Shadows Have Gone (36 page)

“You and me, always saving the world.”

Kaden stumbled in, carrying another pile of towels. He looked horribly sunburnt, his face bright with fever. But he smiled at her as he laid the towels down.

“Go rest,” she told him, knowing he would keep going until he collapsed. Kaden wasn’t her biological son, but he certainly had a lot in common with his adoptive mother.

“I will when you do.”

“Stubborn boy.” Carly reached up to cup his sweaty cheek in her palm. “I love you, Kaden. I don’t know if I told you today.”

“I love you, too, Mom.” He hugged her. “I gotta go check on Madison. I think she’s coming down with this.”

Madison had been one of the few people to survive when the Infection swept through Colby, but it didn’t seem like she was going to be immune to this new version. Carly could only summon up the energy to say, “Okay,” and force a small smile as he left.

Carly coughed into her elbow and sagged for a moment against one of the cots as it tore through her, seeming to rattle her lungs out of their moorings. But she recovered and pushed herself to her feet. She had to keep going. For Dagny. For Colby. As long as she could. Fate may have betrayed her, but she would keep her community going until the very last moment.

“Carly?” Stacy appeared in Carly’s wobbly line of vision.

“Mm?” What was she supposed to be doing? Oh yes, checking on the Reverend again. As she headed that way, she heard Sam whine. He was perfectly healthy, thank God. But his posture was low, and his ears dropped down beside his face. His tail swished as he approached her. He wouldn’t leave. Carly had half-dragged him to Stacy’s house and left him in the kitchen where Veronica could take care of him, but he had reappeared at the clinic. Carly was afraid to find out what condition Stacy’s front door was in.

Sam licked the hot skin of her hands and whined again. “I’m okay, Sam,” she told him. Lying to him, and he knew it.

Stacy laid the back of her hand against Carly’s face, but Stacy’s skin was hot, too. “You need to drink something.”

“It comes right back up.” Carly backed away from her and rinsed the cloth that had been on the Reverend’s forehead. It felt like it had been in a microwave.

“I’d sell my soul for some ice chips,” Stacy said.

“I would, too, Mrs. O’Hara,” Carly said and laughed at Stacy’s confused expression. She was too muddled to try to explain the line was from
Gone With the Wind
, and Stacy wouldn’t care anyway. What were they talking about, again?

“How’s Mark?” she asked. He had been the worst the last few hours.

Stacy closed her eyes. Mark had grabbed her in his weakening arms and sobbed about how sorry he was and how much he loved her. She had said she loved him, too, crying as she tried to bring his climbing fever down. “He’s still delirious.”

“And Michael?”

“I haven’t seen him. Veronica told me that he’s ‘hiding.’ That’s all she’d say.”

Carly gave a little sigh but nodded. “As long as he’s healthy and doesn’t need our help.”

“She says he’s fine, but he’s scared. Everyone being Infected . . .” Stacy waved a hand. “Well, you know firsthand how badly that affects him. Veronica said he was worried that . . . he was worried how he would react, and so he’s hiding himself away.”

Probably not the healthiest way to deal with it, but Carly couldn’t do anything for him right now. As long as Veronica was checking on him and knew he was safe, it was better than what Carly could manage at the moment.

“How’s Veronica?”

“Veronica isn’t sick yet.” Stacy glanced around to make sure they couldn’t be overheard. “And God help me, Carly, that worries me, too. What happens if she’s the only one left of us?”

“I don’t know.”

Justin said no virus was one hundred percent lethal. There had to be some level of natural immunity. More than a year ago, when they were still on the road, Carly had a horrible vision of something happening to the adults and leaving Dagny all alone, crying in their wagon. The idea that Veronica might suffer the same fate was horrifying. And very possible at this point.

Stacy sighed and rubbed her temples. She’d been wincing at the light, so perhaps she had a headache. “How did this happen? Who brought it here?”

