Sanctuary (19 page)

He pummeled her face. He'd lost his pistol, but it didn't matter. The pain from his knuckles was excruciating and relentless, and all Meredith could do was to hold up her hands in defense. The smell of blood overwhelmed her—whether it was Tim's or hers, she couldn't tell. Her body felt bruised and broken from the fall, and she fought unconsciousness, knowing once she blacked out, she'd never wake up. She opened her mouth to yell, as if words might ward off her attacker, but found she was already screaming.
 

Meredith clung to one last hope. That Quinn had made it to the car, and that she'd locked herself inside.
 

I should've taught her to drive…I should've…

Meredith blacked out.

Dan closed in on the property, his heart plunging as he appraised the scene. A larger man was sprawled on the pavement, a gunshot wound in his head. A second man in a dark T-shirt was lying next to the vehicle, his face demolished, the blood still fresh. There were no weapons nearby. Gunshots rang from inside the house.
 

Keep going. Get to Meredith and Quinn.

His eyes leapt from the pavement to the house. The front door was hanging open, caved. He continued running, his shoes slapping the pavement, and veered onto the lawn. He'd just entered the grass when he saw a figure running out from within. He raised his hands in defense, ready to fight, but lowered them when he saw who it was.
 

It wasn't his attacker. It was Quinn.

"
Quinn
!"
 

Dan's voice was cracked, hoarse. The little girl raced to his side and wrapped her arms around him. Her panicked sobs tore at his soul. She gasped for breath, speaking words he couldn't make out.
 

"Where's Meredith?" Dan asked.

He looked down at his daughter, but before she could answer, screams came from inside. He glanced over his shoulder at the cars. The door to the black vehicle was open.
 

"Get inside, Quinn! Lock the doors!"

He waited a split second, just enough to ensure she was inside, then tore for the front porch. He was on the sidewalk now, running as fast as his body would allow, propelled by his will to get to Meredith. His body begged for respite. But he couldn't stop. He leapt onto the porch stairs, tripping over the first step, catching himself on the railing. His head was woozy. The world spun.
Keep going!
 

He heard screams. Commotion.

He righted himself and climbed the remainder of the stairs, reaching the landing. When he crossed the threshold, he saw Tim sitting on top of Meredith, shaking her lifeless body, his knuckles dripping blood.

Dan was overtaken by a swell of rage. He charged across the room. All thoughts of his own safety were cast aside, outweighed by his need to destroy this man. Tim had killed Meredith. He'd killed John. He'd ruined the lives of who knew how many others. Tim glanced up in surprise, as if he'd forgotten Dan existed, as if he'd forgotten the man he'd almost killed.

Tim's eyes were emotionless narrow slits, devoid of compassion.

Dan grabbed hold of Tim, thrusting him off Meredith. Tim fell sideways; his head bashed the bottom of the stairs. He sunk next to the staircase in a heap. Dan straddled him, hitting him in the face, bloodying his knuckles and gritting his teeth. Everything in front of him had become a haze. Through his anger, he could see the man had been shot. His shirt was soaked in blood. His side was bleeding. Dan focused on the man's wounds, his only intent to inflict pain on the fallen man, to punish him for what he'd done.

In this new world, there was no one else left to provide judgment.

Tim managed a few weak blows, but Dan fought through them, casting aside Tim's hands. Compared to what Dan been through the past few hours, the pain was bearable, and it only served to remind him of what the man had done.

The sight of Meredith's beaten body was glued to Dan's mind, a visual he couldn't erase. And that was enough to inspire Dan to keep swinging until Tim's face was a cracked, bloodied version of what it used to be. The man coughed and spat blood. Finally Dan relented, his fist cocked.

"You son of a bitch," Dan hissed, his voice sounding nothing like his own.

Tim smiled, displaying red, stained teeth.

Dan reared his fist, but Tim held up his hands to stop him. The man slowly wiped the blood from his face. "You were right earlier," Tim said.
 

"About what?" Dan demanded.

"You must be here for a reason," Tim said, his speech slurred by his ruined mouth.

"You're damn right."

"You want to know something else?"

"I don't give a shit about what you have to say. You're just another sick fuck like the rest of them," Dan spat.
 

"I was one of the agents." The man smiled, as if the words were a secret between them.

"I don't give a shit who you are." Dan felt his anger boil. He gritted his teeth, prepared to strike. He'd heard enough. He'd take care of this man and then he'd—

"Stop!"

A voice halted him. Dan swiveled. He raised his fists defensively, but stopped when he saw whom the voice belonged to. It was Meredith. She was on her feet, the pistol in her hand. Her face was bloodied, her eyes blackened.

"Get off him, Dan. He's had enough."

Dan stared at her a moment, still in the throes of anger. He looked back at the man beneath him. Blood dribbled from Tim's mouth and over his chin. His eyes were puffed, bloodshot. Meredith motioned to Dan again.
 

He ran to her side and grabbed hold of her.

"Meredith! Are you all right?" he asked.

"I'm fine," Meredith replied, her eyes still glued to Tim.

Tim attempted to stand, but winced and fell back. His head smacked the bottom stair. Blood spurted from his wounds; his face was a battered mess.

"Go ahead and do it," Tim whispered. "I've had my fun."

"I bet you have," Dan said through clenched teeth.

Dan started toward him, fist raised, but Meredith called him off. She leveled the gun. "You deserve to die for what you did to John," she said. "We should've left you on top of that building."

"You're probably right," Tim said with a smile.

"Meredith, you don't have to—" Dan started.

