Graham's Resolution Trilogy Bundle: Books 1-3 (39 page)

Sam didn’t have his hat, but he couldn’t worry about freezing ears at a time like this. Ice started to collect into his dark mustache and around his long eyelashes, threatening to clog his vision almost immediately. He held his arm up in defense of the soft onslaught and grasped the line, following it as he trudged forward, nearly blind. He yelled out several times, “Mark! Mark! Where are you?”

After a few steps, he cupped one hand around his mouth to formulate a loud yell again. As he let out the accumulated energy, Marcy began the honking routine, eliminating his effort to yell and startling him at the same time. Sam shook his head after his ears stopped ringing but strained his vision all the same for any sign of the boy.

He detected nothing but white as he squinted to keep the flakes out of his eyes. He held the line and trudged farther ahead, keeping the small flashlight by his side. To his dismay, the rope didn’t hold tension as he went on, leading him to come to a frustrating conclusion: Mark hadn’t tied the lifeline off, nor did he have a hold of the line. “God dammit!” Sam said to no one but the wind.

Out of fear he quickened his pace, hoping to find the kid sooner. Behind him Marcy begin the honking series again, and Sam strained to find any sign of footprints, but with the blowing snow, he couldn’t detect anything.

When the sequence started again, the sound came sooner than ten seconds. Afraid the girl might lose her wits soon, he hoped to hell she had the sense to stay within the safety of the truck if she lost them.

Double-timing ahead, he hoped to find Mark but what he found instead sent his heart plummeting; the frayed end of the rope line. “Mark! Mark! Where the hell are you?” He squatted down to examine the snow for any signs of tracks. He finally detected a low depression in the snow, but it led farther on into frozen nothingness. Not a footprint, but something larger. He tried to discern any reason the boy would have left the rope line. Perhaps a house mere feet away, or a light—anything that would make him ignore the warnings Sam had issued.

Sam turned back toward Marcy, who was blasting again too soon. At least he knew she was still in the truck. “I shouldn’t have left her there,” he said as he contemplated searching farther into the unknown or heading back to the truck. That was when he sensed someone nearby. The whisper of a presence of someone else taking up space nearby and nothing more. He began to turn around hoping to find Mark coming toward him, but what happened next took him by surprise. He only glanced for a second before the impact connected with the base of his skull, laying him out on the snow, stunned. He tried to get up, but was struck again and then again until he no longer saw white but only darkness. He felt his body being dragged seconds later, and blacked out altogether.

~ ~ ~

A distant and nagging sound pushed through the veil. The disruption came in threes and sometimes fours; then the series started all over again.
Who’s making that damn noise?
The pounding pain in the back of Sam’s head didn’t help matters. Then he started to recall what had taken place and the panicked need to open his eyes set in, but confusion clouded his mind. The effort to fall into the silent abyss tempted him. Only his promise to Addy gave him any encouragement to climb out.

Finally he convinced himself to try to open his eyes a slit, though the effort hurt like hell. A ragged figure turned to face him: an older woman with a wild head of hair, long and silver-gray, stood over him. Her crazed eyes were of the lightest green, almost golden in color. Without ever hearing her speak, he held no doubt they were all in grave danger now.

He tried to move his head, but even the smallest effort sent pain rocketing through him. His arms were bound as well as his legs. What happened next he couldn’t anticipate. She surveyed him with those strange eyes, watching every movement he made as he regained consciousness.

“What are you doing here? Who sent you?” she said as she crossed her arms in front of her, revealing a long butcher knife in one hand.

Sam licked his chapped lips as he realized his hands and feet were bound, yet shaking from the cold. He lay in a puddle of water on a cold wood floor, littered with debris. The base of a wooden dining room chair sat dismantled before the stone fireplace, along with a disembodied accordion lampshade, appearing as if she used parts of the stiff fabric for kindling. He cleared his throat with a raspy sound. “Where’s my friend? What did you do with him?”

“
I’m
asking the questions here. This is
my
house. You were on my property. Tell me why. You’re from the gang that came here before, the one that took everything!” she screamed madly.

“I . . . I . . . didn’t. I don’t know what you’re talking about, ma’am. Can’t you see there’s a storm?” Even speaking sent shooting pains through his injured skull. The effort to reason with her was killing him. His head hurt like hell, and his vision kept doubling as he tried to focus on her. She had done a number on his head, and he tasted the resulting blood on his lips.

