In the entirety of her teenage life, Lucy never once deigned to sneak out of the house. She never had a reason, first of all, but in addition to that, the wrath of Maxine was an all too real worry. She often wondered how her friends could deal with the guilt and worry associated with leaving the comfort of their beds behind and slipping out into the night—whether it was for love or friendship or just simple rebellion.
As she waited for her father and mother to drift off to sleep—waited for the subtle snores that emanated through the paper-thin walls—she was wide awake and nervous. Fully clothed underneath the covers, Lucy felt the night drag interminably.
Finally, the apartment fell silent and slipping her feet to the floor, Lucy tip-toed through her room and out into the living room—expecting her mother to burst forth from her room at any moment, her eyes flashing, bringing with her loud fury and rage.
With her hand on the door, Lucy heard the small creak of a door and the quick pitter-patter of feet. She turned and saw Harper scamper toward her, holding a stuffed teddy-bear in her hand, her bare feet slapping against the floor.
“Where are you going?” Harper asked, rubbing her eyes.
“Go back to bed,” Lucy commanded. She bent down and held her sister by the shoulders and turned her back to the room, but Harper pushed against her and spun forward again.
“No, I want to go with you.”
“You can’t go with me,” Lucy whispered. “You have to go back to sleep.”
Lucy’s heart pounded with the threat of discovery. She kept her eyes trained on her parent’s bedroom, waiting for them to stumble out and end her chance to see Grant. She thought of Blair, waiting for her arrival, and hoped that she wouldn’t give up hope that Lucy was coming.
“Are you leaving us?” Harper asked and the question caused Lucy to pause. “Are you going away from us again?”
“What? No,” Lucy answered. “Of course not. I’m coming back.”
“You were gone before and I missed you,” Harper replied and she crawled into her sister’s arms, snuggling her chin on her shoulder.
“I’m not going away. I’m going to see a friend.”
“I want to see your friend too,” Harper said. She was more awake than before, her eyes bright. It would be impossible to direct her back to bed and still make it to Blair on time.
With a groan, Lucy grabbed Harper’s hand and put a finger to her lips. “This is a secret,” she said. “Don’t talk.” And Harper nodded, wide-eyed, and gripped Lucy’s hand tighter. Together they slipped out into the hallway and out the unguarded doors.
She swiped her hand against the elevator doors, and traveled back to Blair’s floor. When the doors opened, Blair was waiting, her back against the metal hallway door. She popped up at the sight of Harper and wagged her finger.
“She was not part of the deal,” Blair said in a hushed voice.
“I had to bring her. She woke up,” Lucy complained and she tightened her grip on her sister’s hand. “I’ll need to see Grant alone…so…”
“Now I’m a babysitter?” Blair moved toward the elevator and swiped her own hand. “You’re pushing it, King.”
“I’m not a baby,” Harper complained. Blair shot her a look and Harper sunk into Lucy’s side.
They boarded the elevator and Blair pushed the button. Lucy watched closely. The same floor as the Center; Lucy’s heart pounded. Grant had been so close all this time and she had maybe even walked right past him without knowing. It made her heart sick to think about it. The doors slid open and there were two guards, Blair nodded to them and they nodded back, turning their heads away from the small trio as they walked in the opposite direction of Cass’s secret hallway.
“They won’t tell?” Lucy whispered and Blair didn’t answer. She rounded a corner and led them down several hallways, before bringing them outside a nondescript door. Then Blair pulled a single key from her pocket and opened the door; unlike the other doors, there was no swipe pad.
When the door swung open, Lucy was looking straight into a shiny lab.
She gulped. Her surreptitious mission now felt real, tangible. Grant was close.
“Stay here, Harper,” she whispered.
“Take the key. It’s a master. It will unlock any room in there,” Blair said and she held the shiny object out to Lucy in her outstretched hand. “You have ten minutes.”
“That’s all?” Lucy’s voice sounded weak and afraid. She cleared her throat. “That’s all I get?”
“Ten. Go,” Blair repeated and gave Lucy a small push inside the bright room.
