Sympatico Syndrome (Book 1): Infection (A Pandemic Survival Novel) (23 page)

“The storm hit too fast! I couldn’t get the boat docked anywhere. I saw a dock up ahead, but lost it in the rain and had to head back out to open water.” He pushed rain out of his eyes and shook his head. “I just hope there’s no land dead ahead. I can’t see a thing.”

“What do you want me to do?”

“We’re almost out of gas.”

“Did you use the reserve?” At the last harbor, they had filled two of the gas cans to have in reserve. It was something Elly never would have recommended in normal times due to the risk and when a call to the Coast Guard was an option, but now, it was insurance against being left adrift in the middle of the lake. Or like now, with no power and dangerous conditions.

“No, I haven’t been able to let go of the wheel. The water’s too rough.”

“After the storm.” She motioned towards the cans. “So they don’t spill.” She wanted to explain how it would be futile even if she managed to get the gas into the tank because the waves were so high that they’d just waste gas trying to maintain their position. It would be better to wait and then head for shore when the water was calm again.

Letting go of the wheel for a second, he pointed left. “
Rocks
! I need to be able to get away if we get too close.”

He had a point. They’d be helpless, and the boat would be pummeled against the rocks if they didn’t get away from them. She held up a finger. “One can.”

Jake nodded, his expression grim.

They had used bungee cords to strap the cans down, and she was glad for that because other gear had tumbled across the boat but the cans were still where they had been secured. She fumbled for one.

It took her several tries to get the nozzle into the tank, and she spilled some, but Elly managed to empty the can.

Jake tried the engine. At first it sputtered and died, but finally, it caught. “I’m just going to keep it slow and steady until we can see better.” He looked at her, his eyes moving to her temple. “Are you okay?”

She felt her head, finding a lump, but the skin didn’t seem to be broken, and no blood stained her hand. “Yes. I’m fine.” That was mostly true.

He tilted his head towards the seats. “Sit down and hang on tight. I think the storm is dying down.”

Elly sat, her legs shaking as the effects of fear and adrenaline took over. She wanted to close her eyes, but that made the nausea worse, so she tried to focus on the horizon. After a few minutes, she saw sliver of sunshine slash across the horizon. It was the end of the storm. She breathed a sigh of relief.

The storm took another twenty minutes to dissipate.

“Elly, I hate to ask you, but could you take over for a minute?”

Elly turned to find Jake, his face ashen. She scrambled to her feet and took the wheel. “What’s wrong?” The danger was over, more or less.

“I just gotta sit.” He flexed his fingers, his hands shaking. “I think I lost feeling in my fingers.” He laughed, but it sounded shaky. “I’ve never done anything like that. I thought for sure we were gonna die. And then when you fell and were out of it, I thought you were dead.” He propped his elbows on his splayed knees and dug his fingers through his hair. “I was scared shitless.”

“Take all the time you need. I’m fine. Why don’t you go have a shot of that scotch?”

His head shot up. “Really? But I’m only seventeen.”

“Oh. I guess I forgot how young you are. You didn’t act like a kid, and you certainly did the job of a man. How about settling for a few cookies and some soda? I think there are still a few left.”

A grin split his face. “Aw, I was hoping for the whiskey.” But he went into the cabin and returned with a package of cookies and two cans of soda. “Here’s to storms and sugar overload.” He popped the top and tapped it to hers.

“Cheers.” She took a long drink. The stuff was terrible for her, but nothing had ever tasted so good.

They each ate a few cookies and then Jake put them away. “I can take over again.”

Elly shook her head. “That’s okay. I’m just tooling along here. I think there’s a small harbor up ahead. Do you see it?”

It took them another twenty minutes to reach the harbor, and when they did, Jake pointed to the map, now ragged but still legible. “I think this is Algoma!”

“Yeah? And…?” She looked at what she could see of the small town. “Is that important for some reason?”

“Hell, yeah it is! It’s the last small town we’ll see until we hit the shipping channel across the peninsula. It’s a shortcut to Green Bay.”

“Really? How long until we get to the shipping channel?”

Jake trailed his finger up the map and shrugged. “Probably late this evening, but we should make it before it’s too dark. It says there’s a Coast Guard station there.”

