The Virulent Chronicles Box Set

by Shelbi Wescott

  “We got out before any major traffic blocked the roads up there. Growing up, I thought my parents were out-of-their minds crazy for their stockpiles. But look at us now, look at where it got us. I’m not saying it saved us, but it’s been easier to deal with,” Lindsey said, but her voice was timid, unsure, like a child’s.

  Lou reached out his hand to his wife and she took it and gave his fingers a little squeeze. Then he turned to his kids, “Our turn for dinner. Take them to the basement. Give them the cots. The girls in one room, the man in the other.”

  Lindsey and Lyle nodded in unison.

  “There’s no way you’re keeping us here,” Darla pushed her plate away. As she said it, she realized her hands felt heavy and her head groggy. The room tumbled around her—the walls marching toward her, bulging outward. She closed her eyes and kept spinning. “Shit,” she mumbled. “Should have seen that coming.”

  “Just a small opiate, darling,” Cricket said in a chipper voice. “You’ll sleep well, that’s all.”

  “You drugged us?” Ainsley asked. Her words, too, were starting to slur; she put her hand out in front of her and then let it fall to the table with a heavy thud.

  “The Sweepers are coming. They will not rest until they’ve destroyed all life. I don’t know who you are or why you’re alive,” Lou said in a whisper. “But I intend to find out. I need to find out. For my family...for our survival.”

  “This is not the way,” Darla replied, her eyes drooping.

  “I’m content with my way. Safety is my concern—”

  “No,” Darla added forcefully. “If safety was your concern, you’d have let us pass by. You wouldn’t have even let us inside your house. So, what’s your game, Lou? Why are we really here?” The orange and yellow glow of the room ebbed and flowed; Lou’s face fell in and out of the shadows, his eyes steady on his visitors, his brow furrowed.

  “Please. Please understand. My family has stayed alive until now. I need information,” Lou said. “Tell me what you know and you are free to leave.” Then he pointed at his children. “Get them downstairs and out of sight. Double and triple check your locks.” The drugs had started to make her dizzy, but she thought she heard him add, “I don’t want it to be like last time.”

  The basement rooms were cold and smelled of mold and dirt. Dean had been relegated to the room that also housed the rabbits, and they heard his muffled complaints about the smell from down the hall. Soon, however, his complaints died away and thick snores emanated from beyond the wall. Ainsley and Darla were given a flashlight to share, a bucket, and some blankets. As Lindsey shut the door to leave, Darla wedged her foot between the door and the frame, and shouldered her way forward. She fought against the growing throb of drunkenness consuming her.

  “You know this isn’t right,” Darla said to her. “You’re a grown-ass woman. You can let us go.”

  Lindsey held the Taser forward and took a step from the door, her hand on the knob. “Please...I know...”

  “Look at me,” Darla whispered. “I have a son.”

  “It’s not up to me,” she whispered back. “He’s scared. Paranoid. He thinks you know things—”

  “A son,” Darla continued. “Teddy.” His name sounded strange on her tongue. “Theodore,” she tried again. “He’s been kidnapped.”

  “Oh, God.” Lindsey held the Taser out and raised her eyebrows. “Kidnapped. See? You have secrets.”

  “We all have secrets.”

  “I can’t help my father be unafraid.”

  “I want to see my son!” Darla pushed harder on the door and Lindsey backed up and let her hand slide to her side. The door opened fully, exposing a dark hallway with faded wallpaper decorated with tiny roses. The woman balked, afraid, and then opened her mouth to yell, but stopped.

  Ainsley slipped from the shadows and clicked on the flashlight. The drug-induced sleep had not consumed her yet. She scanned the assembled detritus: an old oak desk, a dusty dollhouse, a large xylophone. Taking one of wooden mallets, Ainsley hit the bar and a dull tone reverberated through the room. She looked up at Darla and Lindsey in the doorway. Then she turned and pounded out a clunky version of chopsticks.