Lucy walked in and the door shut behind her. She scanned from right to left; the room was empty and still. She didn’t know what she was expecting to see, but Grant was nowhere inside the lab. Her father’s lab was pristine—she expected nothing less. There were two rooms; one with a smattering of equipment and another with a metal bed and a long counter, a refrigerator with glass doors held shelves of vials and samples, each one labeled in her father’s steady hand.
She heard some rustling and a faint cough, and Lucy spun in the direction of the noise. There before her was a supply closet and she fumbled with the key and tore forward; after the lock clicked open, Lucy rushed forward—the door banging behind her. Sure enough, Grant was there, asleep. He was huddled into the fetal position on a cot, two shabby blankets pulled over his body, one leg falling off the bed, exposing a single dirty sock. She walked forward, trembling, and looked as his breath rose and fell. His skin was jaundiced and his eyes were hollow and they appeared black and blue.
She squatted down and wiped a piece of sandy-blonde hair out of his eyes. And then whispered, “Grant. Grant. Wake up.”
Upon hearing his name, Grant bolted upright, his eyes wide. Disoriented, he spun his head left and right before finally settling on Lucy; then after a few bleary seconds, he broke into a smile.
“Lucy! You’re here! You’re really here!” The blankets dropped away, exposing his bare chest and arms, and Lucy gasped. Track marks were etched into his flesh; dots and bruises traveled up and down his arms. Someone had been using him as a pincushion. Grant’s entire body seemed weak and sickly; her father had seemed to drain his body in a short amount of time. “How did you—?”
“It’s a long story…I’ll tell you another time. Just know that I’m here, Grant. I’m sorry it took me so long. I’m so sorry,” Lucy said and she hopped up on the bed next to him, looking at his arms and running her hand over the sores and the scars. “What has he done to you down here?”
“Human guinea pig,” Grant smiled. “Don’t let the body fool you,” he tapped his head. “Positive thinking, works wonders. I’m not that bad. I’ve kept my spirits up.”
“How could you possibly?” Lucy asked and she began to cry. Grant wrapped his arms around her and pulled her into him.
“Hey now,” he said into her hair. “It’s okay. I’m still here. You’re here.”
“I read your letter,” Lucy said and she pulled away, sliding her hands into his as his arms fell away from her shoulders. “I read it and I thought you were dead. I thought you were gone. And when I thought that…when I imagined losing you…”
“I knew I shouldn’t have given that letter to your dad,” Grant replied and he smiled. His single-dimple appeared in the center of his cheek.
“You can tell me anything,” she said. “No secret is too big to keep from me. I wish I had known about your mom…I wish so many things. I need you here with me, don’t you understand? And I’m fighting for that, you need to know that. I’m going to get you out of here.”
Grant squeezed her hand. He winced and coughed to the side. “You’re determined, but Lucy…my fate is sealed. There’s no way you could save me without risking everything.” He smiled a sad smile and then looked away.
“I’ll risk everything then,” Lucy replied and she straightened her back. She took her right hand and reached over and lifted his chin; then she looked him straight in the eye. “Everything.”
“Don’t. Not for me. That’s not what I want. Are you going to get in trouble for seeing me?”
She couldn’t tell him the truth. He had enough to worry about in here. “I’m going to keep seeing you every day until I can get you out of here,” she replied. “I’m sorry if it felt like I’d forgotten…I haven’t forgotten.”
Grant ran his fingers through his hair and smiled. “I hoped you wouldn’t worry about it. I’ve been happy to dream about you being content…”
“That’s ridiculous. I can’t be content in this place—”
He interrupted her. “You’re making it harder for me to come to terms with my future,” he said to her. “Don’t take this the wrong way…but seeing you makes me want to live, Lucy. You make me want to fight. And…with everything that is going to happen to me…”
“Stop!” Lucy said and she put her hand over his mouth, clasping it tightly against his cheeks. She could feel his lips pushing into her palm. “I won’t let anything happen to you,” she whispered. “Shut up. Shut up about giving up. You should fight.”
