After The Virus (25 page)

Mandy had shot her from behind.
 

Stupid, who she found out later had mistakenly let Mandy near enough to hit target, wanted the traitorous bitch put down.

The Doctor, while seeming to patch her up, pleaded for Mandy’s life, and Big seemed to be listening to him.

They bargained and argued.

No one wanted to be responsible for Mandy, who — if she turned her head to see — was on the ground a few feet away with Big’s boot on her back. There was some talk by the Doctor and Big of Mandy being female, and all the death they had already caused, but violence was the theme of the day. Its chaotic energy gave body to the wind that encouraged the fire and smoke, rather than dampen it.

Just as Big lowered his gun to a kill shot, Rhiannon found her voice. “No. Let the bitch live. It’ll hurt her more to see me happy.” Grayness edged her vision, but from the loathing look on Mandy’s face, she’d been right about denying her suicide by capital punishment.

Stupid stepped up. He took responsibility for keeping Mandy and attempting to rehabilitate her. He thought it was all his fault, that he should have been more careful —
 

“Unless Rhiannon dies, Clarence. Then Mandy dies by my hand.” Will’s chest rumbled as he reluctantly agreed to Stupid’s request, and Rhiannon realized he was carrying her somewhere.

She finally focused enough to see Snickers hanging off Will’s back like a monkey. Their desperation eased when they saw her eyes open.

She smiled and thought she’d happily die here, even surrounded by death and war and grief.

She’d found her piece of peace.

“Will? Do you believe in true love, then?” she whispered.

“At first sight,” he replied in that solid, dependable, utterly truthful way of his.

Of course, dying wasn’t really an option when she still had Shotgun Asshole to deal with. She was pretty sure she’d spotted him in the crowd.

CHAPTER FORTY-TWO

WILL

So he’d won the war and found the girls, only to be sitting by a hospital bed watching Rhiannon slowly, burning from the inside out, die.

The Doctor seemed to think he was being extreme, but everything about Rhiannon was alive and vibrant, and he could see her essence slipping away.

The Doctor thought she had an infection, and this confused him for a while, as the bullet wound was so fresh, but then he found the nail hole.

A rusty nail in her foot! What had she been thinking, wandering around in no shoes?

He felt like sobbing, but couldn’t for Snickers' sake.

They’d tried to take Snickers away, to eat or sleep, but she refused. At least she’d let Will bathe her face after they’d washed Rhiannon.

The Doctor said to let the antibiotics kick in, but Will knew after three days that those pills might be expired even if the Doctor said otherwise.

People — Stupid, Big, and the pregnant teen, Chéri, he’d seen with Rhiannon — would periodically hover by the door, but he usually ignored them. Sometimes he had to step out to speak with Big about the city occupation and whatnot, but he felt guilty every time he left Rhiannon’s side.

The hospital held a lot of other wounded, and as the days stretched, Will noticed more and more unfamiliar faces in the doorway.

Usually, Stupid and B.B. kept everyone at bay. He wasn’t sure what Stupid had done with Mandy, but he appreciated the guard.

∞

On the morning of the third day, Chéri gave birth to a very loud but healthy baby boy. This wasn’t as joyful as it should have been. There was some question about whether the virus was still active and whether or not immunity would transfer from parent to child; it hadn’t before, but perhaps two immune parents would make a difference. Whether or not he was the father, they never did find the Boss. Before Stupid had locked her away, Mandy hadn’t been forthcoming. In fact she’d adopted a close to catatonic state, but maybe the Boss had died by her hand. They combed the city to verify that ‘maybe,’ because Will had decided he didn’t trust maybes anymore.

Then he started planning.

∞

When night fell and he was pretty sure Rhiannon’s fever was high enough to be boiling her brain, he asked Big for a Jeep.

The Doctor protested him moving Rhiannon, but there was no ice to be found and, with the hospital at capacity, no energy to spare to make any. Plus, he was tired of helplessly, uselessly waiting.

The Doctor fretted about shocking Rhiannon’s heart, but Will remembered his mom put him in an ice bath when he was young, so he didn’t listen.

Moms often knew better than doctors anyway.