“I wonder if anyone is alive there.” What she wouldn’t give to find out what was happening across the country. Their days on the boat had been deceptively normal. They had a fridge and microwave in the cabin and even a little stove although they hadn’t been using it. But the absence of other boaters and the eerie, empty harbors, drove the truth home. This went far beyond Chicago. If she hadn’t met Jake and at least seen the one other guy in Chicago who had survived, she would have thought she was the only person still walking the face of the Earth.

H
unter and Sophie
had to ride for over an hour before they found a suitable place to stop. The bridge had ended in a good-sized city, and they’d hurried through to avoid any contact with people. Finally, they came to a farm. There hadn’t seemed any signs of life from the house, and they didn’t need to get very close to either the barn or the house to learn that whoever and whatever had lived on the farm hadn’t made it. The now-familiar stench told the story.

Sophie nudged him. “What about down there?” She pointed to the far end of a fenced pasture.

He regarded the tree and bushes. It would provide cover if anyone was around, especially once they built a fire. He looked near the house for a woodpile. Farmhouses always had a woodpile and this one was no different. Sure enough, stacked neatly by the side was a pile high enough for many nights if they had to stay for a few days to let Princess heal. Food could become an issue, though. “Yeah, that could work.”

They had made camp under the tree and had let the horses free in the fenced area. It was nice to not have to have to stake them out and worry about the stakes coming out. They didn’t find a stream, but there was a hand pump beside a trough at the other end of the pasture. He’d pumped until his arm was sore and had enough water for the horses, a bucket for Buddy, and one for him and Sophie.

Hunter ran his hand down Princess’s leg. He’d already inspected her hoof and hadn’t found anything alarming, but other than routine cleaning of hooves with a pick, he didn’t know what to look for in the way of injuries. There had been no redness, swelling or discharge around the hoof, so he took that to be a good sign.

“Easy, girl.” He wasn’t certain, but it seemed like there was a slight swelling near the back of her leg. He checked the opposite leg in the same location. The side she was favoring was definitely swollen compared to the other side. He sighed and stroked her back, and moved to her head, untying the lead rope from around the fence and unclipping it from her halter. “Go, Princess. Eat up.” He was out of the oats he’d brought, but the grass here was thick and still green.

He carried the bucket back to the camp, set it down, and flexed his hand. Sophie wasn’t there, but she had taken out the cooking kit and some ingredients. He hoped she hadn’t gone in the house. Then he spied her coming from behind the house, a bundle in her arms.

“Hunter, look what I found.” She eased down to kneel, setting her bundle on the ground. It was a faded, green, towel. Inside were dozens of ripe strawberries.

His mouth flooded. “Where did those come from?”

“There’s a garden back there. Nothing else is ripe yet, but there’s a big patch of strawberries.” She popped one in her mouth and closed her eyes for a moment, then opened them, smiling. “Oh my god, they taste so good. Better than candy.”

He dropped to sit beside her and took a few. The sweet, tart, juice burst over his tongue in an explosion of goodness. “Did you see anything else?”

“Just a clothesline. That’s where I got the towel.”

Hunter froze in the act of popping a few more strawberries in his mouth. He opened his hand, examining the fruit. “What if the towel was contaminated?”

“What if it is? Then we die like everyone else, but at least we have a fabulous last meal.” She took another and bit it in half. The juice stained her lips red, reminding him of the blood he’d seen on victims’ faces.

He returned the berries to the towel and stood, wiping his hands on his jeans. “I’m going to get wood for a fire.”

He dug into his pack and pulled out a thick pair of leather gloves he’d found at the first farm and tucked them into his back pocket. They’d serve double duty—protect his hands from the sharp edge of the wood and from the virus if it still lurked on any surfaces near the house.

As he took care of the chore, he couldn’t get Sophie’s fatalistic reply out of his mind. Did she really not care if she lived or died? He wondered how he would feel if his dad wasn’t waiting like a beacon of hope out on an island. Would he just give up and not care if he lived or died? Would he become careless? Did it mean he would take risks?

He reached the woodpile and looked for a way to carry enough wood for the night. Tugging his mask up over his nose, he put the gloves on and poked around in a shed near the house. The stench was no worse near the door of the small, aluminum building and there was no lock on the door. He opened it and discovered the shed was the equivalent of a giant junk drawer.

