The Collapse Box Set, page 50
part #1 of The Collapse Series
Allen concealed all emotions behind a hard face and pursed lips.
Conner continued. “Now, I promise you that I’ll look after my father and loved ones. I’ll feed them, dress them, and keep them quarantined until they are better. Dean will keep on hunting. All I’m asking from you is that you let us stay. Deal?”
Allen said nothing.
Conner gestured for Dean to sit back down. Reluctantly, Dean returned to his seat.
Naomi locked her fingers in front of her. “Allen. Be reasonable. We’re all trying our best here.”
Allen scowled at her. He went back to eating while everyone awaited a response. A minute after, Allen got up with his plate and started toward the kitchen.
“Hey,” Conner called out. “Is it a deal?”
Allen looked over his shoulder. “Yeah, it’s a deal.”
He walked into the kitchen, where he proceeded to wash the plate in a bucket of well water.
As he splashed around, the rest of the table sat in silence. Allen hung up his dishes and went upstairs.
Calvin remarked quietly. “He’s not happy.”
Naomi pursed her lips and listened to the heavy footfalls above her.
Conner coughed and took a drink of water. “Thank you, Naomi. Sincerely.”
Dean nodded. “Yep.”
“Keep your word,” Naomi said. “Make Fergus better.”
“We will,” Conner replied confidently.
They finished the meal in silence, completely unaware of the incoming storm.
43
Down Under
The tempest roared and the wind screamed.
Torrents of sleet assaulted the house’s walls and rattled the barred windows. The wall surrounding the property wobbled in wet dirt. Beyond it, trees violently bent and swayed, abused by the power of wind. Branches broke away, swirled in the air, and clashed against the rutty dirt road.
At sundown, the house was dark apart from a few candles glowing in the bedrooms.
Naomi sat on a desk chair beside her bed. She held her daughter’s soft hand. The thirteen-year-old coughed violently. Her skin was the color of dead flesh. Her eyes were sunken like a ghoul. Nearby, a bowl of chicken broth cooled. Trinity had barely touched it.
Naomi peeked at the calendar on the wall.
It was early February, seventeen days after the exodus from Philly.
Sleeping in the recreation room had robbed her of her rest. Taking care of daughter during the day and reading medical textbooks late into evening produced dark circles around her blue eyes. She had forsaken make-up weeks ago and only showered every two days. Her sunken stomach begged for food. A migraine pounded her head like the constant chiseling of an ice pick.
It was the third day of the sleet storm, which meant three days of no wall repair, three days without hunting, three days of being trapped in a house with five sick people. Six if you counted Calvin. He’d just started coughing two days ago and spent an hour on the toilet every morning.
It was only Allen, Dean, and Naomi that weren't completely disabled by the illness. Conner’s resilient personality kept him going, but he’d lost twenty pounds and lost his temper on a dime. Fergus’s condition plummeted deeper into despair. Naomi and Conner had to experiment with different medication, but that only left him with more side effects, including but not limited to involuntary bowel movements, strange rashes, jaundice, and paranoia. Some nights, Naomi heard him screaming the name of his first girlfriend and telling her to keep the baby. As brutal as it may be, Fergus had become the guinea pig to test the medication so Becca, Cathleen, Trinity, and Conner wouldn’t have to. God forgive me, Naomi thought every time she experimented.
“Mom,” Trinity said weakly.
Naomi looked up from her textbook. “Yeah, baby?”
Her voice cracked. “Water.”
Naomi set aside the textbook and grabbed the bottle of water. She poured it into a glass and helped Trinity drink. She shut her eyes as she gulped it down. When she was finished, Naomi took a cloth and wiped the excess from the girl’s chin.
Trinity shut her eyes and fell fast asleep.
Naomi stayed seated next to her. A flash of lightning revealed the sorrow painting Naomi’s pretty but downtrodden face. Two seconds later, booming thunder shook the whole house.
