“Horseshit! You’re not dyin’! I won’t…I won’t let you!”
“Everyone has an expiration date, daughter. Everyone. Make the most of the allotted time. Be honest. Stay true to what I’ve taught you. Do what your heart knows is right. Take care of Turner. He loves you more than you know. Reminds me a lot of your dad.”
Jesse sobbed, “You taught me to never give up, and that’s exactly what I’m doin’! Listen to your own preachin’s, Mom. You’re givin’ up on yourself.”
Regina coughed and the pain tried to pull her into black oblivion. She hung on to the light surrounding her daughter’s face with all she had. “Comin’ to terms with the inevitable ain’t givin’ up, darlin’. It’s called acceptance.”
“Please, don’t leave us,” Marian begged.
Regina turned her head, noticing the woman had scooted next to her. She forced a smile to appear. “You take care of your little one, Marian.”
“I won’t listen to any more of your…oh…my…God!”
Jesse’s defiant words stuck in her throat. Regina saw her eyes go wide, fear causing her face to turn stark white. Before Regina had a chance to ask what was wrong, Jesse let go and scrambled across the floor, retrieving Shaun’s rifle.
Regina knew then what her only child was aiming at—and what sent her into a frenzy.
Summoning every last ounce of strength, Regina reached out and felt around for her weapon, praying Reed and Jesse brought it back with them. She felt the cold steel and grabbed it, trying to remember how many rounds she’d shot while in the parking lot.
It doesn’t matter. You’ll only need one.
Twisting her head, Regina’s heart fluttered.
Four monsters were closing in.
Fast.
Turning back around, time slowed, and Regina knew what she’d have to do to ensure her daughter and brother survived.
There was no way Reed, Walt, or Jane would make it to her and Jesse in time to rescue them both. She also knew her brother would try, which would just end up being the last thing he did before being ripped to shreds.
Regina Newberry Parker would not let that happen. Not while she was still able to do something to change it.
Serve.
Shaun was about seven feet from Jesse, who continued to fire at the dead.
Damn. She didn’t inherit my marksmanship skills.
“Oh, Jesus! I don’t want them to eat my baby! I can’t stand up—another contraction’s coming!” Marian screamed.
Marian and Regina exchanged glances. In that split second, both women knew exactly what the other was thinking. Marian nodded, tears running down her face. She moved closer and rested her head underneath Regina’s.
“Jesse! Shaun! Run, now!” Regina screamed. The effort made stars dance behind her eyes.
Reed and Walt were running full blast. They reached Jesse and Shaun close to the same time. Reed threw his arms around Jesse, dragging her, kicking and screaming, backward. Walt did the same with Shaun.
The sounds of Jesse and Shaun yelling to be released, the sporadic gunfire from other areas of the store, the screams of terrified people, all turned into background noise. The only sound Regina honed in on was the mewling, grumbling, growling of the dead closing in behind her.
I’m not going to miss that sound. Forgive me, Lord. Watch over them and please, let all of them make it out of here. Alive.
Marian groaned as another contraction hit.
“Hurry,” Marian begged.
With tears streaming down her face, Regina clutched her left hand with Marian’s. She stuck the barrel of the gun under the woman’s chin.
Protect.
Marian squeezed Regina’s hand.
Regina felt both their bodies shake as the first cold, dead hands latched onto their bodies, pulling chunks of flesh away.
With her last breath, unable to get her voice above a whisper, Regina said, “Run,” then leaned forward, her chin resting on top of Marian’s head, and pulled the trigger.
DARKNESS FALLS - Saturday - December 20th – 5:15 p.m.
Everett stared at his notes, a twisted grin on his face. His handwriting was atrocious, and the source of many jokes from family and friends. Carol used to tease him, saying he was in the right profession.
His fingers ached from clutching the pen for so long. He set it aside and rubbed the red, swollen knuckles. Cursing his age under his breath, Everett wished he’d remembered to pack his arthritis medication.