A shelving unit on one side was stuffed full of greasy engine parts, although what model of engines they were from, Hunter had no clue. The other side of the shed contained a large red metal tool cart. Mugs on top of the cart overflowed with rusted nails, screws, washers, and drill bits. At the back of the shed was a hand-truck.

Taking the hand-truck over to the wood pile, he slipped on the gloves and loaded it with as much wood as he could. He had to go slow and pull it behind him, nearly horizontal to the ground to keep the wood from tumbling off. As he passed the house, he noted a flower garden with a rock border. He took eight of the rocks and added them to the pile of wood. They were all about the same size and would be perfect to lay beneath the grill.

When he reached the campsite, he parked the hand-truck beside the tree and set up the rocks, arranging the kindling flat as he’d learned in Boy Scouts. He stuffed torn paper into spaces between and under the kindling and lit them. As the kindling caught, he glanced at Sophie. “Did you mean it when you said that?” He didn’t explain what he meant. He could see in her face that she knew.

She sorted through the packets of food they had, setting aside rice and beans. Drawing a deep breath and tucking a lock of hair behind her ear, she shrugged. “I guess. I mean, what’s the difference? We’re all gonna die soon anyway. Either from the disease now or starve to death in the next year.”

“Starve to death? What makes you think that?”

She spread her hands, gesturing at the farm. “Who’s left to plant the food? Who’s going to truck the produce to the grocery stores?” Her eyes opened wide as she tilted her head. “Are you really this naïve, Hunter?”

He didn’t reply, just added a small log to the fire. Of course, he worried about the things she brought up, but people survived long before Walmart came into existence and he was pretty sure they’d survive long after it disappeared.

“Face it, Hunter—the world as we knew it is gone. From now on, people are going to take what they can and to hell with the rest. That’s what happened in my little town.” She pulled her knees up to her chest and wrapped her arms around them.

Her tone alerted him that she’d hinted at something important. He slanted her a look. Maybe this was when she’d open up to him. “What happened?”

Sophie didn’t speak for a long time. Long enough that he had time to set the rack over the fire, fill the pot with water, and set it to boil.

She handed him the beans, dried beef, and a couple of cubes of chicken bouillon he’d taken from the farmhouse. He dumped it all in the water. He’d add the rice later. He wasn’t the best of cooks, but after a long day, he and Sophie would eat just about anything.

“My parents were both at work when they got sick. I guess I missed out because I was mad at my mom and had gone up to my room the night before.”

“What were you mad about?”

Her lip quivered as she lifted one shoulder. “It’s so stupid now. I wanted to go with my friend’s family to their summer cabin over Memorial Day weekend, but my mom said no, that I had to go to my brother’s eighth grade graduation instead. I was so angry. I called my brother a spoiled brat and stormed up to my room. It was the last I ever saw any of them alive. I was supposed to go to school and pretended to, but skipped instead and hung out by a lake near my house. I didn’t go home until late at night because I met a guy there. He had beer, and we ate a couple of hot dogs.”

He wanted to ask if the man she’d met had been one of the guys they had killed, but didn’t interrupt for fear she would clam up again. This was the first time she’d said anything about her family.

“Obviously, I couldn’t go home drunk, so I called and left a message that I was spending the night at my friend’s house.” Her hands were clenched in her lap and every few seconds, she twisted them a tiny bit. “I thought it was strange that nobody answered their phone. Not my mom. Not my dad. Not even my brother. I guess I passed out from the beer because next thing I remember was the guy trying to get my jeans off me.”

She paused, her hands twisting tighter. He feared for her wrists, but she cleared her throat and continued, “I freaked and hit him with a beer bottle, and I thought I killed him, but then I saw he was breathing so I jumped on my bike and went home as fast as I could pedal. I think it was about one in the morning by then, and I was still kind of drunk and freaked out about the guy. I never even realized nobody was home. I was just relieved I didn’t get caught.”

“Were you okay? The guy didn’t…he didn’t…” Hunter stumbled over the word, not knowing if he should ask, but she seemed to trust him. “He didn’t hurt you, did he?”

She shook her head. “No, but I was pretty shaken. The next day was a Saturday, and I slept late. It was about noon when I woke up.”

