The air was crisp but warm, carrying a scent of pine and wet dirt on its edges. If she didn’t think about it, she could pretend that everything was normal and she was just running outside with one of her babysitting charges to check on the chickens. She could chase that feeling all day long. Maybe playing outside with Jessica would be good and by play she meant sitting on the swing under the large bull pine at the back of the garden.
A bucket of scratch hung just inside the coop. Bailey set the bowl down outside the gate for their yard and ducked inside the coop as the ladies clucked and groaned while attacking the offerings. Reaching inside the nesting buckets, Bailey pulled out various eggs in sizes and colors and tucked them inside another basket stored on a top shelf.
Nine eggs. “Oh, look at that, Jess. Nine is a good number for mid-day.” She cooed, wrinkling her nose at the baby and grinning. “I know it kind of stinks in here, but I clean it often. They won’t stop pooping.” Locking the door to the coop, Bailey swung Jessica softly side to side as she returned to the garage.
Just inside the door, Ranger’s ears twitched morosely when she opened and closed the mandoor behind her. She knelt down and rubbed the back of his neck. “Good boy. You need some rest, don’t you, Ranger?” He was tired and mangy. Maybe when Scott got back they could give him a bath.
Who knew what Ranger’s adventures had been like on his way back to his home. He must have been so confused to find no one at Scott’s and a dead body on the front lawn. How long had he been out there watching and waiting for his owner to return?
Bailey checked his water and food and left him to try to recover. He was probably upset that Scott had left him there, locked in the garage. But Bailey understood why he had. Scott had been upset about his dog. He didn’t want to lose him again. And no one was really talking about what could happen if they left the house.
Back inside, Bailey’s arms ached with the weight of Jessica. She wasn’t heavy exactly, it was just having to carry the baby with little relief that was getting to Bailey. What they needed was a backpack for her or something. Maybe Bailey could ask her mom for one. There had to be one around somewhere, maybe out in the loft or over at their neighbor’s.
Jessica’s eyelids fell to half-mast and Bailey had no one to remark to on how sweet a baby Jessica was. She seemed to know that things could be worse and she didn’t fuss much at all.
But how could she know that things could be worse? She was just a tiny baby.
Grabbing a pluggy and a diaper on the way through the mudroom, Bailey approached the hallway where Jason lay quietly. She didn’t want to wake him. Rounding the corner, Bailey pulled Jessica closer and gasped.
Jason had angled himself across the hallway, blocking the way to the front door and the stairs. He still lie on the ground, his back flat and his arms splayed around him.
Black tar-like liquid dripped from his nose and mouth. His breathing was labored and gurgling. He reminded Bailey of the way Kent had looked when he’d gone a little off the rails.
Jason’s lips twitched and Bailey rushed past the hallway to the living room. She’d go up the stairs to get Jessica’s bottle through the access in that room. She wasn’t going to brave stepping over Jason.
As she made her way to the bottom step, she jerked to the side. Jason’s foot was just in view and it twitched in a spastic shaking.
Bailey’s eyes widened.
How was she going to be able to watch Jason and Jessica? She had no idea what she was doing or how to treat Jason to make him better.
Jessica mewled and yawned and Jason’s foot twitched more, sliding up to plant itself flat on the floor. If Jason was feeling better, that was a good thing, right? But something in the way he was moving warned her to keep her distance.
Cady and Scott had picked the wrong time to leave Bailey alone.
Bailey hoped she’d be able to tell them that, too.
Chapter 16
Margie
Sleeping in the car had lost its novelty by daybreak. After getting out and relieving themselves in the surrounding trees, the trio had returned to the car and readjusted their bedding and the way the car was packed. Topping off the tank with one of the few gas cans they’d been able to find and fill, Margie and Kelsey had cracked their windows and tried to make it more comfortable to travel.
Kelsey continued down the dirt road, turning into a driveway that wound along the river.
