Grace Lost
M. Lauryl Lewis
Copyright 2012
M. Lauryl Lewis
Published 11-17-2012 by M. Lauryl Lewis
All rights reserved by M. Lauryl Lewis. This work may not be reproduced without direct author/publisher permission.
Cover Image Copyright Andreas Gradin 2013
Used under license from Shutterstock.com
Dedication
This work is dedicated to my husband Peter and our three sons, Henrik, Oskar, and Larson. You showed great patience (most of the time!) when I spent hours writing, editing, and dreaming about this novel. You seldom complained about dirty dishes or laundry piling up. Grace Lost is for you.
My humble thanks to my test readers, Amanda and Timothy. You cheered me on and lifted me up too many times to count! Many thanks to my wonderful cousin Donna for hours of editing help!
PROLOGUE
The fine blue mist was impossible to see falling from the night sky. It coated everything in its path: houses, cars, toys left in yards by children, the ground. By sunrise, it would be impossible to detect. The veil of toxic substance was thin, but it was enough to do the harm for which it was intended. Anyone unlucky enough to be outside at the time of contamination would die. The airplanes that flew that night would be some of the last to ever fly.
The darkness of night would give way to morning light, as it always had. People would awake in search of a lazy weekend breakfast. Mothers would begin preparing children for a day of play. Dogs would whine to go outside. The dead would rise. God’s Grace would be lost.
Chapter 1
The sun was rising over the Cascades, painting the horizon in hues of pink and orange. As a child, my father had always told me that a morning this color hints of a storm to come. With the heat of late summer leftover from the day before, and the sound of birds welcoming the new one, I refused to believe the perfection of such a day might be ruined. My lifelong friend, Adam Boggs, was home from college for the summer and we had agreed to spend time with each other. We had grown up together, our parents being close friends and neighbors. Boggs was three years my senior and used to watch over me like a big brother. When he left our home town of Silvana to go to school across the state I had felt utterly lost and alone. We wrote to each other for months until his letters slowed and eventually stopped. He had been painfully absent during the worst event of my life, the unexpected deaths of my sister and our parents, as well as my last two years of high school.
He had written to me earlier in the month letting me know he would be in town and wanted to see me. I had mixed emotions, but agreed to spend a weekend with him. My life was fairly boring so I didn’t have an excuse to stay away. I had graduated from high school just two years before and was still living off what my parents had left me in their will. I didn’t have a job, but spent much of my time volunteering with kids on the local Indian Reservation. My father was from a nearby American Indian tribe and had given much of his heart to the children there. Continuing his cause helped me to cope with the emptiness in my life.
Boggs and I now sat on the porch of an old cabin in the woods, long ago abandoned. It was a place we had spent many hours talking and playing cards. The small one-room cottage had been void of furniture and full of dust when we first happened upon it as children. At some point in our teenage years, we had added an old two-seat wicker sofa and a folding table and chairs. We had spent hours here sharing our hopes and dreams and making up stories about who had once lived there. Every summer we’d spend at least one night a week at the cabin, building a fire in the old stone fireplace and roasting marshmallows or hotdogs. Sleeping on the cold wooden floor was miserable, and we always managed to wake in time to watch the sun rise. It had been a sanctuary when life had been harsh. It seemed fitting now that it be a place of healing for our friendship.
The wood bench we sat upon was familiar, smoothed with age and bleached by the sun. We hadn’t engaged in more than small talk the night before. Instead we had sat around the old fireplace drinking beer, our grown-up version of s’mores.
“It’s good to be back here, Zoe. I’ve missed this more than I can say.”
I smiled softly at him. “Me too, Boggs. I’m not sure it will ever feel the same as it used to, though. Remember when we were kids?”
My once best friend looked at me with his pale blue eyes. His shaggy hair was dark brown, almost black, and always had two or three loose curls out of place. I used to brush them aside without giving it a second thought, but now that felt wrong. I must have pouted a bit, because he sighed and stood up.