  “I was kept alive against my will once before” Ainsley offered as she hit the keys. “And now I’m being kept in a very strange basement against my will. If there were more people alive, I finally would be able to effectively play that two truths and a lie game.” Her own joke made her giggle, and she put a hand up over her mouth and tried to contain it.

  “I’m sorry,” Lindsey said. She lowered her voice to a whisper and stepped one step closer. “I can’t help you.” She trembled and brandished the Taser. “You don’t understand...even if I could help you...” she stopped and clamped her mouth shut.

  “My son,” Darla said again, her mouth numb. “I need my son.”

  “Step back.”

  “You can help us...”

  “I can’t.”

  Then Darla couldn’t say anymore. The world went blurry and she stumbled backward, and Lindsey seized the moment to slam the door and lock it. As Darla fell to the floor with Ainsley’s giggles in the background, she saw Teddy’s face and reached out to touch his rosy cheeks, but felt only drafty air before the dark engulfed her.

  Chapter Eleven

  Cass waltzed in with the same energy and flair as before, this time holding a leather-bound journal and a small package of chocolates. She tossed the book to the foot of the bed where Ethan was resting, and then pulled up the empty chair from under the Manhattan skyline print and dragged it to his side. She plopped down, crossed her legs, and leaned back, balancing the chocolates on her knee.

  “I returned,” she said. “Five visits now. And per your unspoken request, I’ve brought you a journal. You’re welcome.” She fidgeted with the edge of a black-tiered skirt; a long string dangled from a fraying edge and she yanked it free and then wrapped the string around her finger, tightening it across her skin. “Every time I come back, you look surprised. Are you surprised?”

  Ethan smiled. He shook his head. He wondered how his voice would sound if he spoke to her. Would it be rough and gravelly; would it be weak? Could your voice atrophy from misuse? He had tried to speak a few times in the isolation of his room. Tried to open his mouth and form the words he wanted to say, but it wasn’t that he was willfully quiet; he could not find his voice amidst the turmoil of his heart.

  Each time Cass floated into his tiny room, he wanted to tell her that he looked forward to her random visits. She never presumed he would talk, and it was refreshing to know that her expectations were low. When his mom visited, she yelled at him and fretted, getting more agitated that he refused to listen to his physical therapist or try to leave the room. His last visit had gone predictably awful when she divulged that Cass’s announcement had come true: Teddy was no longer in her care.

  “Chocolates?” Cass asked and opened up the package. “Stolen chocolates. Contraband. They taste better.”

  He put his hand out and waited until she placed an unwrapped morsel in his palm. Popping it into his mouth, he tried to savor, but his excitement got the best of him and he started to chew the chunk until it melted away on his tongue.

  “I can’t be long today. I have to pack. It’s not much, of course, but moving day is soon and I want to be prepared.” She said this with a mouth of chocolate. Ethan watched the way she moved the small piece around her mouth as she spoke. “You’ll be moving with your family. I happen to be privy to your housing arrangement and you’re living with your parents for a bit. No more hospital stays for you on Kymberlin. You should—

  and I apologize for interfering—try out the leg more.”

  He shook his head and looked at it sitting up against the wall. He’d given it a shot. When he walked around the strap gave him rashes and blisters against his thigh; it wasn’t worth it.

  “You’re a stubborn one,” she said with a smile.

  He shrugged.

  “Your sister doesn�
��t know we are meeting.”

  Ethan turned and looked straight at her.

  “Should I tell her?”

  He shrugged slowly and tried to look confused. How does one convey without words that they genuinely don’t know the right thing to do? Cass helped him feel better because she told him stories of Haiti and long torrid tales of ex-boyfriends gone wrong. She flounced around the room, arranging flowers and spending time with him as if she enjoyed every second. And when they spoke of Teddy, she would touch him, slightly, on the wrist, and tell him that she would do everything she could to help him get Teddy back. Maybe the talking about saving Teddy was an excuse to spend time together—he had thought of that, of course. But it was this tidy conspiratorial relationship that kept him from the edge of a deep cavernous abyss.

