Afternoon (The Daylight Cycle Book 3)

by Kody Boye

  Though they could always take refuge in Rose’s SUV, it would still leave them exposed to not only the elements, but the zombies within them.

  Somewhere within the enclosed complex, a door opened, then closed.

  “Psst!” Dakota hissed.

  “I hear you,” Steve said as he came forward, unhinged the wooden slat, then opened the door. He frowned upon only seeing three of them. “Ian—”

  “Gone,” Dakota said, before his friend could even manage to finish. “And we have a problem.”

  “He’s been scratched?” Jamie asked.

  “It didn’t tear the skin,” Erik said, starting to bend over, but stopping before he could do so. “Shit.”

  “His head’s killing him,” Rose replied. “Someone get the man some Aspirin.”

  Steve darted into the kitchen to rummage through their medical supplies. Jamie—whose sad eyes had not left Erik since they’d returned—sighed as he looked upon his friend. “Erik,” he said.

  “I know you’re gonna have to tie me up,” the man said. “To a chair, a bed—something. I already get that.”

  “We don’t know if scratches are a vector of transmission.”

  “They shouldn’t be if it didn’t break the fucking skin.”

  Dakota frowned. As their primary caretaker and only medic, he figured Erik would know more than anyone about the virus and the way it was transmitted. Hearing the unsurety in Jamie’s voice did nothing to ease his conscience, nor did it help to alleviate his fears that they would lose yet another member of their group.

  We can’t, he thought. Not now, not after Ian.

  While he could mourn the man’s death, as he had been a member of their group and as such had contributed immensely to not only Erik’s survival, but Steve’s, he could not necessarily feel sad over it. Hearing about his past—and the things he had done to secure his position within the merciless gang—had soured most of his appreciation for the man. That, however, did not mean that he’d had to die—not now, and especially not in the way most people did in this world.

  When everyone’s eyes fell to Erik—when, after an aspirin was ingested and swallowed with a swig of bottled water—the man lifted his eyes, asked, “What?” then frowned shortly thereafter. “Oh,” he then said, his face taking on a somber expression. “That.”

  They waited—Dakota silently, Jamie with his arms crossed over his chest and Rose with a look of contemplation upon her face. Erik set the bottle of water down and turned his attention to face them just as Steve returned with a roll of bandages. “We were trying to distract them from Dakota and Rose when they broke into the convenience store,” Erik said. “They were the ones who had the supplies, so we figured it was better if they get out first—you know: risk ourselves rather than the people who would be bringing food back. That plan worked well enough until we got outside. That was when the zombies swarmed the alley and grabbed Ian.”

  “That shot we heard after the scream,” Rose said.

  “Was Ian ending his life,” Erik nodded. “We won’t be seeing him amongst the horde, thank God. I didn’t like the man, but it wasn’t as if I wanted him to die.”

  “I was thinking the exact same thing,” Dakota sighed. “It just seems like… karma, you know? For what he’s done throughout his life.”

  “No one deserves to have their choice taken away from them though,” Rose said, which instantly prompted nods from everyone—including Steve, whose work was set on cleaning, disinfecting and bandaging Erik’s wound.

  “Regardless,” Jamie said, “we have a new problem to worry about.”

  They all settled their eyes on Erik.

  “Under normal circumstances I wouldn’t want to take the risk,” he continued, “but Erik… you’re my best friend, and there’s no way I could… could…”

  “Shoot me,” Erik finished.

  Jamie nodded. “Yeah. Shu-shoot you.” He paused and swallowed a breath, obviously struggling to maintain his composure as he closed his eyes and fought back what were likely tears. He waited a moment to gather his strength before lifting his head to look at Erik and the group. “So… here’s what I propose: we take a chair, tie Erik up, and try to make him as comfortable as possible.”

  “I’ll be fine now that I have my pain medication,” Erik responded. “Hell. Being tied to a chair will be better than staying in that fucking gas station without any meds.”

  “So it’s settled. Steve.”

  “Yeah?” Steve asked.

