Too Late_an apocalyptic survival thriller Read online

  Beth searched the room for her son. His bed was empty, the blankets twisted and hanging off the edge. Tim’s bed was on the other side of the room, only six or seven feet from S.J.’s bed. It, too, was empty. Walking further into the room, Beth caught her breath when she found her son.

  S.J. had flopped to the ground, writhing back and forth on the worn carpet. Black, tar-like substances seeped from his ears and his nose. He gasped again as if drowning beneath some heavy load of mud.

  Frightened, Beth rushed to his side, reaching out to touch his back to calm him.

  His eyes snapped open, then shut as he moaned, the sound more of a gargle than anything. Beth scooted back on her rear. He hadn’t seen her. His eyes had been unfocused and he hadn’t been present. His body was just fighting what his soul had already accepted.

  There was nothing she could do as her son drowned in his own fluids in front of her on the ground.

  With her back against the wall, underneath the window S.J. had decorated with a stained glass his grandmother had made him, Beth no longer fought the impossibility of the situation.

  Sobs wracked her body. She drew up her knees and wrapped her arms around her legs to make herself as small as possible. If S.J., her biggest, bravest, strongest child couldn’t beat the virus, what did that say about the rest of her children? What were the odds that any of them would survive this horror?

  When would Beth come down with it?

  S.J.’s gasping stopped. He stopped breathing. Just stopped. The immediacy like a slap in the face, but full of relief at the same time. He wasn’t in pain anymore. He wasn’t hurting.

  Beth would hold onto that with a desperation she’d never admit to. But now that her son was dead and her husband was most likely dead, and two more of her children were close to following their older sibling…

  What else could wrong?

  Chapter 5

  Jackson

  Hours and hours of driving through Montana with its snow-covered mountain peaks and long empty fields bored Jackson. Big Sky country was more like big bore country. Fields full of newly planted grasses stretched as far as the eye could see, with just the hint of mountains in the distance. Then, just when he thought forever was going to be full of plains, Jackson discovered himself in the mountains.

  He didn’t see any evidence of ranches or homes that looked anything like what he’d imagined. Where were all the log homes on lakeshores with smoke trickling from the chimney and warm lights glowing through the windows? He didn’t need the lights, but a log home was supposed to be the Montana thing. He had more of a chance of finding the wealthy ranches in Wyoming than in Montana at that rate.

  Even the mountains with their purple majesty Jackson thought had been made up in that song failed to give him a sign where the big houses were. That was one thing humans hadn’t been able to destroy, some of the natural components of the continent. Now that they were all going to die, they wouldn’t be able to clear cut the forests and abolish the harsh beauties of the wilderness.

  Jackson grinned as he realized he’d protected the environment. He’d done that. A swelling of pride brought tears to his eyes. He could look Cady in the eye and tell her he’d done everything he could to complete their dreams. He wouldn’t lie and say he’d done it all for her, but as he made his way to meet her for the first time, it helped that he had taken steps according to his convictions.

  She wouldn’t be able to resist him.

  What else could he give to Cady that would have any meaning? Nothing. He had stood alone in his beliefs. He’d protected the Earth. So what, if people had died? No one was completely innocent. No one was out for anyone else but themselves. Everyone would die eventually. Even the children of the world were being raised to desecrate the most valuable asset they had.

  Jackson wasn’t innocent, but he had the right frame of mind for what he’d needed to do – complete human extinction. Well, except for himself and Cady, of course.

  Judging by the few towns he’d driven through, he’d done a pretty thorough job. No movement through Butte, Dillon, or even on the highway. Red fliers had decorated door knobs and Jackson finally realized that the fliers were the initial way to identify which houses were sick. Many doors didn’t have them, but there was evidence that they had at one time. Maybe the incessant winds had ripped them off. Who knew.

  As the sun threatened to set and the night stretched before him, Jackson yawned four times in twenty minutes. He didn’t have to get to Cady in one day. He needed time to decompress. There’d been a lot he’d accomplished in a short period. He couldn’t see his future bride when he was still amped up on killing his family. How would he explain that euphoria?

  Both hands firmly on the steering wheel, Jackson decided to take the next exit, no matter what it was and drive until he found a house he liked. He could stop and stay there for a while.

  He was probably running low on gas as well. Stopping would let him recharge as well as siphon gas off whatever vehicles were around the home. He wasn’t picky. He just wanted to set up in a house that was more fitting his new position in life – as king of the world.

  A green sign announced he’d reached the town of Clinton and only a few miles past that he’d find Missoula. He didn’t want to go into a big city and set down roots. Not yet. There would be healthy people fighting the virus and looting. He didn’t expect the virus to take out everyone. That was what the Cure was for – to finish the job.

  But the immunity system of a person would determine how fast they succumbed to the virus and how much they would be affected by it. When your only test subjects were homeless people with weakened immune systems, your data tended to skew toward complete mortality. Jackson wasn’t dumb. He’d come up with the contingency plan for that exact reason.