  Cass had never done anything to wrong him. She had never tried to pretend that this place was something it wasn’t. She had allowed him all his eye-rolls and disturbed faces and frustrated sighs without judgment.

  Sometimes, she made him feel whole again.

  And not in a way that felt like a betrayal to anyone.

  “Lucy is my friend. And I’m not a person who enjoys keeping secrets,” she said. “I’ll honor your privacy if that’s what you wish...but you should know...Lucy will feel sad when she finds out that you and I...” she trailed off and then smiled. “Became friends. Is that what this is? Are we friends?”

  Ethan looked right at her and nodded.

  “A strange friendship this is,” she laughed. “The architect’s daughter and the mute.”

  He wanted to ask her if those were the best ways to define themselves, but of course he couldn’t. Even though his chest hurt from wanting to say something, anything, back to her, he physically didn’t know how to form the sounds.

  She laughed and hit at his good leg playfully.

  “No, that’s not right. Let’s see...the social butterfly and the tentative newcomer.” She clasped her hands together. “Better?” It was as if she read his mind.

  He nodded.

  “Or the dark-skinned beauty and the survivor. That’s a more mysterious one. I like it.” She popped another chocolate into her mouth and unwrapped one for him. “More?” He nodded and put out his hand, but she stood up and bypassed his hand and placed it right in his mouth, the heat from her body so tangible he felt like he could reach out and touch it. He shut his mouth as she pulled back her fingers.

  Five visits.

  Each time a bit more intimate, friendlier, more familiar. And while his brain had sometimes drifted to her in idle moments, he never thought of her in a romantic way with any sort of conviction or regularity. Cass promised him Teddy—he was the tie that bound them together. As her visits ended, she would write him small notes to confirm that they were united in reuniting him with the boy. While the task seemed larger than their capabilities, Cass remained undaunted.

  “I have to go soon, just a small trip today. But I wanted to tell you I saw Teddy yesterday with Blair.”

  He stiffened.

  “She cares for him...she is trying. You should know that.”

  He looked at the Manhattan picture. She shifted in her seat. He felt something inside of him, something firm, slipping away.

  “She’s beautiful. Blair,” Cass said to him. “You could love her you know. Easily. That would solve it. She’s older than you, but that’s not an issue. If you loved her, she would let you love her back. She’s hungry for it. And then that’s solved. A perfect family.”

  He narrowed his eyes. Tightened his jaw. It felt like a game. He reached out and motioned for Cass’s hand. She gave it to him. Her skin was warm. Taking his pointer finger, he just traced two letters into her palm. One word. No.

  “Well, it was worth a suggestion. I’m skilled in the art of love. If you change your mind, I could help you.”

  Still holding her hand he traced another word into her skin. Stop.

  “I don’t know how to get him back,” she admitted in near whisper. “But I want to. For you. I want to give everyone what they hope for most in life. That’s not so bad, is it? Until people realize that sometimes I fail—”

  Stop. He wrote it again. Then he penned with slow determination: Trust.

  He let her hand go and smiled.

  “Au revoir,” Cass replied. She leaned down and kissed his cheek with a friendly peck. “Packing, you know.”

  Ethan pointed toward the journal and then gave her an A-Okay sign. She smiled and placed her hand over her heart.

  “Always happy to be a blessing.” And she stood and smoothed down her skirt. “Well, Ethan King. Until next time.” She glided across the floor, opened the door with a flourish, and disappeared outside. Ethan looked at the journal and sat up enough so he could reach it. When he opened up the first page, she had left him a note.

  “To my friend: Ethan. I always leave our visits excited for the next time. But you’ll be out of this room and into the real world (as close as you can get) soon enough. I know we can conquer this together. I want to help you find your voice. What are we waiting for? Just need to give you something worthwhile to say, right? See you soon, Cassandra.”

  He ran his hands over her warm, encouraging words and smiled. His mother could tell him to try to speak and he’d feel such anger boiling up against her. Lucy could come and sit next to him and pine to be redeemed, shed tears of fear and hurt and remorse, and he felt like he was beyond protecting her. But Cass could say whatever she wanted and he felt like she had his best interests at heart.

