The Intrusion: Baltin Prequel

by Melissa Riddell

  Shaking my head, I scowl. “If I had it to do over, I would’ve blasted that motherfucker out of the sky.”

  He snickers. “I love you. Now go. Don’t worry about me and keep your promise. Stay away. Let me stay strong in your memories, okay?”

  I grab him to me and hug him so tightly I’m afraid I’ll break his ribs. One last time, I breathe his faint cologne scent mixed with sweat, and run my fingers through his hair. “You’ve become my family, Max, and I’ll always love you for it.” I release him and rearrange the pillows under his head, making sure he’s comfortable. “When you see Kat…” my voice chokes and I swallow several times to clear the hot ball of torture at the back of my throat, “tell her I expect a new necklace the next time we meet, and I’ll bring a card game.”

  “I will,” he whispers. “Now get out of here. Go check on your parents and take care of yourself. Remember everything I said, and I hope somehow, some way, you can find happiness again because you deserve it.”

  My feet stay rooted to the floor. I can’t leave him to die alone. The light from the window washes over his form, and his stormy ocean eyes open, turning a lighter shade of blue in the wash of illumination.

  “You promised.” Between his gaze and mine an invisible chasm opens, separating us for eternity.

  I bite my lip, close my eyelids, and flee from the trailer.

  Sobs wrack me from head to toe as I furiously pedal the dirt road and head toward the city. My heart is slicing itself to pieces, and a quiet rage simmers in my blood.

  If I ever meet those who did this to Max and Kat, I will kill them.

  Chapter Forty-Six

  My eyes are so swollen I can barely see the road. A terrible urge tugs at me, begging me to turn around and break my promise, to stay with Max until the end, to not let him die alone.

  But the fucking promise binds me and imagining how it would make him feel to see me show up again keeps my course straight.

  The streets are silent. No kids play in the front or backyards. It’s another warm day verging on the edge of spring, and there’s no reason they should be inside their homes.

  I wonder what my parents are doing.

  Daddy said he’d come by this morning to check on us. I glance at the sun, and it’s close to the halfway point in the sky, which means it’s almost lunch. Fear overtakes my sadness. If he said he’d come by, he would. He never breaks his word, which means…

  My thighs scream from pushing the pedals as fast as possible. I shift the bike into the highest gear and pant. Please don’t let him be sick. Maybe something happened. Considering how crazy things have been, I relax a fraction. This makes sense.

  On the sidewalk fifty feet ahead, someone sits on a lawn and holds their blonde head in their hands.

  For a fleeting moment, I think about passing her by so I can get home and check on my parents, but then I shove the thought away. It won’t take but a few seconds to see if she needs something.

  “Hey, you okay?” I pull up and place my feet against the road, straddling the bike.

  She pulls her hands from her face and I start. Emory.

  “Tilly?” Her blue eyes are wide, and pink vomit stains the front of her white, frilly blouse.

  “What are you doing out here, Emory?” I leave the bike and move closer. She’s only wearing one running shoe, and the other foot is covered with what was probably a clean sock at one time but is now grungy with several holes.

  “My dad wouldn’t wake up this morning, and I’m trying to make it to the clinic to get Dr. Kemperling to come look at him, but I’m sick.” She places a delicate hand against her stomach.

  I sit on the lawn with her and stare at the neighborhood. Remembering that day almost a year ago, when Max and I broke into her house causes a stab in my chest.

  God, if Max and Emory being together would save him, I’d happily give my blessing.

  I spy her house a block away. But one look at the girl and I can guess her fate. It’s the same as Kat’s… as Max’s. Oh, Max. Squeezing my eyelids shut, I breathe deeply and refocus on Emory. One thing at a time.

  “I don’t think Dr. Kemperling can help, Emory.” I take her skinny arm and help her get to her wobbly feet. “Mamma said the clinic’s out of medicine. The best thing to do is try to hydrate and rest.”

  A thin smile greets me. “Will you help me? I don’t think I can walk home by myself.”

  Nodding, I grab her waist and take some of the weight.

  She and I walk in the sunlight, and only the call of birds sounds over the light wind. A few old leaves left over from autumn scatter across the sidewalk.