A dull, continuous throbbing in his temples felt like someone had their fingers pressed against his head. He’d stared at the small print of the medical books spread out in front of him for too long. When younger, things such as reading too much or writing pages and pages of notes were simple, easy tasks. Age made them just as difficult as dropping down and banging out one-hundred sit-ups.
Back stiff from sitting in the same spot, Everett stood and stretched. He needed to get his blood pumping. Porterfield and Warton had left to get a specimen hours ago, and Everett needed to be ready to work when they returned.
He left the lab and walked down the quiet hallway. Though he spent ten years of his life inside the place, being at Dr. Thomas’ residence for the better part of a year had spoiled him. Claustrophobia fought to overtake his thoughts, reminding him of the struggle the first two years he’d been underground.
“No, stop. You aren’t down here alone. This place won’t be your tomb. It’s only temporary.”
Everett’s mumbled words bounced off the concrete floors and walls, sending chills up his back at the strange way his voice echoed. He quickened his pace, hoping he’d run into Dirk or one of the other men before his fear of being alone drove him mad.
The door to the room where Susan, Diane, and all the other former addicts lost their lives, was only feet away. Everett’s mouth filled with hot saliva. Being underground, in the bowels of a mountainside, was bad enough. Knowing so many people were murdered at one time, trapped inside a place most didn’t come to willingly, made Everett nauseated.
If he believed in haunted places full of the restless ghosts of those unable to move beyond because of the way they’d died, the windowless room would certainly fit the bill.
He stopped at the door, refusing to go inside. Placing his hand on the cool metal, he said a silent prayer for them. Cyanide poisoning was a horrible way to exit the world. Remembering the conversation with Dirk months ago, after he finally convinced the man to tell him what happened inside the lab, Everett cringed. At the time, he wished the lab would have blown up, for the death experience of those poor souls would have been quicker and less painful.
He tried to imagine Daryl Riverside walking into the room, all smiles and kind words, the mop of hair flopping in his face while he handed out lunch and drinks to the unsuspecting group. Did any of them sense something was wrong? Did they pick up any negative vibes? Did any of them smell the scent of almonds as they brought drinks to noses?
Warm tears ran down Everett’s cheeks as he prayed.
“Doc? Stop it.”
Everett removed his hand from the door and raked it across his face to wipe away the wetness. “The second sign of dementia is random bouts of crying.”
“Bullshit. You’re blaming yourself for something that was never in your control.”
Turning around to face Dirk, Everett replied, “Say what you will, you won’t change my mind. Their blood is on my hands. They died, along with Dr. Flint and Thomas, from a direct result of my actions or rather, inactions. I should have watched Daryl closer, but I was too consumed by my work to pay any attention to my surroundings.”
“Aren’t you tired of singing the same martyr song? I’m certainly sick of hearing it.”
“We are two very different people, Dirk. You’ve experienced all this before. I haven’t, so forgive me for feeling sad.”
Dirk furrowed his brow. “Was that your way of saying I’m a cold bastard, unable to experience grief or sorrow? If so, you’re wrong. Dead, wrong.”<
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Everett couldn’t face the man any longer, so he turned and walked back toward the main lab. “I…no, that’s not what I meant. See? Can’t even articulate my feelings without screwing up. What I wanted to convey was I’m unaccustomed to being a party to murder.”
“Thanks for explaining. So, now I’m an emotional zombie and a killer. Nice.”
Everett threw his hands up in desperation. “Who’s the martyr now? Look, can we just forget you found me wallowing in sorrow like a lost goat, and my woefully inadequate ability to express my thoughts on the subject? I’ve got more studying to do before Porterfield and Warton return.”
Dirk followed Everett inside the lab. He walked over to the workstation where Everett left numerous medical books on the table. Picking up Essentials of Glycobiology by Nizet and Esko, Dirk’s lips moved as he read.
“Glycan-binding receptors, initial colonization, epithelial surfaces? Is this even in English?”
The humorous comment was Dirk’s way of showing he’d accepted Everett’s apology. At least, Everett hoped it was. He was still learning how to read the man. “As you mentioned earlier, I’ve got to man-up and figure out what’s going on, right? The best way to start, in my opinion, was to reacquaint myself with infectious diseases.”