She leaned forward and wrapped her arms around him and pulled him into her. It felt perfect and right to hold him; she knew her ten minutes would be up soon and she didn’t know what she should say that would maximize that time. Grant brought his hands up and placed them on top of her head, running his hands down her blonde hair. Her body relaxed into his.
As she pulled back, Lucy brushed her lips against Grant’s cheek. It was quick and involuntary. For a moment, her thoughts turned to a real kiss. She thought of leaning in and finding his lips; letting herself finally give in to what she had wanted all along. She exhaled and looked at him.
He looked at her with longing. She could see it in his eyes—she could feel him evaluating the situation and debating if this was the right moment.
His look, so clear, so purposeful, seemed to say that her kiss on the cheek was not enough. And it gave her the courage she needed. With a deep breath, Lucy leaned forward into Grant and aimed her lips for his.
But as she neared him, Grant pulled back.
“No, Lucy,” he said firmly. It wasn’t unkind, but it was clear. Definitive. He shot her down.
She sat up, rigid and embarrassed. Her heart pounded in her chest and she didn’t know what to say or what to do. How could she have misread all the signs? Her frustration grew and she shook her head, fighting back the tears that were threatening to come at any moment.
“Oh, Lucy—” Grant started, his face fell.
“Stop. Don’t explain. I’m sorry.” She closed her eyes tight. She would not cry; she would not cry over a kiss.
He reached for her and she let him grab her hand, but he was clammy and cold. “No. I need to tell you that—”
A rattle and a crash interrupted them. Someone was in the lab and their quick feet were headed in their direction.
The door to the closet bounced open and Grant and Lucy jumped, still holding each other’s hands. She turned her head and saw her father standing in the doorway. He was wearing a bathrobe and in his hand he clutched his keys. Scott looked between Lucy and Grant and then he marched toward her and grabbed her, squeezing her upper arm and yanking her backward.
“Dad! No!” Lucy screamed. “You don’t understand!” She kicked and tried to pull against his weight, but he was bigger and stronger than her. “Don’t do this to me! Let me go!”
Scott spun and with a look of pure anger yanked the supply closet door and let it close. Lucy caught a glimpse of Grant’s face; his eyes wide and full of shock and worry, his arms still reaching out for her. Then the wood door obscured her view and Grant disappeared behind it—locked back up in his tomb, alone, and without hope.
Chapter Seventeen
Despite Ethan’s failing health, date night became a preoccupation for the Oregon survivors. Even Dean and Joey were caught up in the moment.
Ethan spent a great deal of time outlining his wishes, scribbling out instructions on one of his father’s yellow legal pads, and asking his helpers if they were possible. And suddenly the whole house, with the exception of Spencer—who disappeared to his own home with misgivings and grumblings about not aiding stupidity—seemed to reluctantly cater to the idea that the date would happen whether they wanted it to or not.
Darla had even agreed to be in charge of the food.
And then they rushed about: raiding houses for items they hadn’t needed before, decorating the backyard, and reminiscing about their best dates.
Joey recounted a particularly fun evening people watching in downtown Portland, sharing a blue cheese and pistachio ice cream cone, and then happening upon an arcade nestled between apartment complexes. They played skee-ball and drank beer until the owner kicked them out. The girl’s name was Maggie and their relationship never peaked beyond that night.
Dean talked about the process of re-dating his ex-wife and then surprising her with a trip to Vegas. Moved by the location and their bonds for each other, they were married a second time by some heavyset man in a knight suit in front a castle facade at the Excalibur Hotel. They laughed through the entire ceremony and then ran down the strip shouting to everyone that they were newlyweds.
“She died about a year later,” Dean added and he rubbed his eyes. “There’s nothing like a little perspective to make you realize who you love the most.”
Ethan watched everyone turn from grumpy naysayers to excited party planners, buoyed by their own memories of romance, and he couldn’t help but smile. Two things had unified them: getting their food back from Dean and now this date.
“I’m only doing this because I think Teddy will have fun,” Darla had said. “We’re cooking together. Understand that. It’s purely selfish.”