  “See if you can find some rope, twine or bungee cords. We need to do this now before Erik gets any worse.”

  Erik was restrained, via a series of handkerchiefs, bandages and pieces of bungee cord, to a wooden dining room chair that would surely cause noise should he happen to turn when no one was up. It was determined, based on Rose’s roommate’s untimely death, that the entire process—if it were to even occur—would take less than twelve hours.

  She just went to bed and never woke up, Rose said.

  Unlike Mary, Erik was not displaying symptoms. He was not sweating profusely, his eyes were not shot with blood-red lines, nor was his skin paling by the hour. Rather, he looked merely tired—a fact that, while somewhat comforting to Jamie, was incredibly disconcerting to Dakota.

  He didn’t want to see Erik go through hell just to die and come back reanimated, yet at the same time, they couldn’t just kill him—not when he hadn’t been bitten.

  He still may turn, his consciousness chided him. Don’t get your hopes up.

  He didn’t. And so after bidding Erik goodnight and wrapping a slight blanket around his shoulders, he departed upstairs with Jamie for bed.

  Sleep eluded him for most of the night—strangling him with the idea that he would hear, near the crack of dawn, the sound of an undead moan and then the crack of the wooden chair as it was upended and crushed under a dead thing’s weight. For that reason, he remained close to Jamie—allowing the man to spoon him until he fell asleep. It was only then that he broke away from his boyfriend’s touch and settled down into his own suitable position.

  Come time for morning, Dakota woke remembering nothing of the night before.

  It didn’t happen, he thought, hopeful as he rose—ahead of Jamie, thankfully—and dressed into a pair of sweats and a long-sleeved shirt. He stopped at the door, but grabbed the fire poker from its side before venturing out and creeping down the stairs.

  As he’d expected, Erik had not turned. Instead, he slept—his breaths going in, then out in a steady, languid pace.

  “Erik?” Dakota asked as he made his way down the last few stairs. “Are you awake?”

  The man startled, jerking against his restraints, then opened his eyes and turned them on Dakota. “Yeah,” he managed, coughing, clearing his throat of the night’s tickles and blinking a few times to clear his vision. “I am.”

  “How’re you feeling?”

  “Sore, mostly. But I think it’s from sitting in this chair all night.”

  “I can only imagine,” Dakota said. Erik looked from him, to the fire poker and back again. “Sorry,” he said. “It was… just in case.”

  “I know. Don’t worry.”

  Dakota stooped to undo the man’s restrains, taking extra care not to hurt or aggravate his injured ankle. He took particular note of its reddened hue, but beyond looking like a typical scratch, it appeared like nothing out of the ordinary.

  Maybe they don’t transmit the infection, he thought. Maybe he really is in the clear.

  Was that too much to ask for? For their medic—and Jamie’s best friend since childhood—to survive?

  Rather than dwell on the matter at hand, he finished untying Erik, then stood to help the man up. “Feeling ok?”

  “A bit woozy from my headache, but I think I can sleep longer now that the migraine is mostly gone.”

  “Do you want to go up to your room?”

  “If you’d let me, I’d appreciate it. I understand if you’d want to restrain me again.”

&
nbsp; Dakota frowned. He didn’t see the point—not now, after an entire night and more than twelve hours had passed without fail.

  With a shake of his head, Dakota turned and started back up the stairs.

  When he returned to bed, Jamie was rising—naked, save for his underwear and the blanket around his shoulders. “Erik—”

  “Is fine,” Dakota said before Jamie could continue any further.

  The older man sighed and reached up to run a hand across his bearded face. “Thank God.”

  “I told him he could go into his room so long as he locked the door and answered us if someone knocked on it. Are you comfortable with that?”

  “It’s only the three of us in the house. I don’t see why that’d be a problem, especially since Rose isn’t in the second guest room anymore.”

  “I think her moving into the next house over with Steve and Desmond was the best idea we had,” Dakota replied, settling down beside Jamie. He sought out the man’s warmth and set a hand on his thigh, tracing the fine hairs beneath his touch. “At least now we only have to worry about the two of us. I mean… if something happens.”

