Fate

by V. A. Brandon

  When Cain remained silent, she went on. “The next part’s the hard one. We’ll have to find the infected jock and kill him before nightfall. Ashley doesn’t have a clue what happened last night, so we have to keep mum about what we’ll be doing.”

  At the words “kill him before nightfall,” her twin had stirred back to life. “You make it sound so easy.”

  “I did say it was the hard part, didn’t I?”

  “Yeah, like how owners complain about picking up their dogs’ smelly turds. It’s highly annoying, but totally doable.”

  Her mouth thinned in determination. “Killing that infected jock is doable.”

  “I admire your courage, Kay. Or madness, depending on how you choose to see it.” The woods were a siren call to Cain, judging by the way his gaze kept returning to its location. “Is this your Plan B? You can’t dunk yourself in the lake, so you’ll use the infected jock instead to see what happens if he bites you?”

  “Actually, I hadn’t even considered that. But thanks for the idea.”

  “Stop kidding around. I’m being serious here.”

  He was, and the pallor of his face proved it. Casey smiled and gave her twin a one-arm hug. “I’m sorry about last night, truly. I won’t say anything more about throwing myself into lakes, so help me out later, okay? Let’s get rid of that jock together.”

  Cain sagged against her, his body relaxing. “Yeah, all right. Just make sure to –”

  A loud cough startled them, and Casey whirled around to find Ashley shooting her the evil eye.

  “Oops. Am I interrupting a Flowers in the Attic moment?” she asked, her tone dripping with sarcasm.

  “Ugh, don’t even go there. Is breakfast ready?”

  “It’s been ready since time immemorial, so don’t be too surprised to find it weirdly cold and unappealing.”

  “In other words, you managed to eff up something as simple as reheating soup.” Casey clucked her tongue in disapproval. “There’s no helping it, then, Let’s go and see what we can salvage from the vomitous goo awaiting us.” And she hurriedly ushered her protesting friend out of the attic.

  As the three of them marched downstairs, Cain leaned in, frowning. “Why was Ashley talking about flowers?” he whispered. “There weren’t any in the attic.”

  “Don’t ask,” Casey muttered, offering up a silent prayer of thanks that her twin was an absolute philistine when it came to certain genres of pop culture.

  * * *

  After forcing down a mushy and lukewarm breakfast, Cain sent a quick message to Vlogman, politely asking for a meetup to discuss his dark web posts on the supposed vaccine. To entice him into meeting them in person, Cain casually mentioned the ace up their sleeve – that they, too, knew someone close who’d received what was possibly a vaccination from Deen & Blatt Pharmaceuticals. Hopefully, it would be enough of an incentive.

  Just in case Vlogman brought his friends along as backup, the twins decided to bring a couple of knives and an ax for self-defense and protection.

  “But what if they have guns?” Cain asked, concern marring his handsome face. “Then it’s pretty much game over for us.”

  “We don’t even know if he’ll agree to our meetup, not to mention he might have limited Internet access. We’ll be lucky if he ends up replying to our message.”

  Cain glanced at the pier in front of the lake house, where Ashley was sunbathing in her yellow bikini. “Does that dunderhead even know what we’ll be doing today?”

  “Don’t call her that. And no, she can’t know about our plans. She’ll flip out.”

  “You’re spoiling her like she’s some faint-hearted princess. Maybe it’s the wake-up call she needs to shuffle her ass back into the house.”

  Casey cocked an eyebrow at him. “Wake-up call? If seeing a college friend turn into a ravenous lunatic isn’t enough to convince her, then nothing we say will change her attitude.”

  “Just let me try,” he insisted, yanking off his white T-shirt. “I can convince her in a way that you can’t.” And he strode toward his ex, his bronzed back glowing under the warm sun.

  This should be entertaining, Casey thought, smiling to herself.

  He went and deliberately stood before Ashley’s reclined form, blocking the sun’s rays. When she failed to respond, he balled up his T-shirt and tossed it at her face.

  “Hey!” she spluttered angrily, sitting up. “What’s gotten into you?”