He climbed into the back of the Jeep with Rhiannon in his arms and Snickers and B.B. at his side. He asked Big to drive them to the ocean.

They got as close as they could and he walked the remainder of the way; over the seawall and into the sea. Waves threatened to topple him.

He lost the fight to keep Snickers on shore; he was afraid she’d drown with him needing both arms to hold Rhiannon on the surface. But the child had thrown her gun away and used its necklace to anchor herself to his arm.

At about waist deep, he turned his back to the harbor — at least that’s what he thought loomed behind — and lowered Rhiannon into the water.

Waves broke on his back and he looked up to see what had to be hundreds of flashlights trained on him.

B.B. still stood guard on the shore.

The rustling and voices he’d heard in the park hadn’t been the wind as he’d absentmindedly assumed, but people following them from the city.

A wave crashed over his back, and Snickers clung to his arm. He floated Rhiannon and realized her white nightgown must glow in the lit water.

He made out murmurs, and then a tune.

They were singing.

It spread through the crowd. Some kneeled, some swayed, but they all sang. He recognized the song from Sunday school, and his heart constricted painfully.

Gloria in excelsis Deo;
Gloria in excelsis Deo.

They sang hymn after hymn.

Heat radiated off Rhiannon.

Snickers shivered. He wondered if it was insane to risk the child’s health like this, but as he dragged his eyes from the crowd, he found Rhiannon looking at him.

“I’m wet,” she whispered. “Is this payback for the toilet flush?”

He didn’t know what to answer, or what he was feeling, so he just laughed.

Rhiannon raised her hand from the water and placed it on his cheek. It was cold. Thank God it was cold. Her fever had broken.

The crowd switched hymns to “Morning Has Broken.”

Will found his voice. “I’ve finally woken up only to find that I am at the start of the end of the world.” He’d been thinking about that for a while.

 
“The world hasn’t ended… people have died, but the world certainly doesn’t need people, except you and Snickers,” Rhiannon replied.

“There is always going to be someone with a bigger tank… what if the chaos never stops, what if I can’t keep you safe?”

“We’ll worry about those assholes when we see their rifle sights; till then, we’ve a daughter to raise and a world to resurrect.”

Then she curled her head into his chest and he brought her out of the water, out of their witnessed baptism and into the rest of their life.

And it helped, long-term, that this incident raised them to a mythical status… as long as he didn’t hear any stories about him walking on water.

CHAPTER FORTY-THREE

RHIANNON

They made it through.

Was there any doubt? It was their story after all. They figured out the happy ending.

She had scars that would stay with her for the rest of her life, that she wouldn’t trade for anything before or after the virus.

They went home.

A group of people stayed in the city, but many, including the Doctor, Chéri, Rav, and Boomer, had come back with them. Chéri’s baby was a boy — named after Will, of course — though Rhiannon quickly, and with only a touch of irony, nicknamed him Atlas. The first of his generation, which was either a terrible or joyful burden, she couldn’t decide.

Before they’d left, they formed a council, not elected; democracy had to wait, but twelve good people would decide how this part of the world should run.

Big stayed to oversee the day-to-day of the city, guided by Will, who was regarded as a king of sorts. Stupid, because of Mandy, stayed too, but they’d all visit.

She never did get her hands on Shotgun Asshole — or One Ear — as Will called him, but she found she was becoming rather patient in her middle age.

∞

They’d returned about a week ago. She found the poor strawberry plant, still on the kitchen table and root-bound, and immediately planted it.

She watched Will’s big hands slicing tomatoes from Snickers' garden for dinner. Luanne, who’d return to the city with Big, had maintained it.

She remembered how quickly — or rather, eagerly, easily, peacefully — she came every time he laid those rough but tenderly used hands on her.

Snickers wandered into the kitchen to jolt her from her sexy, distracting, and currently inappropriate train of thought.

The child, though she’d really grown, used her stepladder to pull three plates down from the cupboard. She then crossed to the table.

Not knowing why she asked, seeing as it was obvious, Rhiannon said, “Whatcha doing, sweetness?”

“Setting the dinner table,” Snickers answered.