“Zoe, we’re not kids anymore. Life’s complicated.” He took a deep breath and shoved his hands into the large pocket on the front of his black hoodie. I drew my knees up to my chest and wrapped my arms around them. At five-foot-two I’m not big, but I was feeling even smaller at the moment. “There’s stuff that’s happened. Things are just…different…now,” he continued.
“Stuff you can’t tell me about? We used to be best friends, Boggs. What did I do to make you so distant?” I was still hugging my legs, and had the start of tears welling in my eyes. Boggs came back to the bench, hands still in his hoodie, and sat down beside me. He took a deep breath, took a hand out of his pocket and placed it around my own. His hand was rough and warm, and much larger than mine. His touch reminded me of the closeness we used to share and sadness filled my heart.
“You didn’t do anything, Zoe.”
“Then what?” I used my sleeve to dab at my eyes.
Boggs looked down at his lap, and seemed thoughtful for several moments. “Last year at college I met someone. Her name was Susan. Is Susan. She’s the friend of a friend and I was drinking one night.” He stopped talking, let go of my hand, and stood again. Facing away from me, he continued. “She got pregnant, Zo.” He took a deep breath and hung his head.
I sat quietly waiting for him to continue. I wasn’t sure what to say.
He stuffed his hands back into his sweatshirt pocket. I could tell he was crying. I stood and walked to him, and laced my hands around his arm. He looked at me briefly, sniffling. “She told me about it a week after she had an abortion. I didn’t love her. I didn’t even really know her.” He looked at me, this time meeting my brown eyes with his blue. My hair and skin were pale like my mom’s, but I had my dad’s dark eyes. “It messed me up pretty bad, Zoe. There’s no going back to being kids. Being carefree. I haven’t told anyone about this. It’s too hard to talk about. And I never wanted you to be disappointed in me.”
I wrapped my arms around him and whispered near his ear “I’m sorry, Boggs.” I could feel his tears on my neck. He smelled like the woods and the fire we had built last night. He had always talked about wanting kids one day. Boggs was a sensitive guy despite his rugged looks. We stood there for several moments in an embrace between friends. A breeze picked up and we both smelled it at the same time. The offensive and unmistakable stench of death. We looked at each other curiously, and the moment was interrupted by the sound of a twig snapping. Our heads both turned in unison toward old Mr. Anderson, the owner of Silvana Farm and Feed. Mr. Anderson had been in a fatal car accident four days prior and was due to be buried over the coming weekend. It was the biggest news in our small hometown, the accident being caused by drunken teenagers who fled the scene and were caught the next day. He was the shade of gray only death can clasp in its icy grip, his brown twill funeral suit falling forward from its false backside. He seemed to be looking in our general direction with clouded, unblinking eyes as his body swayed unnaturally. His left arm hung limply at his side. He had congealed blood dripping from his slack jaw and with each shambling step an inhuman moan escaped from his ches
t. In his right hand he held what looked like medium length blonde hair laden with bits of earth, leaves and blood. He was at the tree line that surrounded the cabin and moving toward the porch upon which we stood.
I felt goose bumps spread along my arms and up my neck while Boggs instinctively tightened an arm around my waist. “Mr. Anderson?” I called in a disbelieving and hushed tone, not yet fully realizing that the impossible was before us. Boggs took his arm from my waist and gripped my hand, starting to pull me inside the dilapidated cabin. “Mr. Ander…” My voice broke off.
“Shhhh, Zoe,” whispered Boggs. “Don’t make a sound!”
The dead man reacted to Boggs’ voice with a terrifying scream. I was pulled the rest of the way into the little cabin. Once we were both inside, Boggs closed the door and leaned against it, looking tousled and panicked. We looked at each other, wide-eyed. We could hear Mr. Anderson’s clumsy footfalls approaching the cabin as he walked through the tall dried grasses and weeds that were long ago a manicured lawn. His awkward screams had turned to moans of desperation.