“What if someone lives here?” Margie clenched her jaw. Of course, someone lived there. The real question was, were the residents alive still? If so, they may or may not be armed. It was Washington. No telling which way they ran politically and where they were at in a preparedness mindset. In Idaho, there’d be a gun in each hand which was stereotypical of most conservative states with loose gun laws.
Washington was far from loose with anything.
Ryker’s breathing picked up in the back, but he didn’t say anything as he leaned to the side, and stared out the window at the river.
Margie glanced at Kelsey. She hadn’t replied to Margie’s question and she continued avoiding Margie’s gaze.
“Kelsey? What if someone lives here?” What would they do? Kelsey didn’t even slow down to think about it. She sped through the trees, running the tires through the worn ruts in the drive. They broke through the woods and came upon a clearing that spread out along the shores of the river, giving a spectacular view down the abdomen of the canyon.
A few outbuildings sat along the north end of the property, their windows dark and empty. The two-story house with a wide-mouthed veranda waited at the head of the driveway as if welcoming any who dared approach. The paint was worn and flaked, but still present enough to see the original color was an off-white close to cream. Green painted shutters framed the multiple windows. Early morning sunlight reflected off the glass, and it was hard to tell if there were people inside or not.
With the power out, there wouldn’t be any lights whether it was day or night unless they had a generator. With the windows cracked, they’d be able to hear any running motors, but there weren’t any.
A beat-up Subaru had been parked in front of the dented-in garage door.
“If someone is in there, we’ll do what we have to do to make the space safe.” Kelsey pulled the Rabbit to a stop and turned off the engine. She slowly turned her head to face Margie, her eyes deadpan as she met Margie’s gaze.
“Kelsey, I’m scared. Legitimately scared and you’re not making me feel better.” Margie furrowed her brow and gripped the seatbelt strap across her chest.
“That’s not my job. I got us here. I’m scared, too.” Kelsey’s emotions swung wildly from left to right and Margie wished she would go back to having a flat affect. Her voice became strident. “Let’s see if we can stay here and get some real rest. I can’t think. I’m so tired.” Tears sparkled on the edges of her eyelids.
Fatigue. Genuine tiredness had beaten Kelsey. Margie recognized the desperation in her eyes. Tiredness was a genuine problem and Kelsey hadn’t slept much even when they’d been at the convenience store.
Nodding, Margie glanced at Ryker and then at Kelsey again. “Okay, stay here. I’ll see if anyone is inside.”
Margie opened the door and placed her foot on the driveway outside. She jerked it back in the car at the sound of a gunshot ringing through the air. The metallic ringing when it ricocheted put the fear right into the three of them, in places they hadn’t been aware it was missing.
Kelsey didn’t wait for Margie to tell her to get out of there. She started the car and turned around, ducking as another shot ran across the side of the car.
Looking back, Margie’s jaw fell open and she patted Kelsey’s arm. “Faster, Kelsey, faster!” Her words ended on a shriek as a man chased after them, a pistol in his hands. Red blood stained the front of his shirt and a hand attached to an arm that wasn’t attached to anything else swung wildly in his grip.
She bit her lip as Kelsey sped up to get them out of there. “Let’s get to
the freeway entrance, top off the gas tank, and I’ll drive. You need to get some rest.” Margie’s soft volume seemed to sooth the chaos in the car.
The panic slowly abated but not completely as they escaped the driveway. No matter where they drove or where they stopped, they wouldn’t find true safety until they got to Cady’s.
Margie had to keep her main goal in mind. There was nowhere else she needed to be. Ryker and Kelsey would be safe there and they could all relax and truly sleep behind Cady’s gate. If Cady’s wasn’t safe, an extra two hours in the car to get up to Bonners County and Margie’s home would be just as good.
Margie took a deep breath as Kelsey pulled to the side of the dirt road in about the same place they’d stopped the night before. Margie climbed out and they each took a moment to themselves, breathing and just trying to gather a sense of calm.
Ryker hadn’t said a word. His eyes seemed to have widened and wouldn’t go back to normal. He had to be wondering why he’d come with them.
