Elixir (Red Plague #1) (Red Plague Trilogy) (12 page)

“Gee, thanks,” he said, laying on the sarcasm.

Once Russell confirmed his clothes hadn’t been trashed, we all found a seat at a super-sized booth and helped ourselves to disposable plates.

Dinner wasn’t simply wild game. No, Pollard had rolled little chunks of meat in a crushed cereal coating and fried them in a skillet over the fire. I didn’t even care that I was eating squirrel. It was so delicious I wished I could eat more, however Pollard had seconds and then Hunny gobbled down the last pieces before anyone else could call them. But there were baked beans and canned spinach too, and I was full by the time I pushed back on my plate.

“So, Maya,” Pollard said, wiping his fingers on a paper napkin. “You’ll stay and help us?”

I inspected the faded, well-worn tabletop, tracing the geometric design in the plastic. Maybe, after I finished with my mission, but the cure had to come first. Even if this place was growing on me I couldn’t let Pollard and his micro-community distract me from my plan. If I didn’t find the cure and disseminate it, there wouldn’t be a world to build.

“I can’t.” Not yet.

“I don’t understand.”

He didn’t need to. My dad’s elixir had nothing to do with the pretty-eyed college kid with bad aim.

“In the morning I’m leaving for my dad’s lab in Raleigh.”

There was a beat of silence as everyone stared at me with varying degrees of disbelief.

“Are you nuts?” Simone chided. “Have you been into the big cities? They’re war zones. Packs of zombies. Cars and junk everywhere. Dead bodies in the streets. You can barely walk. I know. That’s where I came from.”

“It doesn’t matter,” I said. “I’m going.”

“Why?” Pollard asked. “What’s so important at this lab? A cure for the zombies?” He smirked, and Russell snickered.

My face overheated. “Yes,” I said. “The last time I saw my dad he told me a cure exists. In his lab. He was waiting for approval to do human testing and then mass produce an antiserum, but then,” I peered down at my plate, “things got really bad.”

“There’s a cure for 212R?” Simone asked, her irritation spiraling into disbelief.

“Things could go back to the way they were.” Pollard glanced at me, and I recognized genuine hope in his eyes. He believed me. And he looked dangerously close to joining my mission.

I needed to nip that in the bud, quick. I was faster on my own, or I would be when my knee healed. A group would slow me down, need more provisions, and draw unwanted attention.

“I don’t need you to go with me. I can do it on my own.”

“You could.” Pollard stood up. “Or we could stick together and be safe. Simone, how far away is Raleigh? On foot?”

Before she answered, Russell spoke up in a monotone. “I’m not going.”

“Yes, you are,” Pollard used his five-star-general tone again. “We all are.”

“No,” I said, my voice rising. “I’m going by myself.”

Ignoring me, Russell jabbed a finger at Pollard. “I’m not going!”

“I’m not either,” Hunny piped up. “I’m staying with you.” She grasped Pollard’s hand in both of hers and rested her head against his arm.

Hold on just a second
. This was my idea.
Mine
, not theirs. I didn’t need any interference. “Excuse me.”

As if I hadn’t spoken, Pollard focused on his friend. “You’re upset about Shelly. I am too. But if we find this cure we can fix everything.” His eyes brightened with a kind of zeal, and I regretted mentioning the cure at all.

Pollard wanted the old world back so badly he’d latched on to my plan with both hands. But he didn’t know that the lab could’ve been destroyed weeks ago or overrun with Reds. The cure could have been moved. Even if it was there and viable, I still had to find specialists and equipment to analyze and reproduce it. Getting to my dad’s lab wasn’t even half the problem.

I took a breath to interject, but Russell spoke over me. “I’m waiting right here for the evacuation. End of discussion.”

I forgot what I was going to say at the word
evacuation
. “Wait,” I said. “What evacuation?”

In the early days I’d dreamed of Humvees rolling down my cul-de-sac and taking us survivors somewhere safe—a fantasyland with electricity and running water. My dad would be there. Maybe even Mason, if he’d fought his way out of juvenile detention, though that was a long shot.

But no one came to save me.

Russell pinned a pair of sad, shiny eyes on me. “The military is going to evacuate us. They dropped flyers.” He rummaged around in a sack and came up with a piece of neon orange copy paper. “Here.”