It had seemed to happen all at once. People had been getting sick even before Carly got back to town with Craig’s men. Within hours it had been chaos. Some had fled. Carly didn’t blame them. And had it not been for the help of Craig and his troops—the ones who stayed—Carly and Stacy wouldn’t have been able to get the makeshift hospital set up in the building they called Helm’s Deep before everyone was too sick to help.

“I’m so sorry,” Craig had said to her, and she knew he’d meant more than the outbreak. He’d meant all of it, but how could she blame him or his people? Her people now, at least until the end.

“I’m hoping Veronica won’t be exposed, but I suppose that’s a futile thought. I told her I’d do terrible, terrible things to her if she came within a hundred yards of this clinic. I don’t know what those terrible things might be, but I’m sure I’ll think of something. Because you know Veronica. She’d find a way to get in here to help, even if I’d sealed her in carbonite before I left.”

Carly gave a faint smile. Yes, she knew Veronica. And no doubt, the girl was already formulating a plan to come and assist them, carrying Buttercup in a backpack.

A thought surfaced from the back of her mind that made Carly’s eyes widen. She looked away quickly so Stacy wouldn’t see. What if it had been Veronica? An asymptomatic carrier? It would make sense. She could have caught it from the travelers she interacted with or from Craig’s crew when they briefly took her hostage. Carly’s mind started sorting through possibilities, but she took a deep breath and forced her thoughts away. There was no point. There was no thought of assigning blame—though that might appeal to those who needed a focus point for their grief-fueled anger—so there was no reason to pursue this train of thought.

Carly doubled over from coughing and had to cling to one of the cot frames to keep from falling completely, but she managed to stay on her feet. One of her hands brushed her swollen neck, and she winced. It was like having two golf balls under her skin. They felt like they would burst at the lightest touch.

As she passed Jason’s bedside, his hand shot out from beneath the blankets to grab her wrist. His skin was so hot, it felt like it would leave a blister.

“Jason—”

His eyes burned nearly as hot as his fever. “What if he was right?”

“Who was right?” Carly tried to pry her wrist free, but his fingers dug into her arm with bruising force.

“What if he was right?” Jason demanded, and tears pooled in his eyes. “What if—what if I didn’t have to kill them?”

Carly sat on the edge of his bed as the breath left her in a sigh. She hadn’t known it remained with him, that he felt guilty about the two Infected men he had shot in the fields outside Colby. They had frightened him—as the Infected frightened everyone—and he had killed them. It had led to a lot of discussions about how to deal with crime in a lawless society, but in the end, Jason had gone unpunished. People were afraid of the Infected, and no one would have convicted him for it, although Carly and Justin both felt he’d been fast on the trigger.

Carly hadn’t spent much time with Jason since that day, but he hadn’t seemed affected by what happened. But Jason certainly wouldn’t be the first to hide a heavy burden under a cheerful demeanor.

“What if I didn’t? What if I didn’t?” Jason’s eyes pleaded with her.

Carly pulled his hand from her arm and gripped it in her own. “We all make mistakes.”

He fell back against the pillows. “Maybe he was right.”

“Maybe he was,” Carly said, and Jason blinked away the tears pooling in his eyes. They fell to splotch the pillowcase beside him. “Learn from it. Okay? That’s all we can do when we make a mistake. Learn from it and try to make better decisions in the future.”

“I didn’t mean it,” he whispered.

“I know.” He didn’t want to hurt anyone. But he’d let irrational fear take over at a crucial moment. She supposed they all had their weaknesses and flaws. And in this world, those weaknesses could have terrible consequences.

She fought against the despair that threatened to wash over her. She was still on her feet. She was still fighting. And she would keep going until—

Until she couldn’t.

“Carly!”

Oh no
 . . .

She didn’t imagine the shout portended anything good. She tried to steel herself for more bad news as she stood and turned to Stacy. “Yes?”

Stacy was speaking so fast that Carly had to ask her to repeat it twice before she understood. “Mrs. Davis’s fever has broken.”

Carly stared at her.

