right? You said by the morning, and now it’s clearly afternoon.” I say the words and try not to panic. Ever since I opened my eyes yesterday, I’ve been in this constant state of trying not to freak out. Looking over and seeing Max with IVs trailing from him and running into my own arms, I knew something terrible was happening. His pale face laced with sweat even though I was miraculously being brought back to life.
Quinn shifts uncomfortably, doing a terrible job at hiding her worry. “Yeah, he should. But it’s possible he’s only reacting to the sedative. His body is under a lot of stress.”
“He’s going to be okay, though?” I say it like a question, even though as the words come out, they’re more like something I’m trying to will into the universe—if I just believe it hard enough, it will come true.
He can’t be gone.
“I hope so.” Quinn shrugs. “I’m going to go check in with Keith. I’ll be back shortly.”
She walks out of the room, head down, bursting at the seams with sadness. I imagine she’s feeling guilty for pushing, for prolonging this procedure when it was sucking the life out of him. The guilt heavy realizing his undoing is on her hands.
Once she’s fully exited the room, I grab on to Max’s clammy hand, pressing my lips against it and securing it firmly in my grasp.
“Hey,” I say, feeling a bit foolish. “I don’t know if you can hear me, but I want you to know I’m right here, and I’m not going anywhere.” I take a breath. “When I was in this exact place, just days ago, the one thing that kept me going was you. There were moments I didn’t think I could take any more pain, and right as I was about to give up completely, I would hear you. So, if this is in any way the same, and you can hear me, please don’t give up. Not on
ly for me, but for your dad and Quinn and Wiley, and most importantly, you. You have so much more life to live.
“Do you remember when we were—oh man, we had to have been like four and five—and we were playing tag out front and I tripped over my own two feet? Busted my face on that step, there was blood everywhere. You were so grossed out, and I couldn’t stop crying. In hindsight, it really was funny, how freaked out you were by the gash on my face and how freaked out I was that I was going to die. But no matter how you felt, you wouldn’t let go of me. You hugged me and told me everything was going to be okay and you never let go of my hand, even as your mom bandaged me up. Even at such a young age, I knew how special you were. I’ve been such an idiot.” I sniffle back the tears. “I’m sorry, Max, I’m so sorry. For everything—for pushing you away, for all of the lost years—for this, for not being able to save you when all you ever do is save me.
“I don’t deserve you, I never will, but I won’t just accept you leaving us like this. Fight, Max. Please fight, come back to us.”
Approaching footsteps startle me into reality.
“Sky,” Keith announces, striding into the room. “How are you feeling?”
“Despite the circumstances, not bad.”
“Any headaches, nausea, pain?”
“Nope, a quick shower and your pancakes seemed to do the trick.”
“Usually does.” He laughs.
His vision pans to Max, shifting his focus from one patient to the next. He places his hand against Max’s cheek and lets out a heavy breath.
“This is bad, isn’t it?”