Will fumbled with the knife. She momentarily thought he’d sliced his finger off, but it seemed pretty whole when he sucked on it. He turned, surprise etched on his face, to look at Snickers.

“What? That’s what families do. Eat dinner together, don’t they?” Snickers said.

Will took his finger from his mouth.

“Don’t forget spoons; Rhiannon likes to use one with spaghetti,” he, so casual, told the girl.

“I know,” Snickers grumbled; but then, very willingly, she added cutlery and then napkins to the table. She even added flowers from her garden.

Will returned to slicing the tomatoes, but his hands were shaking. Rhiannon laid her hand on his chest. She could feel his heart pounding. She gently nudged him to the side, and took over slicing.

Snickers folded the napkins into fans.

Finally, Will whispered. “She’s okay.”

CHAPTER FORTY-FOUR

WILL

Rhiannon flashed her million-dollar smile at him; the one that made his belly drop, the one he knew he’d carry with him through death. Though hopefully not before he saw it duplicated on their children’s faces.

“With you, everyone is always okay, Will. How could we not be? You make it so.” Rhiannon spoke in a way that made him believe the outrageous.

CHAPTER FORTY-FIVE

SNICKERS

They were kissing again.

Not that it really bothered her, but the tomatoes were going to get crushed. Dinner wasn’t going to make itself.

She added water glasses to the table and remembered another table and another family, but those thoughts were always fuzzy and faraway in her head.

They — Rhiannon and Will — kissed like they belonged on the TV. They were just all full of color and always the brightest thing in any room.

It was easy to love them best, and B.B., of course. She knew they worried about her, but she figured that was their job now.

Rhiannon laughed that soft sound she made when she was really happy, then Will laughed loudly like he did even when no one had told a joke.

Rhiannon offered her a slice of carrot and she ate it. She liked it when Rhiannon fed her, even though she wasn’t a baby anymore.

Rhiannon was better at cooking, but sucked at math. Will taught the science stuff. She figured out that cooking and gardening were more important than science and math, but she didn’t want to hurt Will’s feelings, so she let him teach her fractions and all that other number stuff.

Rhiannon was dancing and humming again while she cooked, and Will always watched her like he couldn’t look anywhere but at Rhiannon.

She was secretly surprised that Rhiannon didn’t dance very well; she seemed to try to make her own beat despite what the music said. Will had put on some Paul Simon songs again, which always reminded her of trips in the truck. He encouraged Rhiannon and tried to join in. She figured it was okay that Rhiannon was bad at dancing and math. That it kind of evened everything out for all the normal people.

Like that boy, who’d been following her around lately.

So what if we both have dogs and are kind of the same age? Eight is so NOT nine!

That boy was so normal he was boring; he’d never even shot a gun, and he’d never rescued someone like she had.

She was a hero.

And she had decided she totally liked the name Snickers way more than Laurie anyway.

For Michael

without whom there would be no love stories

In homage to Stephen King’s THE STAND, Margaret Atwood’s HANDMAID’S TALE, and Robert Kirkman’s WALKING DEAD.

With thanks to:

My story editors

Ita Margalit, David Spencer & Heather Doidge-Sidhu.

My 2
^nd
Edition Line Editor

Scott Fitzgerald Gray

My proofreaders

Diana Cox, novelproofreading.com

Clare Hodge & Pam Kearns

For their continual encouragement, feedback and general advice

Eric Finkel, Scott Fitzgerald Gray, Michelle Demers & Ian Alexander Martin

For their thoughts on the first twenty-five pages

Nancy Lee & Evelyn Lau

My colleagues in the UBC Novel Intensive, Summer 2010

And, of course,
my friends and family
, who put up with endless hours of story conversation, wild ideas & crazy dreams.

Meghan Ciana Doidge
is an award-winning writer based out of Vancouver, British Columbia, Canada. She has a penchant for bloody love stories, superheroes, and the supernatural. She also has a bit of a thing for chocolate, potatoes, and sock yarn.

AFTER THE VIRUS is Meghan’s first novel.

Meghan’s second novel, the paranormal fantasy, SPIRIT BINDER, is now available.