  “You don’t think anything’s going to happen?” Jamie asked. “Do you?”

  Why Jamie was asking him Dakota didn’t know. He knew nothing of medicine, little of the virus and even less of the process that occurred after infection. Maybe he was just seeking comfort, or maybe he wanted to lend faith to the idea that nothing would happen to Erik come time they checked on him next. Rather than say anything, however, Dakota merely nodded and leaned into Jamie’s body, accepting the gentle and reassuring touch meant for his partner’s sake rather than his own.

  “Thank you for keeping an ear out for him last night,” Jamie said. “I know you were up most of the night listening.”

  “I couldn’t sleep,” Dakota replied.

  “Neither could I, but at least I eventually fell asleep. You, though.” Jamie laughed. “You look like you could use a few more hours.”

  “Or the whole day.”

  Jamie laughed.

  Dakota smiled.

  They wrapped their arms around each other and embraced.

  Maybe this was all just a fluke.

  Maybe Erik’s injury was nothing more than a minor flesh wound—one that would heal within the next few days.

  He could only hope.

  Chapter 2

  Erik’s condition began to worsen within the next few days. Though he showed none of the typical signs of infection, he began coughing and came down with a fever that left him in bed for the better half of a day.

  “This is bad,” Rose said. “Really bad.”

  She, Steve, Dakota and Jamie stood in the downstairs living room discussing what they would do should Erik happen to get any worse. With his fever having reached one-hundred degrees several times already, there was the distinct likelihood that it could continue to climb—and, as a result, worsen.

  “If he dies,” Steve said, “there’s a distinct chance that he might come back to life anyway.”

  “Because of the scratch?” Jamie asked. “That’s ridiculous. It didn’t even break the skin.”

  “Maybe his immune system is compromised due to how much stress we’ve all been under,” Rose offered, “and that’s why he got sick all of a sudden. I mean, we did think he was going to turn.”

  “But it’s been three days already and he hasn’t,” Dakota offered. “So we can’t assume this has anything to do with him getting scratched.”

  “We can’t assume it has anything to do with that,” Jamie stressed. “He’s sick. That’s all there is too it. All he needs is to ride it out just like he does his migraines.”

  “What if his fever keeps climbing?” Rose asked.

  “Then we keep giving him benadryl,” Jamie replied. “God. I don’t know why you’re all riding my ass on this.”

  “Because we have no idea if this is a regular fever, Jamie.”

  “It is.”

  “You don’t know that.”

  “I—”

  Rather than wait and listen to the two bicker, Dakota made his way into the kitchen and settled down at the table around the corner—hoping, by God’s forgiving mercy, that they would come to some sort of arrangement within the next few moments and stop fighting altogether. He hated to see Jamie in pain, but his thinking was irrational. It didn’t matter whether or not Erik was his best friend. If there was the chance he was infected—let alone with a slower version of the virus—there was still a possibility that he could turn and endanger them all.

  Steve entered the room a short moment later and settled down across from him.

  “Couldn’t stand it either?” Dakota asked.

  “Not really,” Steve replied. “While they both have very legitimate points, she isn’t going to get through to Jamie by acting like a pessimist.”

  “What the hell do you think I mean?” Rose’s voice sounded from the other room. “If it gets any worse, he’s going to need antibiotics, Jamie! You can’t say I’m being unreasonable when all I’m doing is looking out for your friend’s health.”

  “Just stop,” Jamie said. “Just… stop, Rose.”

  “Fine. I’ll stop. But unless you can wake him up and get the name of an antibiotic out of him, he’s not going to get better. He’s only going to get worse.”

  A cold rush of air entered the home as the door opened, then dissipated after it was slammed.

  The sound of a fist striking the wall came from the other room.

  “Guess that solves that problem,” Steve said.

  “Steve,” Dakota sighed, standing.

  “Well, it does.”