  Pointing a forefinger at the lake house, he gritted out, “Put that on and take your pasty-white ass inside. If you don’t do this in the next ten seconds, I’ll forcefully haul you over my shoulder like a sack of potatoes and take you there myself.”

  Casey sighed, disappointment setting in. Didn’t he know that she had a thing for bodice rippers starring men with brute strength? The idiot girl was going to start panting next.

  As expected, Ashley lay back down, positioning her bikini-clad body in a way that best displayed her assets.

  “I’m not going anywhere,” she purred.

  “Fine. Then you leave me no choice.” He bent down, then grabbed her around the waist with effortless ease. Ashley gasped and kicked her legs, horror replacing the smug expression on her face when she belatedly realized where Cain was taking her.

  He stopped at the pier’s edge, dangling his ex over the infected waters of the lake.

  “You wouldn’t,” she breathed, throwing her arms around his neck.

  “Probably,” he admitted. “But then again, it’d be a kind of mercy, don’t you think? You can become infected and die quickly, or be brutally torn to pieces by your infected friend who, by the way, paid us a visit last night. But you wouldn’t know, since you prefer ignorant bliss.” Prying her desperate hands loose, he added, “You’re a liability, Ashley. It’s time to end this. I can’t have you risking Casey’s life or mine any longer.”

  “Please,” she begged, her eyes wide with genuine fear now. “I – I’ll listen. I won’t –”

  “It’ll be quick,” he replied in soothing tones. “Just let go and –”

  “PLEASE!” she bawled, burying her tear-stained face in his bare chest and hugging him tightly. “I’m really sorry, okay? I’ll do better from now on. I promise!”

  “You’ll listen to Casey and me, even if it means we have to leave the lake house?”

  “Y-Yes.”

  “Can we depend on you in a life-or-death situation? Do we have your back, just as you have ours?”

  “… I’ll do my best.”

  In response, Cain gently placed her down and jerked his chin toward his white T-shirt. “Put that on and go inside. We’ll join you shortly after we finish taking care of something.”

  Without another word, Ashley yanked the T-shirt on and jogged toward the house. Even as she ran past Casey, she kept her head bowed and avoided her best friend’s inquisitive stare.

  “I don’t know whether to praise you or call you a bastard for using threats,” Casey said as her twin walked up to her.

  “It worked, didn’t it?”

  “It did,” she said truthfully. “But why does it feel like we just kicked a puppy?”

  Cain smacked at his shoulder, frowning as a bug managed to escape with agile speed. “I swear, you’re one of her worst enablers. It’s like you were her mother in a previous life.”

  The twins squabbled as they went to check the truck and see if everything was still in working order. Once both were satisfied with the results, they headed back to the lake house to join Ashley and finally bring her up to speed on all the things they knew so far.

  It took a while to explain; Ashley had trouble believing and accepting some of the more outlandish claims, as well as their plan to meet up with a total stranger they’d found on a dark web forum.

  She gulped, her sallow complexion stark under the morning light. “So … Roy came over last night? But I didn’t hear him outside.”

  “I know what we told you is a lot to process, but just keep this in mind – during th
e day, the infected are noisy and dangerous; but at night, they become efficient killing machines, with silence being one of their advantages.” Casey was quite certain she’d mentioned this to Ashley before, but apparently, the details had gone in one ear and out the other.

  “And, uh … both of you are planning to go into the woods, of your own volition, to kill him?”

  Cain frowned at her. “We don’t expect you to help, all right? So calm down before you start hyperventilating.”

  The second hand of the large clock on the wall ticked softly, reminding Casey to hurry. They still had to find the jock, which could take hours to accomplish.

  She rose to her feet and gestured impatiently at her twin. “We can’t delay this anymore. Ashley, keep the doors closed until we return.”

  “And what if you don’t?” she breathed.

  “Then lock yourself in the attic and spend the night there.”

  There was nothing more to be said. With a reassuring grin, Casey hugged her friend and then followed after Cain, who’d already stepped outside. Ashley stared at them, looking like a slack-jawed zombie herself.