“We were just driving through,” he continued. “The storm caught us, and our truck was stuck. There was no crime against you, ma’am. We thought this house was deserted. We just needed shelter from the storm.”

She skirted around him, taking a few steps but kept clear of him in case he tried something. He wasn’t sure what she might do. Deranged, she had obviously been the victim of a previous attack, so she suspected everyone of doing her harm.

“You’re here to steal from me again. Didn’t you get enough the first time? I won’t let you do this to me a second time. I can barely eat.”

The honking began to distract her, “Someone else is out there honking that obnoxious horn. How many are there?” She kicked his legs. “Tell me now, or I’ll hurt him—the other one botherin’ me tonight.” She took out a cigarette and a lighter from somewhere in the folds of the worn and tattered rags she wore. She lit it with ease and flair, puffing hard, brightening the tip. She wanted him to know without saying that she meant to torture Mark.

Sam lay silent as he gathered clues from the situation. She didn’t seem to have a firearm, but he didn’t have his, either. She had to have hit him with something heavy and hard. But she might have as easily shot him dead with his own gun or Mark’s, for that matter.

She must have lost them in the struggle outside
. Her lack of a firearm didn’t make sense, but there she stood with a lit cigarette, threatening to hurt them. Despite that, Sam twisted his head and looked around to catch sight of the boy or their own weapons.

“He’s not in here. I’m not stupid,” she spit out.

“He’s only a kid. Please don’t hurt him.”

She stopped for a minute, with her lit intention glowing between her fingers. She exhaled the smoke slowly as Sam watched her look up and around the room they were in. She took another drag and stared back down at him, causing the tip to brighten fire-red again. He did not like the look in her eyes. He knew right away what Graham would do. Then he heard the persistent sounds again in the distance, coming in a series of three.

He could see that the sound agitated her. To his horror, the woman snuffed out the cigarette in frustration and warned him, “I’ll be right back to deal with you after I take care of that blasted noise.” She picked up a club by the door and rushed out into the storm.

“No! You leave her alone. She’s a kid,” Sam yelled and kicked out, trying to follow, but with both of his feet tied, there wasn’t anything he could do. She had already slammed the door. His head ached in ravaged pain.

Dalton pounded on the quarantine lab door, trying to send the sound all the way to the lab over the raging snowstorm. The hour was late, and he was pissed. Yet again, after completing his rounds, he’d discovered Clarisse not where she was supposed to be, forcing him to hunt her down.

“What are you doing here?” Clarisse said, surprised, when she answered the door. She quickly ushered him in, closed the door, and brushed the accumulated snow off his shoulders.

Dalton glowered at her. “That’s what
I’m
asking
you
.” He wasn’t prepared to listen to whatever excuse she might try this time.

Clarisse glared back at him. “Addy’s spending the night at Rick’s with Bethany. I didn’t need to come back to camp, and you have no right to take that tone with me.” She turned and went back to the lab office.

Dalton blew out a breath of frustration as she walked away from him. “We had an agreement, Clarisse. You shouldn’t be out here by yourself.”

“I have work to do. I’m close this time. I need every minute I can get.”

The toll the work had taken on her showed. There were dark circles under her eyes, and she’d even lost more weight, leaving her almost gaunt. She took off her glasses for a minute to rub at her tired eyes. “I’m fine, Dalton. I’m just as safe here.”

“No you’re not, Clarisse. Anything could happen to you out here all alone.”

“I’m comfortable being alone, Dalton. Steven put up a rope line before he left. I’m sure you saw it on the way in here. I have plenty of provisions and water. If I got snowed in, there’s enough for thirty people for a month. There’s no reason I can’t stay,” she argued.

“That’s where you’re wrong. Because of those provisions and gear stored here, you’re in jeopardy. You’re a mark. If someone were to stumble on this cache, they’d kill you in a second and take it all.” He paused, hoping he’d said enough to convince her. Knowing he was hitting below the belt, he added, “What would happen to Addy if she lost you, too, Clarisse?”

“That’s not playing fair, Dalton.” Her smile, though crooked, told him she knew he hadn’t meant to hurt her. She adjusted her eyeglasses.

Dalton calmed down a bit. She had a rare captivating smile, and he loved to coax it out of her, but when she showed it, the jolt of need within him made him guilty for the effort. “I know, but I’ll try anything to get you to listen to me. I’d hate for something to happen to you here by yourself. Please, let me walk you back to camp.”