  Clinton it would be. Taking the exit, Jackson peered up toward the mountains. The town looked small as it was nestled in tight between fast-rising mountains and a river. The nice thing about the mountains was the secrets they held close.

  Driving northward, Jackson wound his way through backroads and turns, following a small river that probably passed as a creek in the large state. Tall pine trees framed in the road as he climbed higher and higher. He wasn’t even sure where he was going, but something had to be out there.

  Just when he thought the road would go forever and never find a stopping point, the narrow path opened up, revealing a large clearing that looked out over the valley and into Missoula.

  A house, very similar to the ones he’d seen in magazines and pictured as his destination reigned over the setting sun and miles of Montana landscape far beneath it. The house had been built into the side of the mountain and looked as if it could fall off any moment. Log walls gleamed in the setting sun’s light.

  He’d found something close to Heaven.

  Jackson parked the truck in front of the house with its deep angles and open rancher-style setup. Climbing from the cab, Jackson grabbed his backpack and closed the door. Inhaling deeply, he nodded slowly as he took in his new house. It would do perfectly.

  Pivoting on his heel, he took in the view of the large barn tucked against the rest of the mountaintop. The doors were closed tight but the hint of a paddock could just be seen beyond the border of trees.

  The homestead was exactly what Jackson needed to reboot after the last few weeks. How long had he been preparing for his takeover of the world?

  Longer than many people had been alive. Certainly longer than the log home had been around.

  Turning back to the house, Jackson smiled as he approached the large wraparound porch and the double oak doors which were shined to a glossy finish.

  A light flickered on inside and Jackson’s gaze faltered. Swinging his bag around to the front, he dug into the side pocket and pulled out a hooked blade perfect for fileting fish. Leaving the sheath in the bag, Jackson hid the blade behind him and returned the bag to its rightful spot at his back.

  That was his house and he was going to take it by doing
whatever he needed to. Force wasn’t a problem. He’d done worse.

  Knocking on the door, Jackson glanced around, holding his features in a pleasant, non-confrontational expression.

  Shadows stretched across the yard from trees and other items as the sun lingered for one more moment over the mountain range and then disappeared. The shadows disappeared and the area dimmed as lingering light kept the darkness at bay for a little bit longer.

  The door swung open, revealing an older gentleman in a plaid robe with a tie in front. His short silver hair was cut neatly and combed. He smiled, his eyes crinkling kindly at the sides. “Yes, are you okay? Can I help you?” His gravelly voice reminded Jackson of his own father which only angered him.

  Jackson nodded, narrowing his eyes and pointing at the man’s robe with his knife. “You’re wearing my robe.”

  Before the man could react, Jackson stepped forward. He sliced the blade upward under the man’s ribcage and twisted, sure to have hit the heart or an artery or something with the amount of hot liquid pouring over his hand.

  Shoving the man backward, Jackson closed the door before stepping over his fallen body and moving into the house. The kitchen had to be his first stop, so he could wash the blood from his hands. It just wouldn’t do to leave blood all over his new home.

  Washing his hands in the double stainless-steel sink, Jackson used a brown and cream kitchen towel to dry his fingers.

  The elegant estate had a masculine tone to the design with dark browns and creams accented with hunter greens and sages. Cream granite with flecks of brown and gold topped all of the surfaces within view in the U-shaped kitchen. Even the island had a mini-sink with multiple cutting surfaces covered in the same stone. The gas-stove manned the wall perpendicular to the window overlooking the valley with a hood that added to the masculinity of the home.

  There was no emasculating in that house. The rugged feel didn’t detract from the homey feeling but rather seemed to enhance the warmth of the appearance.

  Passing by the man still gasping for air, Jackson set out to explore. The man would be dead soon and he’d stop being an annoying houseguest. Something that couldn’t come soon enough.

  Wandering from room to room, Jackson ran his fingers over the back of the leather couch in the living room and then stopped short in the doorway of a room on the end of the hall. He’d assumed the large building on the end was the garage, but instead, he stood at the entrance to an indoor pool. The humidity in the room suggested the waters were heated and Jackson didn’t waste any time stripping down to his underwear.

  Tucking his bag into the corner, he pulled a towel from the shelves set up beside the control panel. He grinned at the hot tub set into the floor beside the pool which could sit twelve people. He didn’t have twelve people to fit, but that wouldn’t be a problem. Jackson did alone – he preferred it.

  The power grid hadn’t been affected yet. Jackson accepted the home as his own and lowered himself into the hot water, sighing as he did so. Stretching his arms out along the marble tiling, Jackson grinned.

  That was the life. He knew it was fleeting because he had to get to Cady, but he would enjoy it for a little bit.

  He deserved it after everything else he’d done.

  After he’d relaxed enough, Jackson climbed from the invigorating warmth of the tub and dove into the cooler but still warm waters, completing lap after lap in the oblong-shaped pool.

  Jackson’s perspective brightened even more. There was nothing he couldn’t do. He’d killed millions of people by then, if not billions, and that type of power was heady to contain.

