Move On Page 4

She allowed her head to sink onto her arm, her cheek on the cool wood of the dining room table. How many times had she sat at the oak table with Cady and talked about essential oils and their first aid applications, or herbs and the things they could do for a person? How many dinners had she had there, seated amongst her family and Cady’s as they ate and laughed – even Beth’s husband, Steven, had enjoyed himself once or twice. The memories made her current situation ironic as she lay there bleeding onto the dining table.

  Because wasn’t that what she was doing? She blinked, trying to remember.

  Why would her best friend ignore her injuries? Beth’s wounds were serious. Her extremities had started going cold and numb. Her eyelids were heavy and she knew it was only a matter of time before she bled out on the porch. They hadn’t even been there that long. She’d found the energy to kill Jackson and exact revenge. But it wasn’t enough.

  Somehow, she had to find the energy to kill Cady. Wasn’t that what she needed to do? There wasn’t a justice system anymore. Beth had to enact what was fair, what was just. Jackson’s death was mild compared to what he deserved. Cady’s would be equally mild.

  Beth shoved the mild regret to the side. Her children were dead. Her husband… All of them gone and it was because of Cady. Cady and her self-righteous idealism. Was that a word? She blinked, staring at the reflection of the moon on the wooden floor by the slider. How had she gotten inside? Why was she slouched on the table? Did she even have the energy to move? She remembered pain and telling Cady no, but why?

  Breathing deeply, Beth held her hand to her shoulder to keep pressure on the wound, but which part? What was she doing? Suddenly, as if her angry thoughts had conjured Cady, there she was standing above Beth, worry in the furrow of her brow. She was suddenly easier to see in flickering lights from candles someone had lit.

  Blinking back tears, Beth shook her head to the side, slurring her words as she tried to speak. “Don’t… pretend to… care.”

  “Are you kidding? You mean more to me than you’ll ever know.” Cady reached up and cut off the torn material she’d ripped away earlier of Beth’s sleeve. She pushed the shirt to either side of Beth’s torso and adjusted Beth’s hand holding pressure to the side.

  “But… why not patch me earlier? I…” What was Beth saying? She blinked and then a sharp pain ripped across her shoulder and she cried out, tears streaming from the corners of her eyes. “No. No. No more. The Quick Clot isn’t working. You have to stop.” She shook her head, stopping as she turned her head to the side to stare at her injury. A pile of white granules mocked her in the shifting candlelight, enough to see but not enough to make out details. “Is that… what is that?” Beth whispered, licking her lips.

  “Sugar. And you want to know why I haven’t done anything? Because I wasn’t sure you would make it. I guess I kind of thought that if you made it for a few more minutes, then you had a chance. I’ve lost too many people in front of me. I didn’t want to watch you die slowly, Beth.” Cady clenched her jaw, her eyes narrowed as she smoothed the sugar pile over Beth’s wounds.

  The sugar wasn’t as painful as the Clot medicine was. Beth sought Cady’s face through the hazy fatigue pulling at her. Had Cady really just told Beth that she waited to see if Beth would be worth saving?

  Slowly lifting her head, Beth glanced from the white grainy mess on her shoulder to the table. The gun she’d swiped from Cady’s kitchen sat unassumingly on the surface, not far from her. She blinked slowly. Could she lift her hand to grab it and train it on Cady and shoot? Would she be able to do it before Cady knew what was happening? A candle placed in the center of the table cast light upon the metal weapon. The glint was mesmerizing as the flame danced.

  Cady administered bandages and more cleaning to Beth’s shoulder in silence. After the stinging seemed to have abated some, Beth focused on Cady’s face. How had she never truly seen her for what she was?

  Pulling a chair in front of Beth, Cady pursed her lips and studied her friend. She reached out and grabbed Beth’s hand. “I… I’m so sorry. I wish I could have known what was going on… back then. Or even more notice than I had.” She shrugged, shifting her gaze from Beth’s face. “Honestly, I’m not sure what my role is in this entire thing.”