  “Don’t come home late,” she blurted out, her voice trembling.

  But this time, the only reply she got was the front door clicking softly as it closed.

  Chapter 11

  Morning finally came, warm and languid, just like any other day.

  For Mike, however, today was a little different. Not only had they somehow survived the night, but it was time to bid farewell to this dilapidated building, his home for more than three and a half years.

  He yanked the curtains apart, grimacing as sunlight poked him straight in the eyes. The streets looked fairly empty; if they were going to leave today, now would be the perfect time to do it.

  “If you aren’t busy, Mike, could you wake Trey up?” Mr. Rothstein ran his bony hands over his scalp, pressing down on stubborn hair sticking out at the back. “I’ll pack a small breakfast for us before we leave.” As he shuffled to the kitchen, he added, “And you might want to throw those sneakers away. Looks like the bloodstains won’t come out.”

  Startled, Mike glanced down, remembering the puddle of oozing blood he’d slipped on. The stains had gone deep, down to his socks, and when he yanked them off with disgust, he noted the dried blood had crusted between his toes as well.

  “I’d better wash this off first,” he said. “The thought of infected blood on my skin gives me the heebie-jeebies.”

  “Be sure there isn’t a single droplet of water left on you,” the retired pianist warned. “Precaution must be exercised at all times since Trey isn’t immune to the virus.”

  With a perfunctory nod, Mike limped over to the bathroom and gave his feet and toes a meticulous scrubbing.

  When he returned, he found Trey awake and changing his clothes while Mr. Rothstein talked about his RV, which was parked in a fenced-in section just behind the building. They’d have to go out of the back exit to gain access to the area.

  “You have a key for the exit door?” Mike asked. The landlord had never given him one since he’d never owned a vehicle. Not that he could have afforded the parking space, anyway.

  “Naturally.” Mr. Rothstein rubbed his hands. “Now, if the two gentlemen here are ready, I think it’s time to make our way downstairs.”

  “One of us should take the bags down first,” Mike suggested. “And, uh … shouldn’t we also check next door, just in case?”

  “It would be a waste of time,” Trey said, buttoning the top button on his shirt. Mike secretly thought it made him look a little strangled. “I’ve been listening for most of the night, but it has been quiet over there since that slitherer left.”

  Night Slitherer. It sounded like a title out of some decades-old comic book.

  Mr. Rothstein seemed to agree with his protégé. “It’s best if we leave now, bags and all. I can already hear more of the infected lumbering onto the street below.”

  True to form, the infected were starting to gather out in the open, their hisses and snarls growing louder with each passing minute.

  Sighing, Mike pulled out his baseball bat and the police baton, then hefted his duffel bag over his shoulder. “Then I’ll go first.” He handed the baton over to Mr. Rothstein. “If you could keep an eye on Trey, it’d be really helpful.”

  Outwardly, the boy seemed calm, but his eyes behind the goggle glasses held a strange sort of light in them.

  It’s defiance, Mike thought. The resistance of a twelve-year-old who hates being treated like a child.

  Trey slowly extended his arm out. “Give me a weapon,” he said, then added as a sullen afterthought, “please.”

  “You can’t even fold your clothes properly, so what makes you think you can handle a weapon?”

  “Because I have killed before.”

  “Oh? Like orcs in video games?”

  There was a slight pause. “Not orcs, but my mother.”

  It took a while for that to sink in. When Mike cast a harried glance at Mr. Rothstein, the elderly man shook his head, looking quite confounded himself.

  “I … I never asked him. Trey isn’t the type to answer even when pressed with questions. Since he seemed willing to leave with us, I naturally assumed he’d been alone all this time.”

  Mike turned his attention back to Trey. “Tell us how it happened.”

  “After Father left for work in the morning, Mother stayed in the kitchen to fry eggs for me. I was in my bedroom getting dressed when something clattered loudly on the floor. But I ignored it and went to the master bedroom to get some of Father’s gel.” He shrugged. “I had severe bed hair that morning.

