Killshot (Icarus Series Book 1) (15 page)

              “You got it.” Zander saluted me with his injured hand, still grinning as he shook his head and marched off.

              It took all six of us to get the work out equipment shifted around, but eventually we were able to strip the entire floor of its two-foot by two-foot, rubber workout mats. The process was simple enough; each piece of one-inch foam rubber would connect to the adjacent mat, fitting together on all four sides like a giant puzzle piece. We easily separated them and stacked the squares in a neat pile by the exterior wall of the weight room.

              Unfortunately, the system was very clearly not intended for a vertical installation. Every time we would get a few connected and upright, they would crumple like a house of cards. After a series of frustratingly failed attempts, we finally figured out a system that worked. The only way, the pieces would stay together, was to lie out an entire row on the floor and tape each mat to its neighbor. Then, the six of us would slowly carry the completed row to the wall and link it in with the row below it. Micah, Riley, and Jake held it in place, while the rest of us secured it to the wall using copious amounts of tape.

              The process was grueling and time-consuming, but with each row that went up, we grew more efficient. We were all sweat-soaked and exhausted, but we were determined to conquer the wall. Though he didn’t complain once, I could tell Zander was having a hard time. His skin was growing paler by the minute and he had to pause, more than once, to get his bearings and catch his breath. His hand was clearly causing him a lot of discomfort, but he seemed more irritated by his injury slowing him down, than he was by the pain.

              When the last of the rows was secured in place, we rolled up four of the long yoga mats and crammed them into the two small windows alcoves, near the ceiling. The windows had been painted over many times over the forty years, but they were far from energy efficient. They leaked heat in like water through a sieve, and the air around them was considerably warmer than the rest of the room. After the window cushions were in place, we walled right over them with the last of the rubber puzzle mats and taped them down with the remaining scraps of duct tape.

              Jake tossed the empty cardboard roll to the side and we all stood back to admire our handy-work. The entire installation looked like a dirty patchwork quilt and smelled like old tires, but with any luck, it would buy us enough time to get through the worst of it.

              “Not bad,” Zander said, his hand shaking as wiped the sweat from his brow.

              “Not bad at all,” Falisha agreed, clasping her hands behind her head.

              “Let’s hope it’s enough,” I whispered, rubbing at my throbbing temples.

              There was a lot riding on these next few hours. We didn’t know how bad things were going to get, but we had done all we could to protect ourselves against the unknown and there was something to be said for that effort. Now came the hardest part—waiting.

              “I don’t know about you guys, but I am totally wiped,” Riley smiled, yanking up the bottom of her t-shirt to wipe her face. “I vote we hose off and settle in for lunch. Who’s with me?”

              We pushed the last of the weight lifting equipment against the wall to hold the mats in place, then gathered our meager rations and settled in for some much-needed rest. Aside from the old laptop, the pile of locker room booty, and the large red fold-out mat we had set up, the room looked virtually empty.

              “You coming, Liv?” Riley asked as she plopped down next to Micah on the mat.

              “In a sec,” I said as I slipped into the unisex bath to clean up.

              After I washed my face a second time, I hung my head upside down and let the water run over my head. I shut off my thoughts and focused on rivulets of water that trailed across my scalp, saturating it from root to tip. I had a feeling this was as close to a shower as I would get for a while, so I took full advantage of the temporary reprieve. When I finished, I stopped up the sink with the old steel plug, and filled it as far as it would go so we would have an emergency supply for washing and such. Worn out and hungry, I finally emerged from the sanctuary of the tiny bathroom and dragged my tired body over to the mats.

              “Think of it like an early warning system,” Jake said, holding up the iPod he had filched. “I figured we would need a way to know when the electromagnetic wave hits. Since the entire playlist is nothing but Garth Brooks and John Denver, this little baby can be our sacrificial lamb.”

              “Makes sense to me,” I said, grabbing a cup of warm water as sat I down heavily. My head was pulsing and my muscles were no longer up to the challenge of keeping me on my feet. “Besides, wouldn’t be the worst thing, if country music didn’t survive the apocalypse.”

              “Amen to that,” Falisha agreed, shoveling a hand full of Cheetos into her mouth.

              “Here you go,” Riley shrugged, tossing me a flattened honey-raisin granola bar. “Sorry, it was the last one,”

              “Thanks, Ry,” I said as I crossed my legs in front of me. “What time is it?”

              “Two Thirty-seven,” Jake said, staring up at the old wall clock. “Ninety minutes and counting.”

              “Awesome,” I said dryly, as I tore into the plastic.

              The granola was bland and mushy and crumbled into my hands as the wrapper peeled away. The water I washed it down with was warm enough to soak my feet in and smelled a bit like I already had. It had a metallic bite to it, too, and I felt like I was sucking on a penny as I drank. Fortunately, I was so exhausted I barely registered the whole process. Before I knew it, my hands were empty, and my belly half full.

              “I wonder what’s going on out there,” Micah said quietly.

              “I’m trying not to think about it,” Riley said, sliding her hand into his as she scooted even closer.

              “I tried the laptop again. I got nothing but script and static,” Jake said. “Looks like we are on our own, for now.”

              It had been only a matter of hours since we’d lost contact with the outside world, but somehow it felt like much longer. Time passed differently down here; painfully slow, but too fast to feel as if you were in control. The chatter continued around me, but I had switched to autopilot. I was barely aware of my surroundings as my thoughts spiraled.

              The
killshot
message felt like an old injury, the implications of which were now an infection festering below the surface. We had no idea what was happening beyond those walls or what would await us when—no,
if
we got out. For me, not knowing was tantamount to torture and it had me was scared to the point of numbness.