“No. I told you; I’m working on something important. I’m getting closer, I know I’m close.” She walked out of the darkened hallway and into the dimly lit lab, and Dalton followed her.

“You can save us all tomorrow. Come on, you need to sleep, Clarisse. You’re worn out,” he said as he leaned against the door frame, exhausted himself.

She ignored his suggestion. “You know; I’ve been working on this from two different angles. I’ve had no success with the new antivirals, but something Addy said to me the other day made me reconsider my ideas, to look at it all again.”

“What? You’re saying you’ve been working on another vaccine?” He didn’t shout, but raised his voice enough to let Clarisse know his feelings on that issue. No one had been able to come up with a vaccine, and he doubted, at this point, that anyone ever would. Surviving in the world they now found themselves in made more sense to him.

“Don’t you think you should give up by now, Clarisse? We both remember the useless antivirals the government stockpiled. There was the barely effective vaccine and one that induced narcolepsy in some people. Remember?” he ranted, shaking his head. “People killed one another to get into long lines for those injections. They exposed themselves and their children to the virus, just to get an ineffective and potentially dangerous shot.”

She remained silent while he remembered those awful days. When society had begun to go mad, Dalton had sounded the alert; the one that she had provoked. The approved members came like ghosts, never exposing themselves to others except those in their own family.

Thankfully, the triggers for such an event were clear early on. She was employed by a private research lab near Seattle as a virologist after working first in the U.S. Air Force and then with the Centers for Disease Control and Prevention. When she reviewed the reports coming in, with stats increasing rapidly, she removed her lab coat, grabbed her keys, and quietly walked out the door while her coworkers were scrambling. With all the excitement, no one detected her departure, and that’s exactly the way the plan was supposed to work.

After trashing her phone, she pulled out the one only Dalton and Rick knew of. She had quickly called Dalton and relayed the urgent information to him. He sounded the alert and set their plan into action; everything worked as he’d meant it to. Everyone dropped their daily lives, avoided all contact with the public, and made their way to the predetermined entry site.

Clarisse remembered too. She’d already stockpiled all the necessary equipment to continue her research and stored all the equipment safely away in an unassuming van parked in a storage facility that was along her way to the secret destination. She simply pulled up and typed her code into the keypad of the storage facility gate, like so many times before, only this time her fingers shook out of nervous anticipation. They had practiced this many times, but this time their actions were for real.

She drove her little car up to unit 124 and unlocked the roll-up door with her thumbprint scan; she opened the van door the same way and drove the vehicle out of the unit. Following that, she drove her little car into the empty space and lowered the metal door. After she reentered the van and drove to the exit gate, she stopped only to key in the exit code, which she fumbled the first time. While she waited for the gate to lift, a little sign in the shape of a penguin waved a cheerful good-bye. Now, when she thought back to that moment, she wasn’t sure why she’d cried, but she had.

Afterward she never looked back and stuck to the predetermined route of back roads. Though the trip took her a little longer, she wanted to avoid any suspicion. Not that anyone would likely take notice of her activities in such chaos. Rick kept her on his radar the whole time in case she ran into any trouble.

Now, even after society had fallen, she continued to work on something that would save them; these few people who had hidden from death. The colossal pressure of such a deed weighed heavily on her every waking moment as well as her darkest of nights.

“Yes, I remember,” she said softly now in answer to Dalton’s question, “We were very lucky, Dalton, but I can’t give up now because you don’t have faith in a vaccine. There has to be an answer somewhere.”

He stepped close to her. His musky breath blew a few wisps of the dark hair escaping from her tight bun when he spoke. “You can waste your time tomorrow. Get your coat. Let’s go.” She took a step back and considered him. His expression remained grim.

“I’m not going, Dalton.”

“Clarisse, if you don’t come with me, I’ll have to stay here. With you.”

The way he said, “with you,” sent tingles up her spine, and her eyes widened behind her dark-framed glasses. She wouldn’t meet his gaze, and instead found the flooring below her quite interesting.

“Why are you doing this?” she whispered as her heart began beating faster. She hoped he didn’t notice the way her lab coat collar vibrated because of her rapid pulse rate. She turned her back on him before he could see the color rising to her cheeks.

Dalton had to swallow twice before he could answer. “Because it’s my job, Clarisse.” His voice came out low and raspy. He hadn’t meant for it to be this way; he couldn’t help his feelings toward her. He was here to make sure she got her ass back to camp. That was what he was supposed to do, dammit. The rest was something that would never be, but he had no control of the first part. He’d never do anything about his attraction for her, but he would keep her safe.