Seeing Trinity slept through the loud noise, Naomi silently got up. Her joints creaked as she stood. She stretched her legs and tucked the textbook under her arm.
She headed out of the bedroom and into the dreary hallway.
Allen sat in his study. The light from the candlestick illuminated his bearded face. He didn’t look up from the book he was reading. If he had, he probably would’ve frowned. Since convincing him to keep the Ryans, he had been distant from everyone, especially Naomi.
She downcast her eyes and started for the stairs. Her mind swirled with guilt and hindsight. She wanted to help the Ryans, but was it worth losing her brother? She told herself that Allen would get over it, but he hated two things: users, and those who broke their promises. Promising him to send away the Ryans when the time came was part of their agreement. Every day they remained in the house, the more dependent on the resources they became.
She headed downstairs. Calvin sat at the kitchen table. He was drawing the diagram for extra fortification on the outside wall. Naomi didn’t have the heart to tell him that the real battle was within the house. She turned into the recreation room, seeing Dean on the couch.
“Good afternoon,” Naomi said quietly as she shut the door behind her.
Lying on his back, Dean watched her enter. He sat up. His grey eyes carefully watched Naomi’s every moment. Naomi sat on the recliner facing the couch. “How are you feeling?”
Dean shrugged. “Bored out my mind.”
Naomi settled. “Missing hunting?”
“Yep,” Dean replied. “Sitting around here. It sucks. And your brother is being a real bastard.”
The words punched Naomi. She kept her face neutral. “In what way?”
“Ever since the other night, he’s been rationing us harder and he locked up the guns from the medicine run. Those were my guns.”
“I can see how you feel that way,” Naomi said. “You worked hard for them.”
“I did. I saved your life to get them,” Dean reminded her.
“What if I gave you the guns right now. What would you do?” Naomi asked.
Dean thought on it. After a moment, he said. “Not keep them locked up.”
“Do you not feel safe?” Naomi asked.
“I never feel safe.”
“How come?”
Dean scoffed and ran his hands down his face. “What am I doing sitting here with you?”
“Escaping your boredom,” Naomi said with a wry smile.
“You shrinks are funny.”
Naomi smiled. “Sometimes. But seriously, what don’t you feel safe? You have walls, you own weapons, and you’re far away from anyone who would want to hurt you.”
Dean chuckled.
“Was there something I missed?” Naomi asked.
“It’s you, trying to trick me into a false sense of security,” Dean leaned forward and whispered as if letting her in on a secret. “It’s not working.”
Naomi looked at him. “I have no intention of tricking you into anything.”
“Say that to your brother,” Dean said. “We know it’s always been us versus you.”
“Whoa. That’s not true, Dean,” Naomi said seriously. “Allen and I have tried our best to make sure everyone here feels valued and has a voice.”
Dean rolled his eyes.
“You don’t believe me?”
Dean spoke clearly. “You’re his sister.”
“I am, but I hope my actions have proven that I treat your family as my own,” Naomi said.
Dean didn’t reply.
Naomi restated her previous question. “So why don’t you feel safe?”
“I was raised in the Devil’s Pocket. My father was raised there, too, and my grandfather moved there to escape the old world. We grew up protecting our own because no one else would. We fought for what’s ours. We took what we needed. The Ryans are survivors from the day we were born to the day we die. Sean was the black sheep. He went to some frou-frou college and became a chiropractor. Moved to Society Hill with the other privileged people like yourself.”
“You think I’m privileged?” Naomi said. “I’m not. I was raised in a lower middle-class farm and had to build my name in the city. Nothing was given to me. I earned it through blood, sweat, and tears.”
“You say that, but have you ever had to hold a man at gunpoint?”
Naomi opened her mouth.
Dean interrupted her. “Before the blackout.”
“No,” Naomi admitted.
“Conner and I lived a life you wouldn’t understand, then.”
“You want to elaborate?” Naomi asked. “I promise I won’t call the cops.”
Dean smirked.