  Beth didn’t say anything. What would she say? Even the smallest role in the destruction of the world was more than unforgiveable. Cady had to see that. Had Cady’s apology meant anything? Not really. Not when she was offering words to atone for the deaths of Beth’s family, her children.

  Jackson’s death should have made some of the ache disappear, but instead, there was a deeper emptiness Beth had to try to fill. Maybe she wasn’t going to feel better until she’d made Cady suffer? Maybe…

  “Look, the bleeding has stopped. I’m going to get things together and I’ll load you in my rig so we can leave. I think you’re going to be fine.” She leaned forward and grabbed Beth’s face in her hands, tears in her eyes. “I’m not sure what is holding you together, but I need some of it. I… I feel like I’m breaking into pieces.”

  “You have to try harder, not to care.” Beth’s words came as a whisper as she realized it didn’t matter that Cady had apologized. Beth’s pain didn’t fade, if anything it skyrocketed, reaching heights she hadn’t realized were possible. She waited until Cady disappeared from sight before gasping at the emotional pain tearing through her.

  She was thawing out. Her numbness fading and she didn’t know how she was going to be able to survive. The truth stared her in the face. It didn’t matter what she did to Cady or to anyone else. The pain wasn’t going to go away. She wasn’t going to be able to make it. Not continuing like she was. Her physical wounds were nothing compared to the pain in her soul, deep and dark and lost.

  Beth’s gaze focused on the gun. She reached up with her empty, uninjured hand and wiped at her eyes. She had to regain her goal. Vengeance is mine sayeth the Lord. Was that right? Had she learned that correctly back in her church-going days? Was it okay for Beth to want to push the timeline along though? Get people to the Lord faster so he could enact vengeance? She’d seen a Marine billboard stating that once after 9/11. Something about sending the terrorists to see their Maker. She couldn’t remember. All she could do was what she thought would make her feel better.

  She needed to feel so much better.

  What if she killed Cady, like she had Jackson, and the pain didn’t go away? What if it intensified? What if the pain just grew and grew until she gagged on it? What if she woke up from her shock and realized her children were never coming back, that she’d killed people for nothing?

  Beth struggled to her feet, clumps of damp sugar falling to the floor at her feet. She was so weak. She paused, hanging her head for a moment and breathing deeply. The movement as she gulped for air sent sharp twinges of pain up and down the injured side of her body. Would her nerves ever stop hurting?

  Gathering strength from somewhere deep inside her, Beth set her jaw and lifted her head. Reaching out, she wrapped her fingers around the butt of the gun and dragged it across the tabletop to fall beside her hip. The weight was comforting, soothing in a way she couldn’t describe and just wanted to take for granted. Turning, she made her way to the back slider leading to the porch. Limping was phrasing it nicely for what she was doing. Somehow, though, she made it to the porch, slid open the door, and pushed outside.

  Cool air increased the chilled feeling in her fingers but didn’t hurt. Beth slumped onto the Adirondack rocking chair feet from the backdoor. Panting, she closed her eyes for a minute. The chair rocked forward and back softly as the weight of Beth’s feet on the deck kept it from going crazy with the motion. The rocking increased her pain and Beth tried to stop it from moving.

  All Beth wanted was a break from the pain. Just a small break. What could she do? Had the bleeding stopped? If Cady wanted her to go with her, there would be bouncing and more pain than Beth would be able to guess at.

  She stared at the gun in her lap, grimacing.
Just what did she expect to happen?

  Chapter 8

  Cady

  Beth was going to die. That much was obvious. Even with the sugar to act as an osmotic coagulant, Cady’s friend had lost a lot of blood already – no thanks to Cady. She’d promised to take her with them, but there was no way Beth was going. Cady would have to leave her with food and water and hope for the best.

  Cady pressed at her eyes with her fingers. Beth had gotten shot because they’d taken her from her home. Maybe she’d still be okay, if they’d left her alone? Maybe Jason would still be alive. Maybe Scott wouldn’t look so broken. Maybe… Maybe…

  Maybe everything would be different, if Cady could get a couple hours of sleep. Her decisions weren’t strong and she was making bad choices. But none of that mattered now. Cady couldn’t change any of it. All she could do was get their things ready and pack everyone up and go.