Dirk handed the heavy book back to Everett. “Good thing you’re here, because if the world’s survival depended upon us grunts, we’d be toast.”
Kevin Warton lowered the binoculars and sighed.
“What is it?” Porterfield asked.
“Here. See for yourself,” Kevin responded, handing the lenses over. “Words just won’t do.”
Kevin looked down from their perch on the large set of boulders. They’d scoured the area around the cave for hours after venturing over to the smoldering remains of the jet. When they arrived, there wasn’t much left other than scorched trees, earth, and about a four-foot section of the tail. They looked around for any signs of bodies, yet found none. It was just sheer luck the machine slammed into an outcropping of shale or the entire area would be engulfed in flames.
“Jesus, this is worse than we thought,” Porterfield whispered. “The smoke is really heavy toward Little Rock and Conway. Wonder if it’s from them or us?”
Kevin chortled. “Does it really matter? Destruction is destruction, no matter if the living or dead caused it.”
Porterfield handed the binoculars back and Kevin stuffed them into his pack. “How far do you think we’ll need to travel before we find us one? Didn’t see any movement.”
“Probably because they’re too busy eating.”
“There’s a pleasant thought. And here I thought I was the one with the sick, twisted mind.”
Kevin shrugged his shoulders. “Just stating obvious facts, dude.”
Crouching down on the rock, Kevin extracted two bottles of water. He passed one to Porterfield, each taking a few sips while staring at the western sky. The sunset was magnificent, full of an array of colors.
Kevin wished it was a sign of better times to come, yet knew the desire was a waste. “It’s a shame we couldn’t find a useful body in the wreckage. Guess that would’ve been too easy. Then again, none of them may have been sick.”
“Oh, come on! Of course one of them was. Why else would they have crashed?”
“Pilot error. Equipment malfunction. Medical emergency. Pick one.”
Porterfield snorted. “Whatever. My gut tells me otherwise.”
“Your gut isn’t always right. Remember that time in Afghanistan?”
“Stop using that debacle as a weapon against me. I simply miscalculated. No harm, no foul.”
“Uh-huh. I don’t buy it, and neither did our commander. Doubt those civvies who died would, either.”
“Lay off, will you? We’ve got more important things to think about than something that happened years ago,” Porterfield whined.
“You’re right. Sorry. Let’s just enjoy this sunset. Might be the last one we see for a while.”
The conversation ended and for the next ten minutes, they watched the orange orb sink into oblivion. After the last rays of pink, blue, and yellow disappeared, a heavy sense of dread filled Kevin’s mind.
“You came down pretty hard on Dr. Berning earlier. When are you going to learn a show of might doesn’t go as far as a softer touch?”
“Jesus, Warton. How well do you know me? I’m the same person I’ve always been, just edgier since all this happened. Time for changing these old spots is over.”
“As long as you’re breathing, change is always possible.”
“Wow—when did you start reading liberal pamphlets? Make a trip to Berkley I didn’t know about?”
“I’m just suggesting you go a bit easier on the old man. He did, after all, figure out a cure for drug addiction, which no one else ever did. If anyone can solve what’s going on, I’m putting all of my money on his number.”
Porterfield laughed. “I’ll continue to let you be the soft one. Somebody’s got to play the heavy. Enough of this topic. Have you tried the radio again?”
Kevin shook his head. “Not since we came topside.”
“Try one more time,” Porterfield urged.
Reaching his hand down into the pack, Kevin felt around for the radio. He pulled it out and turned it on to channel sixteen. “Mayday, mayday, anyone copy?”
Nothing.
Kevin’s heart sank.
“Guess we really are on our own,” Porterfield mumbled. “Can’t believe the world is ending and we don’t even know why.”
“Uh, we’re still here, which means others are, too. As long as someone is still breathing, the fat lady hasn’t belted out her last tune.”
“Hippy-talk. Say, now that we’re alone, wanna tell me why you lied earlier?”
There wasn’t much light from the rising moon, yet Kevin could see the distrust in Porterfield’s eyes. “Come again?”