  Stopping at the end of the pool closest to the house, Jackson wiped at his eyes and then backed off the wall at the sight of a pair of cowboy boots standing sentinel above the water. Well-stacked jeans over the tops of the boots led his gaze up to the angry and tear-streaked face of a man whose glare could curdle milk.

  Jackson tread water, moving his arms back and forth while smiling at the newly arrived cowboy. “Welcome. What can I do for you?” His cocky nature had been increased profoundly since arriving there. The cowboy surely knew the man Jackson had killed and left in the front hallway. Why else would the guy be there? The likelihood that the cowboy was a rover like Jackson was very low, even lower that he would stop at the same out-of-the-way home that Jackson had.

  A slight tic in the man’s jaw gave away just how angry he was. Jackson’s lack of concern was palpable as he grinned widely at the man.

  “I’m going to kill you.” The man’s voice was eerily similar to the dead guy’s, minus the warmth and concern. There was no concern in the new man’s voice.

  Enjoying the sensation of his fingers slicing through the water, Jackson laughed, making the connection. “You’re not going to have time to kill me, my friend. My guess is you’re sick, too, like your old man was. If anything, I did him a favor. I can do the same favor for you, if you’d like.”

  One cowboy was nothing to be concerned about.

  Jackson’s smile faded at the arrival of four more men, their muscles obvious in the tightly worn flannel shirts and the close cuts of their hair. Okay, one cowboy wasn’t an issue. Five, though, five could become a problem. But only if Jackson allowed it.

  Another man stepped to stand beside the original cowboy, glaring down at Jackson in the water. He spat a toothpick to the ground and rasped, “Is this the guy that killed Pa?”

  The first cowboy nodded slowly. “And he’s laughing about it.” A vengeful glint brightened his gaze. The newcomers stepped closer, leaving little doubt what would happen when Jackson left the water.

  He moved to float on his back. Was leaving the water going to be the best option for his survival?

  Were the men angry enough to come in after him?

  What Jackson wouldn’t give for a waterproof gun right then.

  Chapter 6

  Cady

  The smell of spring bursting through the signs of winter clinging through the shadows was fresh with pine and wet wood. With the day almost gone, Cady didn’t want to be stuck outside working when the temperature dropped again for the night.

  Riding down the worn in ATV path along the south end of the properties, Cady blinked. Another drop of melted snow slipped from a branch above and chilled a small streak down her cheek.

  The rumble of the four-wheeler seemed less obtrusive with Bailey riding behind her, more like it was sneaking around. The trailer creaked over the bumps on the trail that ran along the back-property lines to Scott’s place.

  They’d set up the trail a while back when construction trucks and delivery trucks choked out the road with dust during the summer. Scott and Cady had shared compost for the gardens. Zach hadn’t liked anything involving Scott. He’d veered more toward sharing projects with Kent and Lynda.

  The more Cady realized her feelings for Scott, the more she realized how smart Zach was to be leery about her relationship with him. She’d demanded so much that he was just a friend, but that couldn’t be further from the truth. She wasn’t proud of it, but she would own it.

  Pulling onto Scott’s property, Cady parked the ATV alongside the garage and cut the engine. The sudden quiet was almost calming. A bird twittered overhead and Cady yawned. “I haven’t been this tired in a long time.” She pressed her fingers to the back of her neck, surreptitiously feeling for any presence of the rash. Her paranoia might create a symptom where there wasn’t one.

  “Mom, you dumped a body this morning. I’m not surprised.” Bailey shook her head and climbed off the seat, standing beside the ride. She narrowed her eyes and tilted her head. “Sh. Did you hear that?”

  Cady paused breathing and listened intently. The sound of tinkling glass and muffled cursing drifted on the silent air. Holding her finger to her lips, Cady pointed toward the chicken house. “Go inside the coop and wait until I come get you.”

  Had the looting started already? It didn’t make sense since they were more than a fair distance from town. Usually people ou
t that far kept to themselves and understood the unspoken rule that if you were on someone’s property and you weren’t supposed to be, you were asking to get shot.

  Peeking around the edge of the garage, Cady couldn’t see Scott’s Bronco. He wasn’t home. Ranger hadn’t rushed out to greet them yet, either. Whoever was making the noise wasn’t Scott. Cady had a feeling the person wasn’t there as a friend.

  Cady nodded and pointed toward the coop with a bit more insistency as Bailey balked at her. She pointed at Bailey’s waist. “Keep your gun handy.”

  Bailey shook her head, her whisper louder than her mom’s. “Mom, I-"

  Snapping her fingers, Cady hardened her eyes and tightened her lips as she whispered, “This isn’t open for discussion. Do what I said. Your vaccine might not have had time to take hold yet.” Cady narrowed her eyes and waited for Bailey to comply. Was Bailey kidding? Arguing with her mother when she didn’t even know what was going on? There was too much danger right then for Bailey to question Cady – about anything.