  “Thank you for helping.” She stumbles and I catch her. “What I did with Max wasn’t right, and I’m…” Her hollow eyes flick to me for a second before sliding away. “I’m sorry for all the mean things at school.”

  I shrug, but keep my mouth closed. Her insults and bullying were terrible through the years, but instead of being angry, I feel kind of sorry for her. Not because she’s sick, but because I realize she did those things to make herself feel better. What could be worse than a person causing others misery to hide their own pain? How unhappy she must be.

  “I guess”—she freezes and clenches her middle for a few seconds, letting out a small groan, then straightens—“I’ve always been jealous because you never wanted to fit in with anyone, and it seemed weird.”

  “It’s okay.” We turn onto the concrete pathway leading to her house. “I’m sorry for hitting you on the head.”

  She gives a tiny snort. “I deserved it.” When she reaches her front door, she faces me and squeezes my hand. “And I lied all those times when I said you were ugly, or your nose was too long, or made fun of your clothes. I guess I’m not a very good person.” Her palm splays against the ornate door handle. “Maybe this is my karma.”

  “No, I doubt—”

  “Thanks for helping me home.” A small, sad smile tugs her lips upward.

  “You’re welcome.” I glance down the road toward my bike, eager to check on my parents, yet I hesitate to leave her alone with her dad, who sounds kind of dead. “Can I do anything else?”

  “No, but thank you.” Pushing the door open, she shakes her head. “You and Max make a cute couple. I won’t bug either of you anymore.”

  I don’t have the strength or heart to tell her Max is lying in his trailer, alone and suffering from the same virus she has. Instead, I twist toward the road.

  “Take care, Emory,” I toss over my shoulder, refusing to see her gaunt, sickly form standing in the doorway, afraid my heart will break open like an egg under her despondent stare.

  The rest of the ride home blurs past. I throw the bike to the graveled driveway and pound up the steps of the porch. I try the knob, but it’s locked.

  I knock three times, but no one answers. Fear coils inside my veins. “No, no, no. Please, God, no.” Frantic, I dig my housekey from a pocket and barge into the living room.

  Something ripe, like sewage, hits my nose.

  Kicking the door closed behind me, I rush into the kitchen, but it’s empty.

  “Mamma? Daddy?” If they’re not here, then they must be in the bedroom. I breathe a sigh of relief. They’re probably taking an afternoon nap, that’s all.

  My steps are soft as I creep toward the door, which is partway open. I wedge my head into the space.

  They both lie on the bed on top of the comforter, facing one another, their hands clasped together. Trashcans sit on either nightstand.

  I throw a hand to my nose because the sour smell of puke is overwhelming.

  A moan escapes me, and I stumble to the end of the bed. “Oh no. Please no.”

  Mamma’s hand jerks, and she twists her head from the pillow to stare at me.

  Covering my mouth with a hand, I wonder if it’ll keep the scream building deep inside my bones from pouring out of my throat.

  “Tilly?” Her face is a white mask, and her lips are cracked and dry.

  “Yes, Mamma.�
�� I lunge into the bed between them, a hand on each of their arms.

  Daddy’s eyes open. “Half-pint,” he murmurs. “I tried to check on you this morning, but I couldn’t make it past the living room. I’m sorry.”

  “It’s okay, Daddy.” I wipe sweaty hair from his face.

  “Max?” His eyes seem sunken and hollow.

  How can they have deteriorated this fast?

  I brush a hand over Mamma’s burning cheek. “He made me leave.”

  Daddy gives a slight nod and lets out a harsh breath, moving a hand to his stomach.

  “What do y’all need?” I feel so damn helpless. Is this hell? Did I do something so bad God’s punishing me by killing everyone I’ve loved?

  “Nothing, honey. I think the worst has passed.” She tries to smile but it looks like the face of a corpse trying to grin and I turn away, desperate to deny this is happening.

  “Let me get you some water, and some Tylenol, and—” I scoot off the bed, eager to find something to do to ease their pain. “—a cool cloth. That’ll help, right?”

