Sanctuary's Aggression Complete Collection Box Set: A Post-apocalyptic Survival Thriller Series

by Maira Dawn

  “Ya know,” Joe said, “this is close to where Dylan got shot.”

  Wade nodded his head. “Yeah, the thought had occurred.”

  “Probably right on the other side of that treeline. We should check it out when this is done. Maybe somethin’ there will tell us who did this.”

  “Nothin’ I’d like better.”

  Thinking of the shooting, Wade looked over the field again. It was a good walk from the cabin. Most people thought it was a careless hunter, but he wasn’t so sure.

  Someone would have had to follow Dylan and Skye all the way to the deep woods, then backtrack and wait for them, choosing the best place from which to attack. There wasn’t a clear trail cut from the cabin to Dylan’s spot in the old growth.

  None of that seemed like a spur of the moment decision.

  And, while he was thinking on it, what had Tricia been doing all the way out here this morning anyway?

  He stuffed all that way back in his mind, in an area that could've been named Can’t Do Nothin’ About That Right Now Anyways. Then he went back to work.

  Hershel Ray crouched to get a closer look at the ground. “Ya know what I think,” he said. “I think we’re real bad at this.”

  “Yeah,” Joe said. “We suck.”

  “Yep,” Wade said. “And I don’t know if it’s good or bad that we know it.”

  Wade’s eye lit on a tiny pink thread caught on a short bramble mixed among some tall grass. He pointed at it, and the three rushed to it. The little strand fluttered in a small burst of wind like a flag trying to draw their attention.

  “Look!” Joe said his arm extended to the woods. Wade cursed, and Hershel sighed.

  There was no question now where the Sick had gone. The trail was wide and clear with trampled grass and scuffed snow. They had gone straight into the woods.

  “Why,” Wade complained, “do they always go and do that? It’s not like they can think straight. It’s harder to catch them in the woods than to pick fly dung out of a batch of pepper. Just once couldn’t they line up real nice at the road like passengers at a bus stop?”

  On the other side of the field, the rest of the men waited. Hershel Ray waved them over before the three turned toward the forest. The frozen grass crunched under their boots, making it sound as if they marched on glass.

  Wade peered into the dark woods, trying to see down the Sick’s trail. He blew out a breath, steeled himself, and walked forward.

  After reaching the arch of the trees, they moved through the hushed forest. It seemed empty, deserted of humans or animals. But then, up ahead was a flash of pink. Wade’s heart sank as he pointed it out to Tom and waved them all down.

  They were children.

  While the men sat on their heels, Tom reminded them Tricia had seen nine Sick, but she hadn’t mentioned little ones. It seemed she hadn't seen the entire horde.

  More than one man hung his head, shaking it back and forth.

  Wade ran a hand down his face as his gut turned.

  He’d dealt with the Sick plenty of times, but not many children. When he had, nightmares plagued him.

  This disease’s entire course was sad and disturbing but never more so than when dealing with young children.

  Thirty-Five

  Tears

  Wade surveyed the scene with a heavy heart. He hated seeing kids like this. Some people had a soft spot for dogs or cats or cars. His was children. One day, he hoped for his own big bunch of the little critters.

  To see these, like this, was almost more than he could bear. He shook his head and looked at the ground. But it wasn’t like he could ignore the situation.

  Wade examined the woods beyond the kids. Tricia had seen adults. Where had they gone?

  Most of the time, Sick kids were with a group that included what Wade had always assumed were their parents. It’d given him some ease thinking that at least the family was together even if it was in this condition.

  But that wasn’t the case here. Wade pegged the oldest around fourteen or so, and the youngest around six. They should have been running and squealing in delight rather than wandering aimlessly, silently with those vacant expressions.

  He shuddered.

  Most of the tiny Sick had at least one hardened, unwieldy limb. Some pulled a leg along, causing an odd, haltering limp. Others had an arm hanging uselessly alongside their small bodies. Bloody drool dripped in thin ribbons from their open mouths.