              When I was little, my dad used to tell me that my imagination was capable of creating far greater horrors than nature or science, combined. But this was no closet monster we were dealing with and I was sure my dad had never seen anything like what I had seen on that rooftop.

              Were there others out there that had suffered as Blake and Sara had? Had things gotten worse since we had retreated to the relative safety of the school’s basement? Would there be anything left beyond these brick and concrete walls? What about Tara and the others; had they made it to safety? The Tates, Mrs. Proud, and…oh God, what about my brother?

              “Earth to Liv,” Riley jabbed her pointy shoulder against mine. “Where’d you go?”

              “What,” I said, dazed.

              “You were a million miles away, just now,” she said, a look of concern replacing her sarcastic smile. “Hey, you okay?”

              “Oh, yeah, sorry. I’m just tired,” I said, not wanting her to know the dark directions my thoughts had taken. “Where’s Zan?”

              “Zan?” Riley raised an eyebrow.

              “
Zander.”
I rolled my eyes, too tired and annoyed for her good-natured teasing. “Where is he? I need to look at his hand again.”

              “Supply closet,” she mumbled around a mouthful of Doritos. “No clue what he’s looking for, but it must be buried, because he’s been in there for a while.”

              “Thanks.” I slowly pried myself from the floor, groaning as my limbs protested each movement. My muscles ached and my head was pounding, a sure sign I was dehydrated. I made a mental note to drink more water and headed off toward the storage closet to check on Zander.

              The door was open part way, so I slid into the room soundlessly. Zander was sitting on a bucket in front of the old desk, his head lying across his arm. His shoulders rose and fell silently, and his hair was draped carelessly across his closed eyes. He appeared to have simply fallen asleep so I considered sneaking back out before he noticed my presence, but my gut was telling me something wasn’t right.

              “Zander,” I said, tentatively. He didn’t respond. “Hey, Zan, I need to look at that hand again, okay?”

              Still nothing. My chest began to ache, and I felt my pulse quicken as a chill ran down my spine. Something about his breathing was all wrong. It rattled out in short, shallow bursts, his chest barely rising with the effort. I put my hand on his shoulder and shook him. “Zander, wake
up.”

              He moaned into his arm, but otherwise he did not stir. I rushed around the side of the desk and gently slid Zander’s sweaty hair away from his face. “Shit!”

              His face had lost all color and a thin sheen of sweat covered every inch of his pale skin. Even through the thin cotton of his t-shirt, Zander’s skin felt cold and clammy against mine. I pressed my wrist to his temple. He was burning up. His once bright and mischievous eyes looked sunken against his cheeks. His mouth hung slack as he struggled to take in enough air.

              “Oh God, oh God!” I raked my hands through my scalp as my thoughts crashed around in my head. I scrambled through the lessons my parents had taught me over the years, grasping for one of their pearls of wilderness survival wisdom. “Damn it! What is wrong with him? Dad, what do I do?”

             
Fever, sweat, and chills...Infections are what kills.
My dad’s words came to me, as surely as if he had whispered in my ear.

              I reached into my pocket, slid the knife out, and popped the blade in one swift motion. The weight of it comforted me some and I carefully sliced through Zander’s bandages. He grimaced involuntarily a few times, but his eyes remained tightly closed. When his arm was free of the wrapping, I slowly rolled it over, exposing the palm of his hand. The edges of his wound were bright red, with red lines branching off in all directions. The worst of the damage, near the crook of his thumb, was now purple and oozing a thick, greenish liquid.

              “No, no, no!” I raged, picking up the stapler and chucking it at the wall. It shattered with a satisfying clang, sending a shower of sharp plastic scattering across the floor. I turned back to Zander, lightly slapping his cheek as I yelled in his face. “Zander, wake up!”

              My heart was banging hard against my chest, and a deep-seated ache settled behind my breast bone. Zander’s only response to my abuse was a strangled groan as his head slumped hard against the desk.

              “Goddamn it,” I yelled, lifting his head back onto his arm. “Jesus, Zander. I need you to wake up. Open your eyes,
please
!”

              “Liv, what the hell are you—” Micah froze, gaping in the doorway.

              “Don’t just stand there,” I snapped, gesturing to Zander’s limp form. “Help me get him out to the mat.”

              His hands shook as he slid them under Zander’s shoulders. He stared at me, with wide eyes, as I struggled to get a solid grip on his feet. We grunted in tandem as we hefted Zander from the bucket he was perched on, and dragged him out of the storage room. As soon as they saw us, Falisha and Riley shot to their feet and rushed over to help us lower him carefully to the mat.

              “Liv, what the fuck happened?” Micah gritted out, as we lowered his cousin to the floor. “He was fine ten minutes ago.”

              “He was never fine, Micah,” I huffed, lowering myself to Zander’s side. “It’s his hand. I think it’s infected, and it’s making him sick.”

              “No way,” Jake rushed over carrying a pile of clean towels. “Sepsis?”

              “I don’t know,” I croaked, swallowing back tears as I took the stack from his hands. “He needs antibiotics, like now. Somebody grab that water!”

              I folded the softest towel in the pile and slid it beneath Zander’s head. Falisha set the box of meds next to me as Micah and Riley dragged the orange jug over. Then, she grabbed a small towel, dipped it into the jug, and wiped at the sweat on Zander’s brow. Micah wrestled Zander’s boots off his feet, while Jake, Riley, and I dug through the stash of medicine we had found, in search of antibiotics.

              “Chantix?” Jake said, tossing aside a rust colored prescription bottle. “Wow. Just, wow.”

              “This one says Erythromycin,” Riley said, holding the bottle out to me. “That sounds like an antibiotic, doesn’t it?”