“It doesn’t look like that used any gas. We can get to the on-ramp and then see what we need to add.” Kelsey’s voice was subdued as she put the gas cap back in place.
Nodding, Margie reached for the driver’s side door handle before Kelsey could reclaim the spot. Kelsey didn’t fight her which told Margie Kelsey was worse off than Margie had assumed.
Back in the car, Margie adjusted the driver’s seat to fit her and she thanked Kelsey for the protein bar. She couldn’t wait to eat at Cady’s. She started the car and drove carefully toward the freeway.
“Are you really taking the freeway?” Fear tremored in Kelsey’s voice. She strapped on her seatbelt and divided her attention between the road ahead and Margie.
Nodding, Margie gripped the steering wheel with determination. “I am. If we drive along the backroads, we won’t make it far with our gas situation and people shooting at us. If we get back on the freeway, we have enough gas to get as far as Ritzville, maybe further.” She glanced at their stoic expressions that had to hide anxiety they didn’t want to admit to. “You know, when we get to Cady’s house, we’re going to have eggs and bacon. She has chickens and we canned bacon last year for a fall project.”
Ryker groaned, reaching forward and gripping the seats with white-knuckled fists. “Seriously? That sounds delicious. I haven’t had a solid meal in a long time.”
Kelsey offered a half-smile. “I’ve been eating nachos and gas station hot dogs for so long, I’m not sure I’ll recognize real food. What else does Cady have at her house?”
As Margie drove, she talked about Cady and the garden and the greenhouse. Anything to take their minds off the empty freeway that stretched out for miles in either direction. What did the miles of asphalt hide?
Keeping their minds focused on hope, their thoughts wouldn’t turn toward the dangers that might await them. Bad things had to happen. Thinking they were safe already was just foolish.
Margie just hoped they were safer by cutting down their travel time. She didn’t know what else to do and every minute they wandered around was another minute she was away from her family.
Survival was dependent on moving. She knew that. Her sanity begged her to get to a safe place so she could have a proper meltdown. Until then, Margie had to hold it together. They all did.
Chapter 17
Manson
Hunger was definitely getting to most of the men locked in the penitentiary. Manson wasn’t sure how long he’d be able to keep them all under control. How long did he even want to control them? Long enough to get him out. He didn’t care what they did after that.
The plan wasn’t to hang around the prison. Manson’s plan was to survive the collapse of the security system long enough to escape.
He wouldn’t put the crowbar down even to relieve himself. He was one of the only ones with a tool that he could wield easily to protect himself. Dropping his guard one millimeter wasn’t an option or his plan to survive anything would be down the drain.
The morning sunlight didn’t hide the cruelty of the situation as multiple groups of men dug around posts in the yard. The fencing was rumored to only go down about four feet, but that didn’t mean the ground was thawed or that the four feet wouldn’t be filled with large rocks or other forms of obstruction. When an obstacle was created by man to keep other men inside, there were various traps in place to prevent getting through.
Manson wasn’t dumb enough to think he knew them all. He just knew he had to distract the more ambitious of the groups.
Tomas Tuezman ran up to Manson, his short-cropped afro the only thing covering the upper half of a large crescent-shaped scar running from the corner of his mouth and up into his hairline. Genuine horror widened his eyes. He was out of breath as he muttered in almost unintelligible horror. “Manson, they’re starting to eat them.”
Manson narrowed his eyes. He couldn’t have heard Tomas right. “What?”
Tomas’s cheeks bulged like he was going to throw up. He put the back of his hand against his mouth and turned to the side, gasping as he blurted out. “The men, they’re starting to eat the dead bodies.” That was as far as Tomas got. He hurled what little food he had in his stomach onto the grass at his feet. The acrid scent more abundant than the contents.
Manson set his jaw. He wasn’t surprised. Hunger would do crazy things to civilized people. The men in that prison were treated like caged animals. Expecting them to act differently than how they were treated was like expecting to put a white shirt in mud and bringing it out clean. That’s not how things worked.