In bold, black print it proclaimed a military evacuation. “Paint the letters SOS on the roof of your building and wait inside. Helicopters will arrive and evacuate you to Camp Carson ASAP.” At the bottom were a tiny date stamp and an official U.S. seal.

The government still existed? In Camp Carson there were survivors and soldiers and doctors? It sounded like a fairy tale come true.

“How did you get this?” My hand shook so bad the paper rattled.

“Helicopters dropped them all over this area.”

“Have there been any helicopters since then?” I hadn’t seen a plane in days and days.

“They’re coming,” Russell stressed. “It’ll take time to find all the survivors, but they’re coming.”

I dug my song diary out of my backpack and flipped through it. On the last page I’d scratched tally marks to track my days in the bunker. Below those were notes on important days—the first day they broadcast a zombie on the news, the last day I saw my dad or had electricity. I counted backwards, using the date stamp on Russell’s flyer.

“This is three weeks old,” I told him. An eternity. “I don’t think they’re coming.”

He snatched the flyer out of my hand, and then carefully smoothed out the wrinkles. “They’re coming. They just need more time.”

It was pointless to argue further with Russell. He was determined to stay, and I didn’t need him, anyway. If Camp Carson existed I’d find it on my own. Later.

“Where is the lab?” Pollard asked as he attempted to extricate himself from Hunny’s grasp.

I re-opened my book. In the front was an “if lost, contact” section and a long time ago I’d filled in my home address, my dad’s work address, and our cell numbers. I knew how to drive there, but I’d have trouble finding detours through the city.

“Do you have a map?” I asked.

He chuckled. “Do I have a map.” He jogged over to the convenience store section of the building and grabbed a folded paper map of the Raleigh-Durham area. “There’s Raleigh.” He dragged his finger from one point to another. “And here’s us.”

It looked like a long walk into downtown. Longer than I thought it would be.

“It’s near William Peace University. Number 42 Vitriol Drive.”

“I want to stay here with you.” Hunny tugged on Pollard’s army tee. “We’ll be safe here.”

Shushing Hunny, Pollard found the street on the map. “Right here.” He jogged back into the store and returned with a pink highlighter. “This is our route.” He drew a zigzag line down streets from our exit of the I–40 to the lab. “Simone, how long do you think it’ll take?”

She studied the map for what felt like hours. “When I left, there were fires and looting and zombies everywhere. All of MLK Jr. Boulevard, East Edenton, and New Bern Avenue were so packed with cars and trucks you couldn’t cross them without climbing.” All three streets were between Vitriol and us. “But maybe you can side-track and find an easier route.”

My sore knee would be a huge problem if I had to scale clogged thoroughfares or hop over fences.

“It’s almost ten miles,” Simone added, “so on foot it would take about five hours, if we don’t run into trouble.”

“The dirt bikes would get us there a lot faster.” Pollard frowned at all the intersecting streets.

On second thought, maybe having Pollard along wouldn’t be such a bad thing.

“No, let’s stay here,” Hunny whined.

“You can stay here,” I told her. “With Russell.” They could barricade themselves in the truck stop and live quite happily for the one or two days we’d be gone. And I wouldn’t be responsible for her anymore.

“Are
you
staying here?” she asked Pollard.

He glanced briefly in my direction. “What are you going to do with this medicine once you get it?”

“We have to take it to whoever is in charge. Camp Carson, I guess.”

Russell perked up. “You want to drive to Camp Carson?”

“Where is it?” I asked. I’d never heard of it so it couldn’t be very near Raleigh.

“North of here. Outside Richmond, Virginia.”

“Yeah,” I mused. “I need to mass-produce the elixir. I need labs and chemists and all kinds of equipment. The army at Camp Carson can do it.” Maybe.

But it was the best idea I had.

Everyone dispersed from the dining room. Pollard and Hunny cleaned up dinner while Russell slipped outside to smoke. I followed Simone behind the cash register.

Pretending to examine the little rack of energy shots beside the cup of novelty pens I asked, “Simone? You were in jail when Pollard found you, weren’t you?”

Her eyebrows rose by increments. “He told you that?” She lifted a narrow bottle of amber whiskey from under the counter and snagged a decorative shot glass from the display behind her. “Yeah, I was in the drunk tank.”

“All by yourself?” I asked.

She nodded slowly. “Thank God I was the only degenerate in there that night. And I don’t even want to
think
about my final hours if Pollard hadn’t found me.”

Mason had a private room. Something about juveniles needing certain rights and privileges adult inmates didn’t. Every night they locked him into a cell by himself.