Meredith fired. The bullet struck the man's chest, and Tim's body spasmed from the impact. She emptied the clip into Tim's body, his chest jolting with each bullet, as if he was engaged in some primitive dance.
 

And then he slouched and went still.

Meredith remained in place, the gun still raised, as if Tim would spring back to life and attack them. But he didn't move. Dan walked over and took her arm, lowering the pistol. Meredith began to cry, as if the reality of what had occurred—of what Tim had done, of losing John—had just hit her. He held onto her for several seconds.
 

"I need to check on Quinn," Dan said, his anger morphing to concern.

Dan walked across the living room, stepping over the remnants of the barricade. He peered out the doorway. Quinn was in the black car where he'd left her, her face pressed to the window. She gave him a nervous wave.
 

His body flooded with relief.

Dan took a last look at Tim. The man was lifeless and still, bearing little resemblance to the man they'd traveled with earlier. Meredith was still watching over him.
 

"We've been here long enough, Meredith," he said. "He doesn't deserve another minute."

They took the Ford Falcon. Dan, Meredith, and Quinn packed the usable items from the house—weapons, ammunition, and medical supplies—and departed without delay. Although Dan and Meredith were in tattered condition, they decided to dress their wounds on the road.
 

None of them desired to stay at the house any longer.
 

Dan watched the bloody scene recede. In the passenger mirror, he saw the dead men lying facedown in the street, unmoving—another testament to Tim's legacy of bloodshed. Dan said a silent prayer they'd be the last bodies he'd encounter.
 

While they'd packed, Meredith had filled him in on the events that had occurred prior to his arrival. Although senseless and brutal, none of them surprised him.
 

He glanced over his shoulder. Quinn and Ernie met his eyes from the backseat. The little girl was patting the dog, and they stared at him expectantly.

"We don't have much longer," Dan promised.
 

Quinn nodded. After all they'd been through, her trust in him was unshaken, and it was enough to stir Dan's emotion.

He turned his attention to the road, picking out the signs and markers that had led him back to his companions. The journey was lost in a haze, as if it were a nightmare he'd had, the details lost. But it didn't matter. He didn't need to recount the steps. What mattered was that he'd made it.
 

Meredith and Quinn were alive.

He rummaged through some of the supplies he'd taken from the house, picking out several gauze pads and alcohol. Then he lowered the visor over the passenger seat and took himself in. After a week on the road, Dan felt different, as if he'd been deployed in a war. The man staring back at him had gaunt features and sallow, puffed eyes. Blood stained his cheeks and ran in trails from his forehead.

He could no longer pinpoint the source of the injuries. They were lost in a battle he'd rather forget, remnants of a journey that spanned countless miles.

Since the infection had begun, each day had seemed the equivalent of two. He could no longer recall what it was like to be stable. The road had become a home for him and his daughter, as dangerous as it was. Even the Sanders', with its promise of safety, had only provided temporary respite. He'd known it couldn't last forever.

Hopefully, their journey would end soon.
 

He dabbed at his face, wincing as he glanced over at Meredith. Her features were just as blemished.

"Do you want to pull over?" he asked her. "Clean up?"

"No. I'd rather keep going," she said.
 

Meredith's face was filled with resolve. It was an expression Dan had seen on Julie, back when she'd been alive. He smiled at the resemblance.
 

His eyes roamed the vehicle. The interior was still in pristine shape, as if he'd imagined the events that had transpired earlier. It was hard to imagine he'd almost died in here. He tried to forget the Ford Falcon had almost been his final resting place.

It was a means to get them to Abbotsville. Nothing more.

The vehicle hummed over the road, renewing his hope with each passing mile. Dan was grateful to be off his feet. He'd pushed himself past the point of exhaustion, and his body begged for reprieve. But he couldn't sleep. Not until they'd reached their destination.

If there was really help in Abbotsville, he wanted to be awake to see it.

As they traveled closer, they began to see bodies of the dead infected on the road. Dan was reminded of his journey several days prior, when he and Quinn had fled St. Matthews for Oklahoma. The bodies were a grim reminder that the agents had succeeded in their plan.

But they were also a symbol of hope. Things were ending here, too.
 

Meredith swerved around several fallen bodies, their hands stretched in front of them, as if they'd been waiting for one final passerby to latch onto. None of them moved. They passed several farmhouses, the yards vacant and haunting. No survivors ran out to greet them.
 

Meredith navigated several more turns, and her eyes fluttered. Dan reached over and touched her arm, startling her.

"You okay?"

"I'm fine," she said. "Just a little dizzy."

"Do you want me to take over?"

"No. We're getting close. The town limits are only a few miles away. After that, it's only a short distance to the center."

He watched her cling tighter to the steering wheel. As they drove, the houses around them appeared in greater frequency. It was as if the landscape was leading them to safety, one building at a time. Dan fought the inclination to believe it. He was already conjuring backup plans, ways to defend themselves and change course, should they find nothing in Abbotsville.
 

He was hopeful but practical.

They'd gone a few more miles when Dan saw a familiar vehicle in the distance. The white, hulking car had been driven off the road and into a patch of grass.

The SUV.

"Look," he whispered, as if the occupants might hear him. Meredith slowed, but only slightly.
 

They'd already learned their lesson.

Dan held a rifle at the ready as they passed by. All the vehicle's doors were open, including the back lift gate. No one was inside. Bloodstains spattered the SUV's interior. Meredith let her foot off the gas and coasted past. Dan swallowed, thinking of the family who had robbed them. It looked like Ted, Nancy, and Grant were dead.