Breathing heavily, Tomas straightened from his bent over position and took a deep breath. He shook his head. “Man, they’re eating people. I don’t…” Tomas’s prison time had to do with arson. His stint wasn’t even supposed to be longer than a couple years. Of course, he didn’t understand. He was still partially a member of the civilized parts of humanity.
Even while Tomas wasn’t a bad guy, Manson knew taking anyone with him would be foolish. He reached out, placing his hand on Tomas’s shoulder. Tomas flinched. Manson’s reputation reached even the newest members of the prison.
Ducking his head, Manson brought Tomas close for confidentiality. “Listen, this isn’t necessarily a bad thing. Lots of animals eat their kind.” He expanded on the idea at the look of incredulity on Tomas’s face. “Chickens, pigs, even lizards eat their young. It’s not a big deal. The thing to watch for is if the meat is cooked all the way. If it’s not, they could get drastically ill.” He patted Tomas’s back. “Look, I know it sounds gross, man, but you do what you gotta do to survive, right?”
Tomas nodded softly. “Yeah, yeah, I guess you’re right.” He turned slowly from Manson and didn’t look back as he wandered toward the kitchen area. One of the groups who had been focused on digging followed him inside. They seemed to sense there was something going on. Tomas may or may not convince them it was alright. He may or may not make it out alive.
Either way, as word got around that the meat just needed to be cooked more fully, more and more men from the yard disappeared inside.
How long until they started killing each other?
It was the break Manson needed from watchful eyes. He wasn’t stupid. The other prisoners wrapped themselves in the security of paranoia and most of them had made it to their positions in the hierarchy of the prison system simply by listening to their instinctual paranoia.
Since he wasn’t being watched, he could try his one last attempt to get ahead of the chain gang. Manson slipped into the visitor section of the buildings and down the long hall toward the security office. The smell of rotting meat made him wrinkle his nose.
Pushing through the door he’d broken through to get back into the prison, Manson returned the door to its closed state. It looked like it was locked from a distance and would deter anyone who glanced down the hall looking for him.
Back in the security office, Manson glanced around again, then closed the door to muffle some of the sound. He ignored Phil’s
body as he walked by.
At the other door, the one flimsy panel that separated Manson from freedom, he stopped. It was just a door. There had to be a way in and a way out.
The electricity hadn’t released any of the locks. There was nothing Manson could do to get out. He braced an arm on the doorframe and stared at the concrete stoop inches from his feet. He was almost there. Freedom was right there.
Phil’s body didn’t smell good. Manson closed his eyes and pressed his nose against the crease where the door met the frame. He inhaled, reveling in the sweet air seeping through the tiny cracks.
Frustration pushed out to consume every pore. Opening his eyes, he grunted, lifting the crowbar and driving the sharper end toward the center glass of the door. Once, twice, three times. He lowered the bar and took a deep breath. He had to conserve… wait a minute.
Manson bent over, peering closely at the edge of the glass where it tucked into the frame. Spiderweb-style cracks spread outward from the center of the glass, but at the edge of the frame a significant chunk of material had worked free, leaving a hole in the window frame.
Manson stood, studying the door. If he could get the window out, he wouldn’t need the door open. He could just crawl through.
He glanced behind him. There was no way of knowing how much time he had to get out of there. What would he do when he escaped? He needed a way out. Could he just walk away with no one seeing him? They would catch on quickly, if they saw him and then they’d come after him for the betrayal. A mob like that wouldn’t be escapable.
One lone vehicle sat in the parking lot. A small four-door sedan promised to be safe and reliable. He turned, acknowledging Phil’s presence with a sneer. “Ah, I bet you have the keys. That car reeks of you, man.” He bent down, digging through the pockets of the dead guard. He pulled keys from his pocket with a multi-tool hooked to the keyring. “I’m betting you didn’t usually get inside this place with this bit before.” Manson chuckled.
Find Them: an apocalyptic survival thriller (180 Days and Counting... series Book 6) Page 7