Naomi went on. “Survivor skills are important, Dean. Being on guard is important. But if you’re feeling unsafe, I want to know why so I can help you.”
Dean locked eyes with her. “You may think you know me, but you don’t.”
“It’s true,” Naomi said. “This is our third session and you’ve told me very little about your home life or what you did for a living. I’m happy to listen. I don’t think you need to be reminded, but everything said in this room stays in this room.”
Dean eyed for her a moment, unsure if he trusted her. “I worked in construction with Conner. That was just my day job. At night, we moved product.”
Naomi absorbed the information. “I see.”
“Weed, meth, cocaine. We delivered it to various suppliers. A lot of shipments came to down the Schuylkill River, so we never had to go far.” Dean glared at Naomi, trying to intimidate her. “What do you think about that? Scared yet?”
“No,” Naomi said confidently. “I’m just glad to have you on my side. Is it because of that business that you don’t feel safe?”
“There are a lot of people in this world that can’t be trusted. They will say one thing to your face and turn against you just like that.” He snapped his fingers.
“You feel like I would do that?”
“Maybe not you. But your brother might.”
Naomi leaned back. “Dean, my brother is territorial. Don’t step on his toes, and he won’t step on yours. He’s let you stay because he sees your value. Stay out of his way, and he’ll warm up to you.”
Dean looked down at his weathered hands.
Naomi asked him more about his business.
The rest of the therapy session continued, with Dean talking about his various experiences where people turned their back on him. Naomi listened attentively for the hour before Dean went on his way. It was the first time he opened himself up, so she decided not to shower him with advice.
When he left, Naomi took off her mask of calmness. Her heart quickened, knowing now that she spent the last two and a half weeks with a criminal living across the hall from her daughter.
Naomi shuddered.
She sipped water from a mason jar. It had a strange, earthy taste it got from Calvin’s rain catchers. She put it aside as Conner entered. His stubble had grown into a short salt-and-pepper beard. His hair that was short and grey on the sides while dark on top had gained some volume.
He took a seat on the couch and coughed. His lack of sleep was visible in the way he dragged his feet.
“How are you feeling, Conner?”
“Like I’ve been hit by a bus and run back over,” he said plainly. “How about you?”
“Could be better. Could be worse,” Naomi replied. “Fergus getting any better?”
Conner frowned. “He’s gotten worse. The medication has me changing his sheets daily. He’s been talking nonsense for the last forty-eight hours. I don’t think he knows where he is anymore.”
Naomi frowned. “I’m sorry.”
“He’ll get through it,” Conner said, feigning confidence. “He’s a Ryan. We’re strong like that.”
Conner coughed from the far back of his throat. The pain was visible on his once-handsome face.
Naomi gave him a tissue box. There were only two left, but Naomi was in the business of building bridges, so she was willing to make the sacrifice. “How about Cathleen and Becca?”
Conner’s shoulders sunk in defeat. “I’m not a doctor. I’ve been reading those books every night, trying to figure out what they’ve got. Every time I think I have the answer, it seems to backfire.”
“Maybe they have to get worse before they get better,” Naomi said.
“Maybe,” Conner replied, not sounding convinced.
The conversation fizzled out for a moment. Conner asked. “How’s Trinity?”
“Not good,” Naomi admitted. “She hasn’t left the bed in a few days. She hasn’t vomited, though, so that’s a plus.”
Conner coughed again. He looked down and to the left, staring at nothing in particular.
Naomi asked, “Is there anything you want to get off your chest?”
“It’s your brother. He hasn’t been making many friends,” Conner said spitefully. “He yelled at me for twenty minutes this morning wondering why the kitchen wasn’t tidy. Is that honestly the biggest worry we have right now? I’m taking care of three sick people. Dean’s dodging responsibilities left and right, and your husband won’t spend two minutes away from his sketchpad to do anything useful.” Conner’s cheeks flushed with anger. “I’m sorry, but it’s true. This whole place is falling apart.”
“We’re all trying to do our best,” Naomi replied.