  Wade scanned the children’s blue-tipped fingers and lips. At least their suffering would soon be over. Maybe, just maybe, the Containment Center would be able to ease their last days.

  Scratching his scruffy cheek, he surveyed the down-hearted men. Wade was sure every one of them would rather be anywhere but here. But they had a job, and they better get to it.

  His throat ached as he got the men’s attention and gave instructions to make their way to the other side of the Sick children. If they could herd the Sick back into the field, it wouldn’t be that much further to the cargo truck.

  Once they got into position, they shook the brush and made low noises to herd the children in the direction they wanted. The children clung to each other, whimpering, but moved toward the edge of the forest.

  The men left their cover, moving into the open. The children lurched toward them, growling—their expressions angry and wild. The men tightened their half-circle, raising their arms.

  Some of the little ones created a tight ball in the middle, but others ran for freedom.

  Wade took off after the oldest. A boy, almost as tall as him, but skinny—with none of his bulk. Clearly, the kid has been slim before the AgFlu. Now he was all bones.

  Though he didn’t have a full-blown case yet, he ran awkwardly on his long, thin legs, and Wade easily caught up with him.

  The boy swiped at him, and he jumped back. When the boy sprinted off, Wade regained lost ground and tackled him.

  The boy fell face-down onto the grass with a huff and a groan. He clawed at the cold dirt and grass, trying to drag himself out from under Wade. Before the sick boy took a second breath, Wade had zip-tied his hands together.

  “No!” the kid howled.

  Wade's mouth fell open. Not again. Usually, their speech was gone by now.

  He turned the boy to face him, ignoring his snapping teeth and the smell of his rancid breath. Gripping his hair, he held the boy still and stared into the boy’s eyes. Was someone still in there?

  The boy was vicious, but his eyes held regret. And after a moment of struggle, he relaxed a bit.

  He locked eyes with Wade and, in a guttural voice, said, “I tried to save them.”

  “I know you did, son.” Wade put a hand to his shoulder.

  Wade and the boy shared a moment before the disease had its way. The kid’s muscles tightened again, and he thrashed, attempting to rip Wade’s flesh. His heart sank. This may be the last time the kid would make a human connection.

  Gently, Wade pushed the boy away from him. It was the disease talking, not the kid.

  Something in him twisted, and he grieved for the boy.

  He would want to forget this day and likely, never would. It would have been easier to believe all reason was gone at this point than to know they were still in there fighting, but powerless to stop what was happening.

  “It’s okay, boy. We’re gonna get you help. You and all the others.”

  The kid only snarled and snapped. Wade hoped on some level he understood.

  Looking around, he saw things were well in hand. Most of the Sick were being loaded into the cargo truck. He was the straggler.

  “Come on. You’re okay now.”

  After loading the boy, Wade stared at the pitiful sight of the Sick children. His heart grew heavier.

  He tried to imagine them without the disease but that was worse because he saw only terrorized children.

  “It’s okay,” he said in a feeble effort to comfort them.

  The children growled and wailed, and the other men looked
confused.

  “It’s okay. I know you’re scared, but it’s going to be okay. You don’t have to be roamin’ in the woods anymore. We’re gonna get you help.”

  Wade rolled down the box truck’s rear door and jumped into the front seat with Tom. “I’d like to see this one through, if that’s okay with you, Tom.”

  “Sure, I could use the company. I think the other men are going to come and scavenge out that way as we go anyway.”

  Wade nodded, then looked out the truck window as Tom started the vehicle. “He talked to me, Tom. He knows. He’s aware of what’s happenin’ around him. This is the second time. There was a man and woman that Dylan and I found in the woods and now this.”

  “Yeah,” Tom said, his voice hesitant and disheartened.

  “They said that wasn’t possible when the disease was this far gone. Wasn’t possible. That’s what they said." Wade ground his teeth. "They lied.”

  “Yeah, they did.”

  “Ya knew?” Wade sent Tom a scathing look. “You didn’t tell us?”

  “I figured it out, just like you. I was just as shocked. What good would it’ve done you to know? It doesn’t change anything. We got to do what we got to do, or we all die.”