  I don’t give her time to answer. Instead, I careen out of the bedroom to scavenge for the medicine, wet washcloths, two bottles of water, and whatever else I think might make them feel better.

  With my arms loaded, I re-enter the bedroom and set everything on Mamma’s vanity. The water tumbles to the floor with a loud thud. “Damn it.” I snatch it up, open the caps, and carry it to her.

  “Here, drink this.” I place a hand on the back of her head and guide her mouth toward the water. She doesn’t fight, which scares me even more. It’s as if the virus has wiped away her willpower.

  After a couple of sips, she shakes her head once. “No more, Tilly.” Her eyes follow me as I repeat the same process with Daddy.

  He takes a bigger swallow but has enough energy to remove the bottle from his lips. “Half-pint,” he rasps. “Thank you, but water isn’t going to cure us. We’re not going to make it, and—”

  “No, please don’t say that.” I throw the bottle at a wall, and the water splashes onto the paint and drips to the carpet, creating a wet, brown puddle. “Don’t leave me alone, Daddy.” Like a small, scared child, my words are weak and breathy.

  “Come here.” He twists to his side and pats the space on the bed between his and Mamma’s body. “Let us hug you one last time.”

  Tears gush from my eyes. I’ve never felt this much sorrow, this much heartache, or this much futility. This can’t be real. Please this can’t be real.

  Mamma’s eyelids drift closed, and I dive into the bed, afraid they won’t open again.

  The movement jostles them both, and her eyelids pop open. “I love you, Tilly.”

  My head lays on her pillow and I hug her neck, my cold, wet tears soaking her thin nightgown. “I-I love you, too, Mamma.” Squeezing her tighter, I ignore the scent of sickness oozing from her pores.

  “Half-pint.” Daddy’s hand strokes my back, like it did when I was little and he soothed away my nightmares. “You’re not alone. If you’re not sick, then Sissy may be healthy, too. You still have her.”

  I pull back from my mom and trace her cheek before twisting to face Daddy.

  He grimaces. “Oh, Jesus.” For a few seconds, he breathes through the pain, then focuses on me again. “When we go,” his gaze cuts to Mamma’s and softens, “leave this place. Don’t worry about taking care of our bodies, just pack up the survival gear in the cellar and get out. The cities aren’t going to be safe for anyone who survives.”

  “I’m not going to abandon you—”

  “Stop it.” His voice strengthens. “I didn’t raise you to be a victim, Tilly, and that’s what you’ll be if you don’t move on. You’re going to be a survivor, and you’re going to get your ass out of here, do you understand?”

  “But where am I supposed to go?” The idea of traveling alone is terrifying. I’ve never been without my family. I don’t know if I can do it.

  “Florida. Stay off the major highways and keep to the country as much as you can. You have her address, so go find her.” He puts a hand on my face and gives me a savage smile. “If those who survive band together, who knows what can be accomplished? Maybe there’s a way to fight back. Even if you don’t, it’ll give you a goal and you won’t be alone if you find your sister.”

  I shake my head and the tears start again. “I don’t want to leave.”

  “Sometimes it’s the things we don’t want to do that we must do.” His thumb wipes a tear and the burst of energy he seemed to gain fades away. His mouth slackens and his eyes close.

  “Daddy, don’t go to sleep.” I grip his shirt in my fist, unable to hide my terror.

  “It’s okay, Half-pint. I’m resting, not dying.” He pats my hand.

  They each put an arm around me, and I relax between them, listening to each breath, willing it not to be their last. Their breathing normalizes and I stare at the ceiling, hating my life, wishing I were sick, too, so I can join Kat, Max, and my parents. It’s not fair I should be the one left to bear this pain and all these memories.

  After several minutes pass, I wiggle from their grasp and stand. Leaning over the nightstand, I grab the wet cloths and wipe their faces.

  Mamma sleeps through the cold cloth scouring her skin. I memorize her face, the tiny smile lines near her lips, the scattered freckles across her nose, the bright, copper hair as wild as fire splayed against the pillow. My heart twists in my ribcage until I’m sure it can’t beat any longer. “I love you so much, Mamma.”

  I walk around the bed and repeat the process with Daddy, smoothing the cloth over his eyebrows, his nose, his beard.

