by Maira Dawn
Skye stood and yanked her arms from the men who held them. She squared her shoulders.
"I will be going with my girl."
Forty-Six
Wrong
Wade tapped his fingers on the box truck's steering wheel and wiggled down into his seat as he shot a look at Aaron. The man was slumped down with his head back and eyes closed.
Aaron was mad at him. They all were, and he didn't like it. But, dang it, something felt wrong.
And whatever bothered him wasn’t on this road. His brother had been doing okay when he’d left. Was he still?
It had been a couple of days since they left the mountain. After gathering up those Sick, they had trucked them out to the Containment Center like Tom wanted.
But that place. Wade didn't even want to think about it. But what were they supposed to do? This was what was set up for the Sick. The leftover ragtag military was doing their best, taking care of this terrible problem. And they had assured Wade this was one of the better containment areas.
Wade ran a hand over his face. It wasn’t like he could do any better by those Sick kids. At least, he’d personally talked to the doctor at the Containment Center. He had assured Wade he would give them medication to ease their suffering until it ended permanently.
The face of that sad little girl drifted into his mind until he forced it out. It didn’t do any good to dwell on her.
The truck’s right side dropped into and climbed out of a massive pothole, causing the two by fours in the back to clank and shuffle.
At least, the rest of them couldn’t complain Wade had kept them from good scavenging. It hadn’t taken much searching before they’d found the motherlode—an untouched lumberyard. With all the repairs and additions happening on Cole’s Mountain, it would be used quickly. Tom had even made a note of it so they could come back and load up again.
The somber mood that had hung over the group since the Containment Center lightened as the men had loaded up on lumber, nails, flooring, paint, and more. They’d even found livestock feed to help get the animals through the winter.
In high spirits, the men had taken a vote. Carry on scavenging or head home.
Almost every hand raised to carry on, except Wade’s. They had all stared at him in silence.
“We got enough,” Wade said. “Ain’t likely to find anything else this good, and if so, we ain’t got enough room on the vehicles for it anyways.”
“We’re on a roll here,” Joe said. “Don’t break it.”
“Look, I feel bad going against the group like this, but it’s been long enough. We need to get back.”
“It’s hardly been two days.”
“A lot can happen in two days. We’ve got loved ones back there.”
“What are you saying?” Tom asked.
“A vote was taken. If you all want to stay out here, that’s fine. I’m goin’ back. I need to see Dylan.”
Tom eyed him. “You’re right. Two days is long enough. Let’s head back.”
The group had uttered a groan even if they did understand Wade’s desire to make sure his brother was doing well. Wade was relieved when the trucks were pointed toward home.
Wade slid a hand into the front pocket of his green plaid shirt and drew out a small vial.
They had taken a minute to check out the field where the Sick children had been found. He and Joe had been right. Whoever had shot Dylan had traveled through there and hunkered down at the far edge of the field.
The two of them searched the area the best they could. They had expected to find bullet casings, but instead had found this.
Wade gave it a little shake. The little bit of clear liquid left in it swished from one side to the other.
What was it? And why was it in the middle of their field? What did this have to do with Dylan’s shooting?
Something just didn’t feel right, though he couldn’t put his finger on it.
It was like when he was in the woods, and all the little critters went quiet, but he didn't know what was up yet.
Was it something just little critters should be worried about? Or something that should be worrying him too?
Every time he looked at this thing, the feeling came sneaking back.
All he knew was that it was strange. And he didn’t like strange on his mountain.
The minute the truck barreled around the last curve and he saw Cole’s Mountain, Wade sagged in relief. They were close now.
His respite didn’t last long. The vial he’d found had started questions and that had restarted his worry over Dylan. Wade’s hands tightened on the steering wheel. He needed to get back home.
His already lead foot weighed heavier on the gas until he screeched around the mountain curves, sending gravel into the air with each turn.
"Cut it out, Wade," Aaron said. "If you’re gonna make us go home, at least let us get there alive."