“It’s not good enough,” Conner said and stood up. “Look, Naomi. I’d love to chat, but there’s too much to do to be wasting my time with this.”
“Conner,” Naomi called out as he exited. He didn’t turn back.
Naomi tried again. “Why did you come in here in the first place?”
“I don’t know,” he said and vanished into the dark house.
Naomi rubbed her wrinkled brow and sighed deeply.
The next day, Calvin woke up puking his guts out. How he went from feeling somewhat under the weather to completely ill was beyond Naomi’s comprehension.
She stationed him in the recreation room and took care of his needs, i.e. feeding him, finding him fresh clothes, being there to hold his hand. The storm had let up slightly, but the weather was still miserable and thus Naomi’s mood was miserable. She kept her hair pulled back into a tight ponytail but was beyond the point of caring around her appearance. She dressed in lazy warm clothes.
The only two fireplaces were in the living room and Allen’s room. That only made the Ryans resent him even more.
The following morning, Naomi awoke from the chair next to Trinity to the sound of Conner and Allen yelling at each other. The nature of their argument was muffled by the floor between them, but it was probably in regard to rations, medicine, or some other petty thing. They’d been eating bigger meals since they got the Madison supplies, but with eight people, it didn’t last long.
Nevertheless, Naomi did see Conner’s side of things. Because Allen wasn’t sick, he was fine rationing harshly. Even Calvin had brought this up to him, but Allen wouldn’t relent. He was displeased with the lack of work, and the Ryans were wasting his food.
That evening, after a long day of tending to the sick and doing house chores. Naomi went outside, snuck behind the greenhouse as she did the previous day, and vomited. Teary-eyed, she looked back at the house to make sure no one was watching. The coast was clear. She wiped her mouth and went inside, acting as normal as possible.
Conner met her in the hallway and grabbed her upper arm. With sunken cheeks and pale skin, he looked a hollow vestige of his former self. “Come and see this.”
Naomi pulled her arm away from his grip, glared at him, and then followed.
He led her into Fergus’s room.
The old man wheezed with every breath. He drooled over his pillow. Conner picked up an empty pill bottle.
Naomi crinkled her brows, unsure what he was trying to say to her.
Conner whispered loudly. “It’s empty.”
“I see that.”
“Yesterday we had four pills left,” Conner said, his face and voice turning dark. “Now we have none.”
“What happened?” Naomi asked.
“Someone took them,” Conner said, his anger building. “It was the one antibiotic that was actually getting results, and someone stole it.”
“That’s ridiculous, Conner,” Naomi said.
“We only use two a day,” Conner explained. “I count them every day. There were all accounted for this morning, which means someone must’ve taken them.”
“Are you sure they weren’t misplaced?”
Conner’s frustration built. “No. I wouldn’t do that. The only person who would take them would be Allen.”
“He’s not even sick,” Naomi argued.
“Yeah, well, it’s obvious that he hates me and my family,” Conner said.
“That’s not true,” Naomi said.
Conner took a step closer, looming over her. “It is. You know it is. Ever since I got here, he’s been wanting to throw us out. Deny it, please.” The last part was sarcasm.
Naomi stood her ground. “You’ve had your differences, but he wouldn’t hide your father’s meds. Not Allen.”
“Then who?” Conner jabbed his finger at her.
Naomi slapped his hand away. “Don’t touch me. Ever.”
A frown sunk Conner’s face.
Naomi looked in him in the eyes. “I’ll talk to Allen. I’ll trust that you and your brother won’t do anything stupid while I figure this out?”
“Yeah, sure,” Conner replied.
Fuming, Naomi felt the room. The moment she was out of his sight, she clenched her fists.
She heard Becca throwing up in the bathroom and maybe call her name. Naomi couldn’t tell. She decided to head upstairs instead.
Dim, wavy fire light leaked from beneath Allen’s door. Naomi knocked with a heavy hand. After two seconds of waiting, she knocked again. This time the door opened quickly.