“Boggs?” I whispered. “That was Mr. Anderson, right?” I asked, still not fully understanding the gravity of the situation. I could hear Boggs taking shallow breaths, as well as the sounds of the dead man approaching. “Is this some kind of joke? He’s dead,” I whispered.
Boggs leaned close to me, holding my shoulders in his strong but trembling hands. “I know Zoe. I’m not sure what’s going on but we need to get the fuck out of here,” he said very quietly. He looked at me for some sign of understanding and I nodded quickly. The insulting smell of death invaded the room in which we stood, stinging our noses. “Grab your backpack and let’s go out the back,” he urged. Again I nodded.
Mr. Anderson was on the porch now. We could hear the sound of his feet dragging across the creaky old boards as he got closer to the entry. Knowing there was no lock on the old weathered door, Boggs dragged the wicker sofa over and blocked the entryway. The noise seemed to agitate the old man, who began scratching and thumping against the door. The light-weight sofa was no match, and the door began to open inward. “Now, Zoe! Out the back window,” shouted Boggs as he began to drag me by my shirt sleeve. One of the only windows in the cabin faced west. Glass panes were long since broken and curtains hung in tatters. Boggs took my pack and tossed it outside, sneaking his head out to glance around. “Go, now, and run for the woods. I’ll be right behind you!” As I sat on the sill and swung my legs out in one fluid motion, I felt Boggs push hard on my back in encouragement as I dropped the few feet to the ground and rolled to the side. My hip ached from the impact, but I ignored the pain and forced myself to stand. I grabbed my pack as Boggs landed beside me, and began to run. I could hear Mr. Anderson’s moans begin to fade and focused on the rhythmic sound of our feet running through the forest.
Out of breath and my side aching, I slowed once we were deep into the woods. I knew Boggs was running slower than he could the whole time, making sure to stay at my side. Coming to a stop to catch my breath, I reached down to touch my shoes and stretch. After a pause, I looked up at my friend and swallowed hard. “Sorry.” I tried to slow my breathing so I could speak. “I had to stop.”
He nodded his head, not fighting for air as hard as I was, and answered “It’s ok. We have to keep moving, though.”
I nodded in agreement.
“Home’s only about a mile or so south of here. I think we should try for it. I’m not sure if he’s following us, but we better get moving. My place will be closer than yours. I left my cell phone at home since there’s no reception out here anyway. Let’s just get there and call for help.”
I trusted Boggs and nodded again. “Your place then,” I said, looking him in the eyes.
“Think you can run it, kid?” His old annoying nickname for me. Right now I took comfort in it.
“Faster than you, Boggs,” I joked in a strained voice. Neither of us smiled, but instead just looked at one another in a moment of understanding.
“Give me your pack? I’ll carry it.”
I handed the backpack to my friend, and we set out with a renewed sense of urgency to reach safety.
Ferns, vine maples, and huckleberry bushes blurred by us as we ran. I could hear my pulse in my ears and did my best to keep my composure. Fight or flight came to mind and I knew now was the time to flee. Eventually, we came to a lazy creek. We slowed as we approached the water, and looked at each other as we smelled death once again. It seemed stronger here, and we both had troubled looks on our faces. “Boggs?” I said quietly. He put his finger to his mouth. Things around us seemed unusually silent. I realized even the nearby Interstate was quiet. All we could hear now was our own breathing and the gently flowing water of the stream.
Boggs held his hand out signaling me to stay still as he crept forward toward a large fallen tree. He eventually motioned for me to join him. I obeyed, crawling on all fours to crouch beside him behind the log. The ground here was wet, the moss forming a soggy blanket. We watched the back side of the neighborhood with which we were both familiar. There were only eleven homes in all, including both of ours. His was closest, backing up to the greenbelt where we now hid. We saw no movement, nothing suspicious. I felt Boggs’ warm breath on my cheek as he whispered to me. He still smelled faintly of the beer we drank last night.