Wade grumbled but slowed down a bit. The man had a point. Besides, he couldn't find out anything if he was dead.
When Wade passed the first sentries, they quickly averted their eyes. His stomach clenched, and he sped to the first group of cabins.
Spying one of the Watch, he slammed on the brakes. The truck skidded on the snowy dirt, soil and small rocks pinged on the underside of the vehicle.
Wade yelled out to one of the men, "Where's he at?"
“Still at Doc's," the man said. “Wade, I’m sorry."
Wade tore down the trail. Who did the man think he was apologizing to him like that? There wasn’t anything to be sorry for. Everything was fine, just fine.
Aaron clung to the door, but he didn't say anything as he eyed the narrow road and drop-offs beside it.
At Doc's cabin, Wade threw the truck into park before it had fully stopped. The transmission protested, and the vehicle shuddered to a stop, sliding off the trail and almost into Doc's small garden.
Wade bounded all three of the porch stairs and threw open the front door. "Doc?" he yelled but continued to speed through the kitchen into the hallway.
Paul ran out of his office to meet him. "Wade, we need to talk first.”
"Where's my brother?"
"He's here."
"Is he," Wade's voice broke. "Is he—?"
"He's alive."
But Wade understood what Paul didn't say. Barely. His brother was barely alive. "Where?"
"We need to talk."
Wade's shoulders shook with the strain of trying to keep himself from breaking down. "I need to see him! Where's my brother?"
"Wade, it's just—he's bad off. I want you to be prepared."
"Okay. Okay." Wade ran his hand through his hair. "I just need to see him."
Paul waved him into Dylan's room.
Wade took one look at his brother, hauled in a breath, and glued his eyes to the floor.
The breath he pulled in stuck. He couldn't let it go. Maybe if he did, he would lose more than air. His own life, and Dylan's, would go with it.
He’d been there every day of Dylan's life. And for most of it, his brother had been the only one who cared if Wade lived or died. It'd been him and Dylan looking out for each other for so long, he couldn’t imagine anything else.
Wade slowly brought his gaze back to the bed. His brother was powerful — a rock. But now he lay so still— so pale and waxy. If Paul hadn't told Wade that Dylan was alive, he would have thought otherwise. Wade started to shake.
He turned to the wall, putting a hand to it to support himself. That wasn't his brother, it couldn't be. This wasn't real. Unable to hold his breath any longer, he gasped. Wade assumed after so long without one, there would be a quick pull for another one, but he was wrong. He couldn't bring in air.
His gasping became choking, then a grating, urgent sound that he had never heard come from any human being's lungs before.
Paul hovered over him as Wade leaned over with his hands on his knees. "Breathe," Paul said. "Slow and easy."
Wade battled with himself. Maybe he didn’t want to br
eathe. Maybe if Dylan wasn’t hauling in air, he shouldn’t be either.
Wade felt a flush come over him. His face must be redder than a late-summer tomato. Was that normal? To think of tomatoes when you were dying, when others were dying?
Wade made such a racket trying to catch some air, he was shocked when he heard Dylan's raspy, weak voice.
"Wade."
The instant he heard it, the world righted. Dylan was alive. And where there was life, there was hope.
Wade straightened, gulped down some air and went to his brother's side. Pulling a chair over, Wade sat as close to Dylan as he could get.
Dylan closed his eyes again, so Wade looked at Paul. Composing himself asked, "Doc, what happened?"
Paul explained what had happened since Wade had been gone—Dylan's unsuccessful treatment, the fact that the shooter had never stepped forward yet, and even the man who died of the mysterious illness.
At the mention of the illness, Wade scowled and stopped Paul. “I was lookin’ for signs of who did this to D, and I found something along the trial the shooter must’ve taken.” He pulled the vial from his pocket. “Looked kinda new and shiny so it couldn’t have been out there all that long. What do you make of it?”