Her hands stilled, and she stared at them for a long moment. “The house was so quiet. I’ll never forget that. I jumped out of bed. I just knew something was wrong, but I didn’t know what. My parents’ room was empty, the bed made. I couldn’t tell if my brother had been there because his room is always a mess, but I didn’t see him, and his computer was off, and he only did that when he was leaving for school—I think.” She gave a soft laugh. “Anyway, my mom left a rambling message on our voicemail, and there was a message from a hospital about my brother. I didn’t know what to do because my mom still didn’t answer her cell and none of my friends did either. I turned on the TV just to hear another voice, and that’s when I learned about the virus. I waited at home for days, but never heard from my family again.”

A knot formed in Hunter’s throat. He tried to speak through it. “I’m sorry, Sophie.”

“Yeah. Me too. My mom had left a message on my cellphone earlier on the day I skipped school. I never heard my phone ring when she left it.” Tears streamed down her face, tracing around her nose and dripped onto her hands. “My mom sounded normal then—not like in the rambling message. I listened to it over and over until the phones stopped working. Anyway, she apologized and had offered a compromise on the weekend. If I went to the graduation ceremony on the Friday night, I could skip the party on Saturday and go to the lake house.”

She brought her hand up, using the back of her wrist to swipe at her nose as she shrugged. “So, you see, everyone I love is dead, and I should be too. I would be if I hadn’t been a terrible daughter. I’d be with my family.”

He wanted to tell her that he was glad she wasn’t with her family, but he couldn’t squeeze the words out. Instead, he reached for her hand, not caring about the tears or anything else that might be on it. He rubbed his thumb gently across the back of it.

Her breathing shaky, she added, “I guess I’m lucky in some ways.”

“How’s that?” He couldn’t see how she could consider herself lucky.

She gave his hand a return squeeze. “Because you found me before the guys who had me could…
do
anything. They were waiting to see if I would get the virus first. They didn’t care if they had it and could give it to me, of course.” She shook her head.

C
ole cleaned Trent’s body
, arranging his limbs, so he appeared to be sleeping. They couldn’t wait too long to dispose of the body and not just from a contamination aspect. The weather had been hot for so early in the summer. He left Trent in the clothes he’d been wearing and just wiped his face free of blood as much as he could, but his lips were torn, and the cracks contained dried blood that wouldn’t wipe away—not unless he wiped harder than he dared.

He rolled his nephew onto a large, clean sheet, leaving a space for his head. As he performed the heartbreaking task, a memory popped into his head of how when Hunter had been born, the nurse had wrapped him like a mummy. It was a precious memory that he tried to push away to keep from tarnishing it, but it played out in his mind and it helped get him through the horrible job.

When he had learned the art of mummy-wrapping his son, it had given him joy. Often it was after giving his son a bath, drying, powdering, and diapering the baby. It was their special time, and it gave Brenda a solid hour to sit and relax in the evening. He’d present his wife with the sweet smelling, sleepy bundle who needed just one more feeding before going to sleep.

The memory gave him a brief mental respite, but dealing with Trent’s remains was an exhausting job, especially while dressed in a full biohazard suit. He sat back on his haunches to catch his breath after getting the sheet tucked in. He had a plastic tarp to take the body to the funeral pyre, but he couldn’t bring it in until he had disinfected the room. He spent the next hour spraying the room down with a mixture of bleach and water. It meant moving Trent yet again once he had the tarp in place. Grunting, he rolled Trent one more time, then stood bent at the waist as he caught his breath.

Dammit.
Trent’s eyes wouldn’t stay closed. He’d tried to close them to make him appear to be sleeping so Sean, Jenna and Piper could see Trent one last time, ideally looking peaceful. Reaching down, he tried again, gently closing the eyelids, but gave up after a few attempts. He wasn’t a mortician and didn’t know the tricks to keep the lids shut for open casket funerals.

“Joe!” Sweat ran into his eyes, but he couldn’t wipe it away since the suit had a full hood—not that he would have touched his eyes anyway, but the sweat burned, and he blinked hard to clear his vision. “I’m ready for your help now!”

“Coming in.” Joe opened the door and glanced around the room before his gaze landed on Trent. He made the sign of the cross, his eyes closing briefly as his mouth moved. Cole waited, touched by the other man’s behavior.