  Closing his eyes, he rested his head back against his pillow and tried to imagine what he should try to say. What words did he need to say?

  He thought: I’m angry. Or just simply...why?

  Outside his door, he heard a thud, and then seconds later a muffled shriek. It was barely audible, like he could have imagined it, but then he heard low voices, deep and rambling and another thunk against the wall. The sound reverberated toward him.

  He turned his head to listen. His mind went instantly to Cass and before he was even fully aware of what he thought he heard, he swung his legs over the side of the bed and grabbed his crutches. Moving with swiftness, despite his aching body, he rushed out into the hallway beyond his hospital room. It was the first time he had stepped foot outside. The chair beside his door where a guard sat keeping watch was empty.

  When he scanned the hallway, he saw the boys. Two teenagers, roughly his age, had pinned Cass up against the wall. While she struggled against them, she was no match for both. One grabbed awkwardly at her blouse and she fought and yanked her body sideways, tearing the shoulder and exposing her bra underneath. One boy laughed like a hyena and began to claw at the ruffles of her dress, moving the tiers upward; Cass balled up her fist and hit him across the jaw. But it was like a pebble against a giant. He flinched, but kept moving forward.

  Ethan tore down the hallway, his crutches moving forward and back, propelling him along him as he approached. The boys, too engrossed in their attack, didn’t even see or hear him coming. Three feet from the fray, Ethan slowed and grabbed the crutch acting for his amputated leg. Balancing and hopping on a single foot, he swung the crutch and watched as it grabbed the back of the young man’s head with a crack.

  He lost his balance and tumbled into the wall. The boy closest to him turned, and from the ground Ethan swung again, crashing the wood into his face. Blood gushed from the boy’s nose and he collapsed to his knees on the ground.

  With one boy down, Cass grabbed the second by the shoulders and kneed him in the groin. He doubled over for a brief second before taking off running down the hall, abandoning his bleeding friend. The double doors crashed behind him as he fled. Cass picked up Ethan’s discarded crutch and held it in her hands. The remaining boy rushed forward on his knees, throwing all of his weight into Ethan’s chest, and he wrapped his hands around his neck.

  “So, this is Ethan King,” the boy growled, blood covering his teeth and filling his mouth. “Think you’re a b
ig shot messing around with Cass? Asshole.” His nose dripped down onto Ethan’s shirt, the blood flowing freely. He had clearly broken his nose. Before he could say anything else, his head lurched forward and he tumbled off of Ethan and fell to the ground, his body limp.

  Ethan looked up and saw Cass standing there—her shirt torn and falling down around her waist, her skirt ripped, her hair disheveled—and she was holding the crutch out in front of her. Her chest heaved as she breathed rapidly.

  “Are you hurt?” she asked Ethan.

  He shook his head and sat up.

  “Oh, God,” she said and she slumped down to the floor and began to cry. Ethan crawled past the boy’s body and went to her. Immediately, she crawled up into his arms and let him hold her.

  The guard appeared lazily at the other end. It took him a second before he processed the scene. As he surveyed the disaster at his post and rushed forward, he grabbed for his walkie-talkie.

  “Send backup to the hospital wing. There’s been an incident,” the guard said. He crouched down and felt the boy’s neck for a pulse. “Three injured in some kind of fight,” he added. The man looked to Ethan. “What happened here?” He had knelt in blood. “Jesus Christ.”

  Cass pulled herself away from Ethan and started to talk, but couldn’t quite find the strength to form the story coherently. “They...just...from nowhere...” Her hands were shaking violently; every muscle in her body quaked.

  “Calm down, Miss Salvant. We’ll get medical here. Can I help you up?” the guard asked. “Mr. King...are you injured? I’ll get your doctors to come and help you back into—”

  “No,” Ethan said. His voice was swampy; it caught in his throat. He cleared his throat and coughed, and then tried again. “No...no...”