“Your brother-in-law? The Secret Service guy in D.C.?” Porterfield used air quotes. “You don’t have a sister, which is a requirement to have a brother-in-law. Who were you really talking to?”
Heat filled Kevin’s cheeks as he kicked himself mentally for not covering his tracks better. For years, he’d kept the secret hidden from everyone, including his parents, who died without ever knowing the truth. Given the current situation, it seemed trivial and pointless.
“It wasn’t a lie. I was talking to my brother-in-law. He was married to my brother, Kent.”
Even in the darkness, Kevin could see Porterfield’s jaw drop. “You have a gay brother?”
“Had. He died five years ago. He was an agent, too, and feared he’d lose his job if the brass found out he was gay. Jerry—that’s who I was talking to—and I remained friends after Kent passed away. I was the only connection to Kent’s family he had.”
“Nice of you to support him. Not many would. Don’t know if I could. Wait, not true. I wouldn’t be able to get past…uh…certain things.”
“To each their own. Thanks for not calling me out on it in front of the others. Guess it really doesn’t matter anymore, but old habits die hard.”
“No worries. I’ve always got your back.”
Unwilling to discuss the subject any longer, Kevin stood. “Let’s get moving. Probably should head south, toward the closest town. Trekking through these woods in the dark is going to take a while.”
“Wait,” Porterfield said, rummaging through his own pack. “Let’s take a look at what’s inside this little box before we go. Might have some intel we could use.”
“Why didn’t you tell me you found something at the crash site? We should’ve looked through this while the sun was still out!”
“Excuse me for not thinking straight,” Porterfield huffed. “Apocalypse brain fart.”
Kevin smiled. Porterfield had a wicked sense of humor. He yanked the flashlight from the clip on his belt and shined it down into the box. “So, what…seriously? That’s all? Two cigars, a crumpled piece of paper and some blow?”
“You know those flyboys—they like to party. End-of-mission rewards and probably a love note from one of their many honeys. The cigar I get—the coke I don’t. When did they stop testing pilots for drugs in the military?”
“Beats me,” Kevin said, extracting a cigar. Rolling it in his fingers, he brought it to his nose and inhaled. “Oh, this is a good one. Cuban, I think. Shall we, you know, before we head out?”
“Why not? Like the sunset, it might be the last ones we come across in a long time.”
Kevin felt around in his pack for matches. His fingers latched around the small box when he heard Porterfield snort. Shocked, Kevin glanced over and said, “You didn’t. Why?”
Rubbing his nose, Porterfield took another hit. “Why not? Waste not, want not, right? Besides, being wired will help keep me on my toes. Care to join me? It’s no fun being high alone.”
“Pft. No way. Never liked the stuff, and if Dirk finds out—oh, he’s gonna beat your ass. May I remind you we worked for a doctor whose family died because of that shit and started a project to end addiction?”
Porterfield laughed. “Wow, come on down from that lofty mountain of superiority you’re sitting on, Warton! Recall, we are living in a world full of dead people wandering around. Life could be over any minute. You’re smoking a cancer stick, so what’s the difference?”
“Nicotine won’t cloud my judgment or ability to think when confronted by one of those walking corpses. That’s the difference.”
“Pussy.”
Kevin’s anger flared. “I lost my brother to that poison, asshole. Kent used it as a crutch to deal with hiding his lifestyle from the world, and it killed him. That’s why I came onboard when Dirk approached me. You’re the pussy. Only the weak need something to help them cope with stress.”
Porterfield ignored the comment and tapped out another line. Annoyed at his stupidity, Kevin didn’t want to watch him get high, so he decided to read the note crammed inside the box. “Take it easy, fool. Don’t want you to fry those few remaining brain cells in your noggin. I’ll need help carrying back our guest, once we find one.”
Careful not to tear the thin paper, Kevin smoothed out the crinkled edges on his lap. The handwritten note was hard to read for the words looked like they’d been penned by a ten-year-old:
Tainted Reality (The Rememdium Series Book 2) Page 12