  She stumbled out the front door, sinking to a sitting position on the steps of the porch. Leaning her elbows on her knees, she rested her chin in her hands. Yawning, Cady stared morosely into the dark. Everywhere she went, it was dark. The candles she’d set up in some of the windows and on the tables didn’t do much to dispel the darkness. Maybe it was a feeling inside her instead of the actual physical presence of light.

  Straightening her leg, she pulled her flashlight from her pocket. She’d left the candles inside for Bailey and Beth. She wasn’t sure what to do but she had no doubt leaving the house was going to be the safest bet. She had no idea where Scott had gone off to.

  Flipping on the meager light that penetrated the darkness even worse than the candles, Cady flinched at the sight of Jackson’s fallen body about ten feet from where she sat. She blinked back frustrated tears. Not at his death. She didn’t care about Jackson. Not his loss. There was so much she would change, if she could. Certainly not his death, not at this stage, but maybe something about their dynamics before it got too far. Something about his plans and the way he interpreted the things she’d written. Was she really to blame for encouraging the things he’d done?

  Was he dead? Cady bent her leg again, staring at the body. What if he wasn’t actually dead? What if he hadn’t died? She’d watched him fall, he didn’t look like he’d moved, but that didn’t mean anything.

  She weakly pushed herself from the steps and approached Jackson as he lay there facedown. Cautiously, as if she expected him to roll over and scare her like in one of the worst B-movies ever, she bent over his body. Slowly, wishing she had gloves on, Cady pressed her fingers to the side of his neck, finding no pulse.

  She moved her fingers back from his carotid area, feeling with her fingertips for any sign that he was alive. Registering the presence of pox-like bumps along the curve between his neck and shoulder, Cady froze. She didn’t move, her breathing shallowed to soft pants.

  No. Pox bumps? No. That didn’t make sense. She flicked the beam from the ground beside her to focus on the flesh above his collar. Pulling on the thick material, Cady yanked the edge of his shirt down to expose more of his back. She gasped for air, breathing through her mouth instead of her nose in fast bursts.

  The angry pox rash glared at her. The white heads pushed up like many mountains on a map, some pus-like.

  How had he been able to drive or move forward? How had he gotten as far as he had and not been bed-ridden?

  Cady released his shirt collar and plopped backwards onto her rear. She pushed the button on the flashlight, returning her to the dark.

  He was sick. Jackson had been sick. He’d taken the vaccine, though. Wouldn’t the vaccine have protected him from the virus? In theory. And the fact that he’d withstood the virus for that long, showed that it partially worked. Was it strong enough that it would have killed him, if he’d lived long enough? What did that mean for Bailey?

  Bailey hadn’t gotten sick, yet. She hadn’t been exposed initially, though. Her exposure had only been recent. Would she contract the virus? And if she did, would they know about it? Would she have the same symptoms as Cady and Scott’s? Or Jason’s?

  Cady shook her head, rejecting the new discovery. The one thing she’d been grateful for, that had carried her through, was Bailey having the vaccine. Lifting her hands, Cady pressed her fingers to her temples. No. No. She had given the vaccine to Bailey to protect her. She hadn’t exposed her to the virus and the effects of the vaccine only for her to get sick still.

  Lifting her eyes, Cady clenched her hands into fists. She wanted to kick and strike Jackson’s body, but she knew it would be pointless. He wouldn’t feel a thing. There was no other reason to beat someone – to cause pain. Cady wanted revenge, but that had been taken from her.

  A sob bubbled from her lips and she leaned her head back, wrapping her arms around her bent knees. Of course, she didn’t have time to revel in her grief. If Bailey was going to get sick, then it was only a matter of time. Cady had to get her out of there before she was too sick to move. They couldn’t wait until morning to leave. They couldn’t rest before leaving. No, they had to leave. Cady had to get them out of there.

  She was too weak herself. Too tired. She rubbed her hands down her face, too tired to even cry.

  A gun blast erupted through the night.

  Adrenaline shot through Cady and she climbed to her feet, gripping the flashlight. How much more could she endure? Who was after them now? Had the fence men found them already?