  “And you were afraid the cigarettes were going to kill me.” His hazel irises, a little greener in the bright afternoon sunshine, peek between the lids, and a tiny grin lifts a corner of his mouth.

  Sorrow courses through my veins, closing my throat so I can’t speak. I shake my head and bite my lip, blinking back the sting of my tears. Words refuse to form in my mouth. Seeing my strong, capable dad lying in this bed, barely able to lift his head, breaks something vital inside of me.

  “Don’t cry, Half-pint.” A tear drips from his eye. “Don’t be sad. In a way, I’m relieved I’m going with your Mamma. I love you and Sissy more than anything, but I need your mother. I don’t know if I could make it without her.” His fingers crawl across the bed to find her fingers, and he holds them in his fist.

  She shifts a fraction but remains asleep.

  “Remember what I said about being a survivor. You’re tough, smart, and not afraid to put up with anyone’s shit. Use it to your advantage.” His eyelids drift again.

  I retrieve a chair from the kitchen and sit next to their bed, unwilling to leave them, afraid they might need help, and unable to stand the thought of them dying alone.

  They sleep for an hour or so, and outside, the afternoon sun moves toward the west, its rays poking through the window, the cheery light a horrible irony in such a dismal room.

  Mamma stirs a bit, then opens her gaze to Daddy. A line appears between her brow and her breathing increases, as if she’s running.

  “Sarah.” Daddy’s hand brushes hers.

  Her mouth moves, and even though no sound escapes, she mouths “I love…” Her stare stays on Daddy’s face, yet her chest stills.

  “No, Mamma, no.” I clench my fingers into my palms, digging the nails into the soft flesh, using the pain as an anchor. An insane urge rises inside to shake her until she starts breathing again, to perform CPR, to scream and curse just so she’ll admonish me for cussing. But another small part deep in my mind knows it would be selfish to bring her back after she’s suffered so much. I’d be doing it to bring myself some peace, which wouldn’t last very long because she’d continue to suffer and die again.

  Instead, I stand at the end of the bed and force a fist into my mouth to hold in my cry.

  Daddy swipes a strand of hair from her temple. His hand stays on her face, and he shuts his eyes. “I
love you, Half-pint.” The words weaken with each breath. “Remember… remember what I said.” As if Mamma’s death is a release, his breathing stops, too. A few spasms shake his body, then it’s completely silent.

  I crash to the floor, using one arm to hang onto the comforter at the end of the bed. A force rushes up from my stomach, into my esophagus, and out of my mouth. I scream into the room, releasing the pain and sorrow to careen against the walls, the ceiling, the floor. I howl so long my voice gives out. Raspy whispers replace the ear-splitting yells.

  Curling on the floor, I press my cheek to the carpet and continue to cry with hoarse sobs.

  Kat, Max, Mamma, and Daddy. How can I go on? A sliver of anger pushes through the sadness. Why didn’t they fight harder? In the back of my mind, I know this is an irrational thought, yet I can’t stop the tiny ember of fury flaring in the black agony.

  Too weak to stand, I continue to lie on the carpeted floor, blanking my mind until the flutters of sleep pull me into its memory-wiping embrace.

  Chapter Forty-Seven

  I wake to late afternoon sunshine. Dreading what lies before me, yet knowing it must be done, I stand. Placing a kiss on Daddy’s cool cheek, then another to Mamma’s forehead, I tug the covers over their faces.

  “I love you both.” My tears still verge on the edges of my eyes, yet a part of me is numb, as if I’m walking in a dream.

  Like a robot, I make my way to the backyard, grab a shovel from Daddy’s shed, and stand under the persimmon tree. I close my eyes and breathe, listening to the breeze sliding through the branches. The quietness is peaceful.

  I stab the shovel blade into the ground. Mamma loved this tree. After an hour of digging, I stop and sit on the old picnic table twenty feet away.

  Mr. Miller’s windows are dark. I should go check on him, too. Yet a part of me is afraid of what I’ll find. There are no neighbors visible anywhere, and after all the screaming I did earlier, if there were someone alive, then it’s almost certain they would’ve appeared.