  “While I was fixing my hair in front of the mirror, I saw my mother’s reflection in the doorway, staring at me. I asked her if my breakfast was ready. Her answer was to run toward me and grab my shoulders.”

  “How did she look like?” Mike asked, recalling Tommy Saunders’s creepy eyes.

  “Her brown eyes looked red, like an eye infection.” Trey stopped here, as if regretting what he’d just revealed. “To make a long story short, Mother tried to kill me, so I grabbed the metal scissors on the vanity table and stabbed her with it.”

  “Where’s her body now?”

  “In the master bedroom.”

  Mike dropped his duffel bag at his feet. “Give me ten – no, seven minutes.” Before Mr. Rothstein could protest, Mike pushed the barricade aside and slipped out the front door, then poked his head back in. “Trey, toss over your apartment keys.”

  Startled, the boy fished out his keys and threw them willy-nilly without thought.

  Thanks to his fast reflexes, Mike still managed to catch them. “Close the door behind me,” he ordered. Jogging down the corridor, he carefully glanced at the apartments to his left and right and tightened his grip on the baseball bat. He may have immunity against the virus, but as Mr. Rothstein had previously warned, it didn’t make him invincible to a frenzied attack by the infected.

  Once he reached Trey’s apartment on the second floor, he helped himself in and headed straight for the master bedroom, where Trey’s infected mom was purportedly lying dead. For a moment he stood before the door, overcome by hesitation. What exactly had compelled him to come? Who were these people to him, anyway?

  I’m just here to check something. He pushed the door and stepped inside. That’s all.

  The powerful stench of decomposition yanked him out of his thoughts, and he bent over, gagging. The warm, stifling air didn’t help matters, either. Grateful for his empty stomach, he wiped the saliva from his mouth and stumbled to the bed. Mrs. Long’s slumped body was facing the wall. Holding the baseball bat out, Mike gave the woman a quick nudge. When she failed to move, he grabbed her shoulder and rolled her over, jumping back as her arm flopped listlessly toward him.

  A pair of metal scissors stuck out of her right eye socket, its blades bloodied and buried so deep that Mike couldn’t help wondering how a scrawny preteen had summoned enough courage t
o cause such damage. Desperation obviously played a part. In horror, he watched as a yellowish-white maggot wriggled out and crawled up her forehead, disappearing into the inky depths of her thick, tangled hair.

  He gagged again, and this time, the saliva and burning tears kept flowing.

  When his stomach finally settled down, Mike stumbled outside the apartment, drew in a shaky breath as he held the wall for support, then headed upstairs to his studio apartment.

  Everything Trey had told him seemed to check out. And yet … he knew the little scamp had lied. He’d known since Trey had described his mother’s eyes as bloodshot when in actual fact, the infection gave them an opaque, whitish hue with a pus-like substance dripping from the orifices.

  There was no denying it – Trey had killed his mother, but not from self-defense.

  She’d never been infected in the first place.

  * * *

  The eerily quiet woods amplified every crunch and snapping twig under Casey’s feet, and she stopped in her tracks abruptly. Cain went ahead, cursing loudly as he stepped through a dark swarm of tiny insects. Their galumphing was going to attract all sorts of bad attention if they continued at this rate.

  “Cain,” she called out. “Hold on for a sec.”

  He let out another colorful curse, angrily fluffing up his hair. “What is it?”

  When the twins headed into the woods, armed with an impressive array of sharp tools, their goal had been pretty straightforward – find the infected jock and kill him. But with all the noise they were making, it was more likely the jock would find them first, popping out of trees and shadows like some demon-possessed jack-in-the-box and latching onto them when they least expected it.

  “We need to be quiet,” Casey said, feeling paranoid as she glanced around their vicinity. “These woods are probably hiding more than one infected jock.” Even non-infected humans were a possible threat, especially ones intent on stealing from others through brute force.

  Grumbling under his breath, Cain promptly did as told.

  It took over an hour of strenuous hiking before the twins stumbled across the discarded remains of what was once a young buck. Its soft belly had been ripped open, its intestines and organs scooped out. A plethora of blowflies crawled in and out of the gaping hole.