  Wade blew out a long sigh. “I guess. At least, they’ll be getting some help.”

  Tom was silent for a moment. “You haven’t seen where they're keepin’ them, have you?”

  Wade slowly shook his head.

  Tom looked at him before letting his gaze trail to the truck floor. “It’s not a place where people get much help, Wade. You better prepare yourself.”

  His heart fell, and Wade wished he could leap from the vehicle.

  Something out of corner of his eye caused him to turn and look through the glass into the truck's hold.

  A small girl stood there, her long, brown hair in knots, and her clothing ripped in several places.

  Dirty and defeated, she slowly slid down the sidewall of the vehicle onto the floor. Blue fingertips covered her downturned mouth.

  Wade’s heart broke as he watched the tears slipping down her small face.

  Thirty-Six

  Dreams

  Skye couldn't stop laughing as she coaxed Dylan to eat another spoonful of vanilla pudding. It wobbled on the spoon in time with her giggles. "Really, Dylan, vanilla pudding is where you draw the line after all the gross things I've seen you eat?"

  "It tastes like plastic." He pushed away her hands that held the little plastic cup and spoon. "I'd rather eat roadkill."

  "Now that is disgusting! Doc says you need to eat. Kelsey is making something better, but this is what we've got right now."

  Sue Ellen popped her head in the door. "I could make up some beef broth. Would that be good?"

  "A whole lot better than this bland, milky stuff," Dylan said as he waved her off. "Go make it, the quicker, the better."

  Sue Ellen giggled. "Yes, sir."

  "Thank you!" Skye called after her.

  Sue Ellen had been here, helping out with so many small chores Skye could hardly number them. Skye turned to Dylan. "It's nice to see her so engaged with the family."

  "Yeah, she's doin' her share for once."

  "Dylan. She is a traumatized young girl. It's expected that she would need time to get settled."

  "I'm going to be traumatized before she's done."

  Skye pushed on his arm and hushed him. "She's trying."

  Dylan snorted.

  "Well, just remember, Mister. It wasn't long ago I felt the same about you."

  "I doubt it. You always had your eye on me."

  "Yeah, well, not always the way you’re thinking. At first, I just thought you were a bossy, arrogant, man-child who liked his own way entirely too much."

  "Stop mouthin' me, woman, and get over here." Dylan pulled a smiling Skye to himself.

  He kissed the top of her head. "She's coming along, and Jesse's doing well. We've got food, clothing, and shelter. Soon, I'll be healed up and back to work. I was worried for a minute there, but barring any further disasters, we'll get to spring okay, darlin'."

  Giving up on the pudding, she set it on the bedside table and laid her head on Dylan's shoulder. For the first time in days, she truly relaxed. Soon, she was drifting off to sleep.

  In her dream, it was a beautiful, breezy summer day, and the entire family was on their way to the farm market. Excitement filled Skye.

  At the entrance, a massive sign shouted the name in large blinking letters, an arrow with old-fashioned cascading light bulbs pointing to it. Sue Ellen's Exchange.

  As they passed under it, Sue Ellen turned to Skye and laughed.

  The smell of sizzling meat and vegetables filled the air, and one ambitious neighbor served pizza. Skye breathed deep, pulling in the aroma and watched as Jesse eagerly downed a slice before leaving them to roam the market.

  Then, Skye and Dylan sat in red Adirondack chairs, plates of steaming food piled high. They held hands, and his callused fingers caressed hers.

  The sun dipped low on the horizon, hitting Skye across the eyes. It was the perfect evening.

  Something tugged on her light green shirt. She swatted at it. Whatever it was, she didn't want to be disturbed.

  It tugged again.

  Skye looked down. Her shirt changed color from green to brilliant orange.

  Her eyes widened, and her heart plummeted. Quickly, she raised her head.

  The sun, market, people, Dylan. Everything was gone.

  Skye pushed herself to her feet, turning.

  She stood in a black void. Alone.