Doctor Krause, who had accepted that her wishes would be ignored no matter what, and Joey, helped Ethan into a change of clothes—Dean was needed to help tie his tie—and then they got him settled into the wheelchair; then the men grabbed the chair by its sides and lowered him to the backyard, where everyone had been hard at work. The Oregon weather cooperated with blue skies and a warm spring breeze. The cottonwood trees were shedding; large white cotton capsules drifted around the yard like snowfall.
“Hey, Ethan,” Dean said standing next to his generator. “She’s coming…you just give me the signal.”
Ethan nodded and spun his wheelchair to face the patio. The screen door bounced open and then shut; behind it he could make out Ainsley’s silhouette.
“I feel stupid,” Ainsley said from behind the door. “I didn’t go to prom for a reason. This seems like a huge effort for a fake date.”
“Just come out,” Ethan called and he kept his arms on his wheels. “Nobody is going to laugh at you.”
The screen door opened and Ainsley stepped out. She had slipped out of her regular outfit of jeans and t-shirt into a long striped cotton dress; it went past her feet and draped along the floor. Ethan didn’t recognize it as belonging to Lucy or his mom, so he guessed that Ainsley had raided someone else’s closet. She crossed her arms over her chest and smiled.
“Someone told me I should wear a dress,” she said as she started toward the steps.
Ethan nodded to Dean, and Dean yanked the cord to start the gasoline-powered generator. It started to hum and then the backyard lit up with strings of tiny white sparkling lights, which were layered back and forth across the yard. Ainsley’s eyes lit up and she pointed toward the burning bulbs.
“Thank you, generator,” she said. “Let there be light!”
“Have a seat,” Ethan instructed and he pointed to a white upholstered chair at the table. She sat and folded her hands in her lap. Ethan rolled over across from her and picked up a lighter, leaned over and lit a series of candles in the middle of the table. The flames danced and licked at the air.
“You should have been a producer on those dating shows that all my friends used to watch,” Ainsley said. “You’ve got a knack for ambiance.”
“New reality show. Post-a
pocalyptic dates. The end is just the beginning.” Ethan replied as he waved his hand over the tablescape; complete with cut flowers and fine china. With the entire neighborhood at their disposal, they had spared no expense. The empty houses were always the best ones to steal from—it still felt wrong to take something from somebody when their body was in the next room. Ethan hadn’t done any of the actual procuring, but he’d directed well from his wheelchair. And it gave him something to focus on, something to temporarily numb him from the increasing fogginess.
Ainsley picked at the corner of the tablecloth. “What about…Not if You Were The Last Man on Earth: When Dating Meets Doom.”
“That’s a good one,” Ethan said.
“Love is a Battlefield.”
“In our case, love is just a barren wasteland of dead bodies.”
“We really should have capitalized on this idea sooner,” Ainsley added.
They were interrupted by their waiter.
Darla had dressed Teddy in a cute white jacket and a black bowtie. He ambled up to the table and held his head up high. Then he spun and shouted back up to the porch, “What was I supposed to say?”
Ethan and Ainsley turned to see Darla and Doctor Krause standing in the shadows; the Christmas lights sprinkling them with dim light.
Teddy rushed back and Darla crouched down and whispered in his ear. Then the child scampered back and cleared his throat. “Good evening. I am your server. May I start you with a glass of juice?”
“Juice?” Ethan scoffed. He looked across to Ainsley, “I’m sorry. I heard good things about this place…I didn’t know it was a dry restaurant.”
“Doctor’s orders,” Doctor Krause called from the porch.
“Are we seriously going to have an audience all evening? I feel like I’m participating in dinner theater and I’m the entertainment,” Ainsley called to her mother with a withering look.
Doctor Krause put up her hands in surrender and disappeared back inside.
Teddy looked back and forth between Ainsley and Ethan. “Juice?” he asked again. And the duo nodded at him and he ran back up to Darla. “They want the juice, Mom!” Darla handed him two cups and he tiptoed back, watching the dark liquid closely, careful not to spill. They took their drinks and Teddy rushed back.
The Virulent Chronicles Box Set Page 64