Searching for her parka, he saw it hung by the door. He looked back at her . . . at the back of her long, slender neck, just exposed above her lab coat, with wisps of chestnut hair curling under the usual bun he had more than once imagined taking down.

Speaking now was impossible, so he tugged her by her left arm and started to drag her lightly to the doorway.

“Come with me.” He dared utter only those few words finally and even they came out all wrong for a married man.

Clarissa stiffened as his long, strong fingers wrapped around her upper arm. “Dalton, let go of me.” She couldn’t bear him touching her, was too aware of his heat through her sleeve. She turned. He stopped and stared into her brown eyes. She immediately dropped her gaze and reached up with her right hand to gently peel his fingers from around her arm.

He picked up her parka and held it open for her without another word. She glanced at him briefly and knew by the way he clenched his jaw he wasn’t going to let her stay in the quarantine lab. There was no arguing with the man, and no way would she let him stay here with her overnight. Without trying to hide her frustration and irritation, she took off her lab coat, never speaking a word. She turned and slid into her parka as he slowly pulled the collar up and around her neck. The gesture was way too familiar. She zipped up the front and turned to grab her gloves, then found Dalton holding one open for her. She slid her hands in, first one and then the other, while she avoided his intent stare.

She’d taken a step toward the door when he edged in front of her. She was afraid he was finally going to say something about what they both had been denying, but all he did was reach up and pull her fur hat over her head. For a second their gazes met and held as he drew the strings tight to ensure that she was well shielded against the blizzard they were both about to enter.

When Dalton ushered her out the door, the cold took her breath away. He grabbed the lead line and began striding toward the camp. Clarisse followed, but the swirling snow pelted against her glasses, nearly blinding her. As she stumbled, struggling with the depths of a snowdrift, he returned and grabbed her around the waist and behind her knees, hauling her up into his arms. She realized he intended to carry her the distance, and she protested.

“Put me down, Dalton,” she said, but her request was lost to the howling wind. She wondered if, in truth, he’d heard her but chosen to hold her despite her protest. He carried her through the blizzard and she knew he couldn’t hold her and the rope both at the same time. She felt him stumble at times as the wind buffeted them but knew he’d walked this route many times. He wouldn’t get lost. She rested her head on his shoulder, exhausted from her research and the lost sleep, all brought on by what she knew he’d call “her own damned stubbornness.”

Just before they came into clear view of the camp, he stopped and placed her down in the snow in front of him. He took her by the shoulders and turned her to face the camp. She walked on with Dalton right behind her. After the guard buzzed them through, Dalton tried to talk to her, to warn her again to stay at camp at night, or he would be forced to take the same actions. She had already anticipated this, and instead of hearing him out, she headed forward hurriedly to her own tent.

Dalton knew Clarisse was angry with him and decided her irritation was for the best. He went in the opposite direction, to the family quarters, where Kim and his boys lay sleeping.

As he passed the greenhouse tent, he saw Tammy busy inside setting up heaters to guard against the freezing overnight temperatures, doing her best to keep their precious seedlings alive. She waved at him as he approached.

He opened and closed the entry door quickly, only to be met with a slight burning odor. “Hey, you’re up late. What’s that smell? Do you need help?”

“One of the other heaters crapped out on me earlier, so I’m rigging this one up with another extension. I think it’s paint burn-off. We can’t afford to lose any of these guys,” she said while squatting down to plug in the cord. She seemed to have it all under control.

“Do you want me to take the old heater out of here for you?”

“No, that one is unplugged,” she answered, her voice nearly lost to the howling wind outside. “This new unit is working fine. I’m camping in here tonight to keep an eye on things.”

“Okay, goodnight.” He waved and finally walked on to his own quarters, thinking about Tammy as one of those women that men didn’t often cross. She could lead a whole platoon if the need arose.

When Dalton entered his own tent, only a nightlight had been left on for him, casting distorted shadows along the walls. He turned it off and listened to the storm outside. At least now he could sleep knowing that all were where they needed to be, safely within camp.

He checked in on his two boys, looking innocent as the ambient light cast a glow over their flannel pajamas. How lucky they all were. If it hadn’t been for Clarisse’s warning, they might not have been spared.

Why couldn’t she understand? She’d already saved them all.