“We need to stay quiet, Zo.”
“I know.”
“Let me walk ahead of you. I’m going to head to our backyard and we can go in through the sliding door. My folks never lock it.”
I felt him squeeze my hand, which I had been unaware he’d been holding. We stood slowly and Boggs straddled the fallen log, then turned back to help me over. Being a bit shorter, I had to sit on the massive old growth tree, swing my legs over, and slide down till my feet touched the ground.
As I landed on the soft forest floor, we heard a loud high pitched scream full of pain and agony. I felt a type of chill in my stomach which I had never felt before and the hairs on my arms stood on end. My feet didn’t want to move forward. I sensed danger in the direction we needed to go. Still holding my hand in his, Boggs forcefully pulled me forward. My hip complained again, and I winced. Boggs pulled me back to the floor of the woods, where we huddled together so he could talk to me.
“Zo, what’s wrong?”
“I landed on my hip. I’m sure it’s nothing, Boggs. Really.”
“Do you want me to carry you?”
“No way. Seriously, I’m fine. Let’s just get inside. Please?”
He studied my face for a moment, and then nodded in agreement. He stood and held a hand out for me.
We ran through the shallow creek that separated the forest from the nearby homes. Our surroundings blurred as our pace quickened, our target now in sight and coming closer. The screams cut off as quickly as they had begun.
The freshly painted back porch of Boggs’ parent’s house was only strides away, but it seemed to take forever and a day to reach. Catching my own disheveled reflection in the glass of the patio door, I startled and began to scream. Boggs quickly clasped one of his hands over my mouth. He protectively put his other arm around me, holding me tight. I tried to slow my breathing, willing the heart pounding within my chest to slow.
In the distance we heard a loud explosion, moments later feeling the impact as a subtle pressure change in the air. I closed my eyes, holding back the tears that fought to escape. Boggs released his hand from my mouth, reaching back to open the door. My ears now ringing, I barely heard the slider open. Still holding me tightly against his body, Boggs pulled me inside and quickly closed the door behind us. Loosening his grip on me, he slid the lock on the door into place and pulled the curtains closed. We were in his parent’s basement, which was cool and dark being set partially below ground level. My mouth was dry and my heart continued to beat wildly against my chest. We heard the squeal of tires outside followed by glass breaking and metal crunching loudly. The house shook with another explosion, this time much clo
ser. A new set of screams began. I walked to the couch that sat under a small window that was situated halfway up the wall at ground level and looked out at the front yard. I had never been this full of fear. I knelt on the cushions of the faded brown and orange floral sofa and dared to look out to the front street. The shrubs were well established, blocking our view. Boggs knelt beside me in the same fashion. For the first time since entering the house one of us spoke.
“Do you think we’re safe here?” I asked, my voice strained.
“No,” was all Boggs said while he looked out toward the street. After a long pause, he finally turned to me. “I can’t see anything Zo, but I think we need to leave and find somewhere safe. My Explorer’s in the garage. I think we should pack what we can and leave.”
“Where will we go?” I asked, still speaking in a whisper. My body was trembling.
He shook his head back and forth, a bead of sweat dripping down his temple. “I don’t know. Let’s just start by seeing if we can get any news on the TV.”
I nodded. He crept down from the couch and crawled to the corner where the television sat on the floor. It was an old set, the kind that doesn’t have a remote control. Boggs turned a knob and we waited. Nothing happened.
“One of those explosions must have been a transformer,” I mumbled, now biting on my thumbnail.
“Yeah, probably.”
I was on the verge of spilling tears. Boggs came over and sat beside me on the tattered sofa. He looked me in the eyes, holding my head in his hands to make sure I was fully paying attention.
“We have to keep it together, Zoe. Ok?”
I nodded.
“We need to go upstairs, get water, food, clothes, cash, blankets. Like we’re going to be gone for a few days. Can you help me with that?”
Grace Lost (The Grace Series) Page 1