“Carly? Did you hear me?”

“Did you say her fever
broke
?”

“Yes!” Stacy grinned.

“And she’s not . . . damaged?”

“No!”

“I’ve never heard of that happening with the Infection. What does it mean?”

“I don’t know, but I’m sure it’s a positive sign.” Stacy’s expression was almost stubborn in its intensity. “It’s got to mean she’s getting better.”

“I hope so,” Carly said, but she didn’t hold out much hope. No one recovered once they were Infected.

She went over to check on Mrs. Davis and was surprised to find that Stacy was right. She was resting comfortably, and she was much cooler, almost a normal temperature. She opened her eyes to smile at Carly, and though her eyes were a little bleary, she seemed aware of her surroundings.

“Who’s the president, Mrs. Davis?”

Mrs. Davis wrinkled her brow. “Carly, there is no president any more. I suppose if you’re talking about the last one we had—”

Carly laughed, and it was louder than normal due to the relief. “I was just checking . . . you know, the fever . . .”

“Oh!” Mrs. Davis looked around. “I suppose I’m lucid enough. I know my multiplication tables and the Pledge of Allegiance.”

“Good enough for me!” Carly said with a smile. “I never did learn my multiplication tables correctly.” She bent down and gave Mrs. Davis a kiss on the cheek. “I’m so glad you’re okay.”

Mrs. Davis looked over at the Reverend, who was still sleeping fitfully. “I just hope . . .”

“Me, too.”

“I’ve come to love him, Carly. You know the reason we married is because we were traveling together, and the Reverend thought it was improper . . .” She blushed a little. “But over the last two years, he and I . . . he makes me feel things I never thought I would feel at my age.”

“My mom always said friendship was the strongest foundation of any marriage. You may love someone, but if you’re not friends with them, you find you have very little in common once the heady infatuation begins to mellow.”

“Your mother was very wise.”

“She was. And now I have to go check on my baby. Excuse me.”

She wound her way through the beds to check on Dagny again and found her still sleeping. She was still, only her little chest rising with her breaths, perhaps too worn out for the fitful tossing of the fever. Her cheeks were still livid, though the skin around them was pale.

Carly spooned a couple of sips of the homemade sports drink into her, and Dagny kept them down. Carly looked up at the ceiling and blinked back tears. Nothing could be crueler than to think she was getting better, to have hope again, and then have it dashed. She kissed Dagny’s forehead and stood, clinging to the rail of the cot until the wave of dizzy nausea had passed.

Mindy. She needed to go check on Mindy and the baby twins.

Mindy and Stan had named them Bradley and Claire after Mindy’s mother and Stan’s father. They’d seemed to be doing well, growing and putting on weight, although Claire remained the smaller of the two.

The beds where the twins lay side by side was closer, and so she headed there first. But before she reached Claire’s cot, she knew. The baby’s skin was greyish, and her little breaths hitched. Carly stroked the downy crown of her head and murmured to her, wishing Mindy could be here instead. The baby stilled and didn’t move again after. Carly waited a few minutes, but there was nothing. Nothing any of them could do, either. She picked up Claire and carefully wrapped her in a blanket. She sat down with the bundle on her lap, staring blankly into space.

“Carly?”

She looked up at Stacy but couldn’t see her properly through the thick glaze of the tears in her eyes.

Stacy dropped the bucket of water she was carrying, and it splashed across the floor, but she paid it no heed. “No, no, no,” she whispered, kneeling in front of Carly to peel back the blanket. She touched the still little face and looked around as if hoping her eyes would find something—anything—that could save her, but it was too late.

Stacy rose and stumbled over to Mindy’s cot. She touched her shoulder, then gave her a little shake, speaking her name, louder each time. But Mindy only muttered and twitched.

It was Stan who woke. “Wha—” he muttered. He blinked hard, as though trying to clear bleary vision. “Stacy?”

Stacy turned to him, her lips shaking so hard, it looked like she was trying to speak but failing to find words.