  Reaching for the gun she kept at her waistband, she searched the darkness for danger. The shot was close. The blast still echoed off the trees. Were others already coming? Already approaching?

  They had to get out of there. They’d lost all the time they could waste.

  Chapter 9

  Manson

  “I knew you were too calm. Margie was a fool.” Kelsey’s voice echoed off the walls in the acoustic interior of the skate building.

  With his left arm out to feel for any obstacles, Manson stopped as his wrist hit a large cement-like post. He grinned. He hadn’t had this fun stalking anyone in a long time. Normally, he had to be sneaky and kill his victims before they knew it. At this pace with Kelsey, she had to know. She had to sense he was after her.

  She kept moving around.

  The light flicked on by the bathroom sign that was illuminated for a moment before she turned it back off. She was going into the restroom to hide. Not smart and yet pretty smart. He’d have to look through each cubicle after somehow finding his way there. He could do that. He had no problems searching for her in the dark, especially as she turned on the light every few seconds.

  How long did he have? Margie’s timeline had changed since he’d knocked her on the head, but that didn’t mean she wouldn’t wake up soon. Manson had to find Kelsey, kill her, and then find Ryker before he could return to Margie. He had quite the to-do list.

  Manson moved across the floor, the squeak of his boot sole on the skating surface gave him pause. She would know where he was. But he had a feeling she was in the bathroom, hiding from him. Like he wouldn’t be able to find her.

  A thrill shivered up his spine. He would kill Kelsey – and Ryker, if he had time. If not, he would keep Ryker and Margie alive for a little longer. Maybe he could get up to her daughter’s place and hideout there. He could kill the rest of the people. He wasn’t worried about that. He was up north enough that he could start over and judging from the things Margie said, her daughter’s place was set up for surviving a long time.

  He whispered into the darkness as he walked with a hand outstretched. “I’m going to get you, Kelsey.”

  A thud pulled his attention from the straight line he was trying to follow. The sound was off to his right but kind of behind him. Close to the door!

  He spun to the side, listening more intently. Holding his breath, he closed his eyes and focused on listening. Had she tricked him? Was she trying to escape but had set him up to think she was going into the bathrooms?

  Breathing again, but softly, he stepped to the side, following the directio
n of the sound. He couldn’t risk it. If she got to Margie, they’d leave him there or try to kill him. He was the only one with a weapon, but they had the car and the keys.

  The whisper of a shoe on the matted carpet told him she was on the run to escape.

  He’d almost let her get away! Anger filled him. He wasn’t going to be made a fool. She was going to pay for trying to trick him, for almost succeeding.

  The stupid woman. He would make her regret it!

  He picked up the pace, ramming his hip into the cement half-wall separating the skating rink from the table area. The impact brought a grunt from his lips, giving away more of his position. He tucked his chin and trained his eyes on the rectangular doorway that looked lighter than the rest of the black around it.

  Where was Kelsey now?

  He had to get back to the door. It was the only way in or out. He focused on the only shift in color in the whole sea of darkness but with a lighter shade of black. He blinked, trying to see in the dark, but it was hard to see anything in the virtual nothingness.

  He had to get there before her. He had to.

  And when he did… he was going to make her regret trying to run from him.

  Chapter 10

  Margie

  “Margie. Margie, wake up!” Someone whispered frantically at Margie while shaking her shoulder with a pleading grip.

  Head throbbing and the back of her neck feeling like she had a crick from hell, Margie slowly blinked her eyes open. The darkness didn’t help her identify where she was, but it didn’t give her a headache, either. Her forehead rubbed against a hard, smooth surface. In the dark, she couldn’t tell what she was up against. She moaned with her mouth closed, deep in her throat.

  “Sh! Margie, come on. We have to get out of here.” The familiarity of the voice finally clicked. Ryker was crouched beside her, trying to wake her. Why was she sleeping?

  The cold ground penetrated the sides of her legs and the back of her shoulders with a deep chill. She was lying on the ground beside a car, half-on and half-off a concrete driveway. She swallowed against the pounding in the back of her head and blinked at the dark spots in her vision.