  Skye woke with a start, caught somewhere between her dream and the real world, her sweaty hand clenching Dylan's blue t-shirt. Her thumping heart vibrated against her chest. Eyes darting around the room, she reassured herself that the horrible nothingness had only been a nightmare.

  Frowning, she looked up at Dylan. It was unusual that he wouldn't have felt her startle.

  Skye pushed herself up, examining Dylan's flushed face, and raising a hand to his forehead. It felt like fire.

  "Dylan?"

  He groaned as he peeked through his heavy eyelids.

  She cupped his cheek, anxiety taking hold. "Dylan?"

  "Not feeling so great, Darlin'."

  Tears welled in her eyes. She gave his forehead a quick kiss and whispered more to herself than him, "It's okay. It's going to be okay." She ran to the door. "Doc! Doc! We need you!"

  Paul rushed in and examined Dylan, his frown deepening. When he peeled back the bandage on the bullet wound even Skye could tell that it was seeping and slightly inflamed.

  Skye bit the inside of her lip. Infection. Always a worry with open wounds, especially since the loss of hospital facilities.

  Paul looked at each of them. "It looks like we're dealing with a bit of infection. In the past, this small change wouldn't have been worrisome, but now, we need to take this very seriously."

  Skye swallowed hard. "What do we do?"

  "We can use some compresses, over-the-counter meds, and I've been trying out some vitamins and herbs."

  After taming her quivering stomach, she asked, "But what about antibiotics? Surely, there are some around. It would knock this thing right out of him."

  Paul ran a hand over his face as he and Dylan exchanged a look.

  Dylan snorted. "There are no antibiotics in the camp, darlin'. Doc ran out a few days ago, and I was all set for a run to get them before this happened."

  "What?" Skye searched Paul's face. "Tell me this isn't true!"

  Paul shook his head. "I'm sorry."

  "But this other treatment," she asked, "what is its success rate next to antibiotics?"

  "Well," Paul said, "it's surprisingly good. I've been using it to save on other medicines, but I haven't used it on any injury as serious as this."

  "What have you used it on?" As he answered, Skye's hand closed on Dylan's.

  "For the most part, it's been small cuts, but a few more major ones, and I have had dece
nt results."

  "Decent?" She tried to stop her voice from sounding shrill. "Decent isn't enough, not at all. Where are the antibiotics?"

  The men again exchanged a look.

  "See, darlin', that's the thing. We've scavenged all there is in this area. I was gonna have to try further out."

  Skye's voice dropped to a whisper as she asked, "We don't even know where it is?"

  "Darlin'—"

  "Please, don't darlin' me. We need to do something about this." She raised Dylan's hand and kissed it. "This is life and death." Her voice broke. "Yours. We need to have a plan, not a decent one, a good one. A better than good one."

  "Skye's right," Paul agreed. "We need a better plan. I'm confident enough in this treatment and Dylan's strength to try it for twenty-four hours. If the wound shows no sign of improvement, or it gets worse, someone will have to go for medicine."

  Skye frowned. "But what are we waiting for? To go for them will take time. Send someone now."

  "Dar—Skye," Dylan said. "The scavenging group is gone, they went along with the others to clear out those Sick Tricia saw."

  Skye had forgotten about that, and the reminder jarred her. Dylan needed antibiotics now. Who knew when the scavengers would be back?

  She brought her hand to her mouth. "No," she whispered.

  Dylan ran a hand over her dark hair with a worried expression. "It's okay. We'll try this out, and if it doesn't work, they'll be back, and Wade'll get the meds. It'll be all right."

  Skye stood, facing Paul. "Okay. In the meantime, tell me what to do. I'll do whatever you need."

  Paul waved Skye toward the brightly lit hallway to the exam room where he kept extra medical supplies. He hoped this worked. It would be, by far, the most severe wound he had used with this treatment.

  He glanced at Skye. What he hadn’t told her and Dylan was that the men clearing the Sick had sent back a messenger to tell them the group was not coming home right away. While some took the Sick to the Containment Center, the others would scavenge. Paul hoped they would find some antibiotics, then the problem would be solved. But medicines could be hard to find.