Paul took the little glass container from Wade and examined it. “I agree it couldn’t have been out there long. There’s no label, which is odd.” He shook it. “There may be enough for me to run a few tests.”
“I just thought it was strange.”
“It is. Especially if it does have a connection to Ethan’s death.”
“But Wade there’s something else.” Paul shoved the vial into his jean’s pocket and scrubbed his face.
Wade's heart sank when Paul nodded to the door. Wade rose only to hear. "You better not be runnin’ out on me."
"I ain't, brother." Wade patted Dylan on the shoulder and shot a look at Paul.
Dylan didn't open his eyes, but said, "Say whatcha gotta say, Doc."
"Dylan, you need to work on getting better. Let us worry about everything else."
"I know she should’ve been back by now."
Paul sighed as Wade sent him a questioning look. "It's Skye. They waited as long as they could, hoping you all would get back. But you can see the situation is dire. She, Jesse, Kelsey, Spencer, and Reed went to the drug store by the Super Walmart for antibiotics.”
Paul threw a glance at Dylan, who stared at him through narrowed eyes, and went on, "It should have taken them no more than three hours even if they had a little trouble. They left early this morning."
The three men stared out the window at the gathering darkness.
Forty-Seven
Tough
Behind a large tree, Jesse crouched in the forest. He dug through the backpack, hope against hope, that someone had thrown a weapon in there. Anything.
There was nothing.
He let out a groan and sunk to the ground when he heard Skye say she was going with Kelsey. Losing one of them would have been bad enough. Please, not both of them.
Jesse peeked above the small depression he sat in. What could he do?
He needed to think like Dylan.
Jack's men had guns on everyone. If there was a move, Jesse couldn't see it.
Skye circled the car and got in beside Kelsey.
He rubbed a hand down a cheek as his eyes darted from one side of the road to the other. Heartbeat racing, he readied himself.
His mom needed him. Kelsey needed him.
Jesse stood, then ran up the hill toward the road, picking up a large branch on the way. His foot hit the pavement just as Jack’s cars pulled away.
Jesse stood on the edge of the forest, numb.
A noise to his right caught his attention. Spencer and Reed still sprawled on the ground. Rushing to the men, Jesse asked, “Are you all okay?”
"Yeah," Reed said, carefully pushing himself off the ground. He pulled up his shirt to reveal a large bruise already forming.
Spencer held a hand to his head. "A bit dizzy, but I'll survive."
"Can you follow 'em? Follow from a distance as far as you can."
Reed gave him a serious look. "What about you?"
"I'll go back down to the store, get a car, and drive back home. Get Dylan's meds to him. Maybe the other men are back now. If not, I'll get who I can. We'll come back here. Leave sign when you turn off this road."
"With what?"
Spencer's eyes lit up. "Hey, there’s some paint in the truck with the building supplies. Let's grab some of that. We'll paint the road. You won't miss it!"
Jesse nodded and turned to go.
"Jesse," Reed said. "Wait. I think one of us should be with you."
Jesse disagreed, "I'm just going home. You’re following them, and you don't know what you're getting into. The two of you need to be together."
Spencer looked at his bruised body and laughed. “I’m not sure about that, kid. You're pretty tough yourself, but I get your meaning. Okay then, be careful. Take it slow around those curves, and if you see anything fishy, run."
"I will." Jesse ran to the side of the road, preferring to take the shortest route, straight down the forested mountain instead of the winding road. He skidded and rolled, grabbing trunks of trees when he could, using brush and weeds as ropes to hang onto. By the time he reached the bottom, small cuts and bruises covered him, but he'd been hurt more over less. This was for Skye and Kelsey.
His boots hit pavement with a thud. He looked down both sides of the road and ran across to the superstore parking lot. Now he prayed that one of those cars had some keys hanging in them—and started.