“Could you have escaped on your own?” I asked. “If you had to?” Mason was smart and crafty and strong. Maybe, given the right motivation—death being a strong one—he could have gotten out of his cell, out of the prison, over the fence…

“No way.” She swallowed a shot. “Those places are made to keep people in, even during the apocalypse.”

Maybe Mason hadn’t escaped. Maybe Ben had stolen his photo after the plague swept through. Maybe his having my picture didn’t mean anything.

I stared at the lotto advertisement on the counter, not really seeing it. “My brother was locked up in Raleigh when the world fell,” I admitted. “I was just hoping.”

“Sorry, darlin’.” Her voice got a little softer around the edges, a little kinder. “I wouldn’t hold out too much hope.”

“I know he’s dead.” It was like the words whooshed out of me, it was such a relief to say them out loud and truly believe them. “He would’ve come home by now. He wasn’t that far away.” I blinked back tears and shrugged at Simone.

If I had been able to limp from my home halfway to Raleigh in about a day, it shouldn’t take two weeks for him to find me. It wasn’t like I was hiding from him. After everything he’d done to me and Mom and our whole family, it still would’ve been a relief to see him again. To know I wasn’t alone.

“Here.” Simone grabbed another shot glass and poured whiskey into both. “To your brother. May he rest in peace.” She nudged the drink toward me.

I accepted the glass, sniffed it, and winced at the strong scent. Like gasoline. Holding my breath, I downed the shot. Alcohol burned my throat, and I choked.

“It’s awful,” I exclaimed, my voice hoarse.

Simone smirked. “Isn’t it?” She poured a second shot and tossed it back.

“Maya?” Pollard appeared around the corner. He frowned at the signs of our alcohol consumption but didn’t mention it. “I set out extra pillows and blankets for you on the bench next to Hunny’s.”

“Oh.” I glanced at Simone, but she got suddenly busy putting the shot glasses away. “Thank you.”

He motioned me across the room to where he’d made my pallet. “Do you need anything else before bed?”

I shook my head at the puffy mound of bedding. “It looks nice.” It looked suffocating. I’d go along with the plan until after light’s out, but there was no way I was sleeping out there in the middle of strangers all night.

“Thanks,” I said and took my turn changing into pajamas in the bathroom. The whiskey made me thickheaded and a little clumsy, but by the time I settled onto my designated bench I felt almost normal again.

Hunny was the first to fall asleep, and Pollard was the last. I lay on my bench, an overstuffed winter jacket for a pillow, listening to each person’s distinctive breath. Hunny hardly made a sound, but Simone snored loudly. Russell’s breath rumbled out of him. And I had a hard time hearing Pollard. Maybe he was just a quiet sleeper.

Confident everyone was out for the night, I collected the tightly wrapped raw squirrel from my pack and snuck out the front door into silvery moonlight.

In the cool evening air I limped awkwardly between gas pumps and abandoned semi-trucks by the light of a half moon, still not one hundred percent convinced this was a good idea. But after he’d followed me, protected me, and written me a message, I felt responsible.

He stood atop a grassy median strip, waiting for me. I felt more than saw his red eyes in the dark.

How would he look all cleaned up and with his hair combed? Nice, probably. Normal.

“Ben?” I didn’t expect him to answer. The most he could do was moan. But he didn’t even do that tonight.

I unwrapped the squirrel and for a moment doubted the intelligence of holding food in front of a zombie’s face. Even though he must have smelled it, he didn’t react. His eyes remained fixed on me like he’d never seen a female before.

“Did you know my brother?” I asked. “Did you know Mason?”

Not a wince, not a smirk, not even an eye flutter. No response.

I don’t know what I expected.

“If you’re going to follow me,” I said quietly, “then you need to eat.” I tossed him the squirrel. It bounced off his chest and thumped against the ground at his feet. “I can get you more tomorrow. If you’re still around. Pollard taught me snares.”

He gave no indication he understood anything I said and completely ignored the squirrel.

I searched his blood-flecked face for the faintest hints of his humanity, but unsatisfied, my gaze wandered the length of him. The left side of his body was covered in a white mist of dried spray paint from his earlier message writing. He was taller than me, almost as tall as Pollard, but thin from the disease. He probably had brown hair, but it was so dirty it was now black. He wore no watch and no jewelry or anything else to give a hint to his personality or his life before the plague.