  With a shake of his head, Dakota rounded the corner just in time to see Jamie rubbing his knuckles. “Mom always said I had anger issues when I got upset,” Jamie said as he took notice of Dakota at the threshold. “I never hit anybody else, but man could I throw a punch into a wall if I wanted to.”

  “You’re going to end up breaking your fingers,” Dakota said.

  “I know. I’m sorry.”

  “She’s just concerned about him getting worse, Jamie. I don’t think she’s trying to insinuate that he’s going to die and turn into a zombie.”

  “It’s just… he’s my best friend, Dakota. We’ve known each other since we were kids. I don’t want anything to happen to him.”

  “Then you’re going to have to stop acting irrational and listen to what other people are saying.” Dakota stepped forward and took Jamie’s reddened knuckles in his hands. “And no more of this. Ok?”

  “Ok.”

  “Promise?”

  “I promise,” Jamie said. He sighed, made his way over to the nearby couch, and collapsed atop it, where he stared at the ceiling as if looking for God so He could answer all his problems. “I take it Steve didn’t have any medical training?”

  “Nope!” Steve answered from the other room. “Sorry bud.”

  “And I imagine you know next to nothing about medicine, do you, babe?”

  “I’m sorry to say I don’t.”

  “Maybe there’s a pill book at that pharmacy she and Erik raided a week back,” Jamie said, standing. “I mean, yeah—it’s a longshot, but it’s still a possibility.”

  “Why not just try and get the name of a generic drug out of Erik? See if he can give you an answer?”

  “Because even if he is coherent, I can’t trust him to give me the name of the right drug. I’d rather put him down like a rabid dog before giving him something that might poison him to death.”

  “I guess you have a point there.”

  Jamie nodded. “So… I guess since you and Rose were the last two to go out, I guess I’ll ask Steve to come with me if he’s willing.”

  “Are we walking?” Steve asked. “Or are we taking the truck?”

  “We might as well take the truck. We all know how well the last run on foot worked out.”

  *

  Steve sat in the passenger’s seat as he waited for Jamie to fin
ish moving the massive wooden gate. Nervous at the prospect of going out after such a dangerous mission but knowing that they had to find that pill book more than anything, he toyed with his fingers by cracking his knuckles and tried as hard as he could not to be doubtful in the face of such horrible adversity.

  One of their own had just died.

  The horde had come from nowhere.

  If what Dakota and Rose had said was true—and he had no reason to doubt either of them—they could still easily be in the area.

  Which means that we might have to run, Steve thought. Which means that we might have to abandon the truck.

  Which meant that they would have to return on foot, which would come with a whole new slew of problems.

  Sighing, he looked up just in time to see the door open and Jamie come walking up to the vehicle. “You ready?” he asked, leaning in through the open window to look at him.

  “As ready as I’ll ever be,” Steve replied.

  Jamie slid into the vehicle, signaled to Kevin and his oldest son, Arnold, to prepare for their departure, then flipped the ignition.

  Given the sound it caused, Jamie wasted no time in rolling the vehicle forward.

  He waited for Kevin and Arnold to secure the gate behind them before he navigated onto the unsalted street and began to make his way into the deeper parts of Rigby, Idaho.

  “Rose said it seemed like the entire town had fallen,” Steve said as he bundled his coat around him. “Judging from how many zombies there’d been.”

  “We can’t waste any time once we get there,” Jamie replied. “This is a get in, grab what we can, get out mission. Understand?”

  Steve nodded. He needed no further confirmation from the army man than the loaded automatic rifle at his side.

  Hugging the duffel bag close, Steve waited for the inevitable.

  It took little more than five minutes for them to arrive at the pharmacy that he, Rose and Erik had originally raided in the weeks prior to their most recent excursion. Bearing the semblance of a dilapidated building from the damage it had incurred from both the weather and the people who had once raided it, glass littered the ground and scattered produce items lined the edges of the street. Prints—both animal and undead—lined the streets, though the latter appeared to be fewer in nature and likely meant that the area was deserted.