Jesse went to the closest vehicle, a red Ford Sudan. The front door was open, and he slid behind the wheel. No keys in the ignition. He pulled down both visors, and checked the glove box, as well as, under the floor mats. Nothing.
Since it was a newer car, all the tricks Skye had taught him for hot-wiring a vehicle would be of little use. He moved to the next one.
A blue Honda Civic, locked. Jesse peered through the windows and spotted the keys in the ignition. He looked around the ground for a rock big enough to smash the window. Spotting one, he rushed to the side of the parking lot and pulled it from among the weeds.
Jesse ran back to the Civic and smashed the rock against the passenger side window. The window shook but stayed intact. He tried again. Still nothing.
Irritation flared and Jesse gritted his teeth, giving it everything he had. He jumped back as the glass shattered, then swept some of the small pieces out of his way.
A sigh of relief passed his lips when Jesse turned the key, and the engine hummed. But the gas gauge barely climbed past empty.
He ran a hand through his hair as he eyed a couple other cars. It would be worth it to check them.
After finding that neither of the other cars had keys, he realized the Honda was his best option, even if it had little gas. He’d have to keep his eye open for something else along the way.
After jumping back into the Civic, he slammed the door shut and turned the car toward home.
Jesse drove faster than Skye would’ve liked, but careful enough not to endanger himself. It was a good thing the adults taught any kid who could reach the pedals to drive. He shuddered to think what would happen if he couldn’t get home quickly. It meant the difference between life and death.
As he drove, Jesse scoured the few driveways he went by for vehicles, but he had yet to find any. He shook his head. When they weren’t looking for a car, they were everywhere!
By the time the Civic was sputtering on its last bit of gas, Jesse was ready to pull out his hair. Apparently, everyone here had taken off to so-called safe areas in their one car. He imagined a parking lot full of vehicles somewhere not doing him any good.
Getting out of the car, he kicked the tire in anger. And clamped his lips when it caught his little toe the wrong way, and a pain shot up his foot. “Dang it!”
He hopped around a bit before the pain subsided and started his
long walk home.
Any house that had a garage was worth taking the time to check out, but there were few. And seemingly, further apart now that he was on foot.
After walking for several hours, tired and thirsty, he came across a red, beat-up truck on the side of the road.
Jesse snorted, remembering the story of how Dylan and Skye met. Maybe old, red trucks are a thing for them. Maybe it would be what saved Dylan.
Jesse opened the unlocked front door and saw keys hanging in the ignition as if it was waiting for him. He settled himself in the driver's seat and threw up a little prayer as he turned the key. This vehicle didn't hum, it rumbled and choked, but it caught. And it had half a tank of gas—more than enough to get home.
Pulling away from the roadside, Jesse had to yank hard on the wheel and then overcorrected. There was so much play in the steering, it was like he was learning to drive all over again. But eventually, he got the hang of driving what seemed like a big boat.
Dusk was almost upon him by the time he got to the mountain. One by one, the lookouts shouted to him as he drove by and radioed ahead to the others.
By the time he pulled up in front of Doc Kinder's house, Wade was outside waiting for him. One look at the man’s large, bear-like frame almost had Jesse in tears. He'd been trying to be strong for so long.
His shoulders sagged. It was someone else's turn now.
Jesse hopped out of the truck dragging the backpack with him. Wade met him at the front of the vehicle and said, “Jesse. I was just headin’ out to find you.”
Jesse choked up. Unable to speak, he hung his head, shaking it. A tear dripped from his face to the ground and felt a flush of shame overtake him.
Wade pulled him into a hug. He looked at the strange vehicle, then at the guard with a question on his face. The guard shrugged. "You're home now, boy. Let's take one thing at a time. What's in the backpack?"
Jesse sobbed out his answer. "Meds. He's alive still, ain't he?"
"Yes, he is. And he needs these real bad. So, let's get these to Doc, and then we'll have a conversation about everything else.” Wade clapped him on the back. "You're home now, Son. Good job.”