The Collapse Box Set, page 51
part #1 of The Collapse Series
Allen looked down at her like a disapproving giant. There was annoyance behind his hard face.
“May I?” Naomi asked.
Allen stepped aside and let Naomi enter his room for the first time. Unlike the rest of the house, Allen’s bedroom was decorated with photographs and wall decor. He had an American flag tacked up on the wall above his queen-sized bed, a nice playing card table, a leather recliner, a rocking chair, a tall shelf of books with a fine wood finish, gun cabinet, and large fireplace that illuminated the entire room. Across the mantelpiece were photos from Allen’s and Naomi’s childhood along with pictures of Allen among his fellow Navy Seals.
He poured himself some cranberry juice and took a seat in front of the fire. Naomi pulled up a wooden rocking chair and joined him by the fire. The warm radiance of the fire soothed her.
“We need to talk,” she said firmly.
Allen didn’t reply. The fire danced in his tired eyes.
Naomi took his silence as a sign to continue. “Conner’s claiming that someone took Fergus’s medicine.”
Allen kept looking at the fire. He didn’t blink.
Naomi’s hard attitude faltered. “I’m sorry, okay. For going against my word. Can we make up and move on?”
“You let these people into my house,” Allen said coldly. “You brought in a sickness that can’t be stopped. And yet you still side with them, thinking I’m the one who took their medication.”
“I never said,” Naomi replied, wondering how the last few days turned everyone hostile. “I came here to ask you for your help. In case you’ve forgotten, my daughter and husband are sick too. Do you have anything in the storage closet that we could use?”
Allen turned to her. “You want my help, send the Ryans away.”
“Come on, Allen,” Naomi protested. “Be reasonable.”
Allen set his jaw.
Naomi took his hand in her own arm. Allen went tense for a brief second before returning to his tough demeanor. “I’m asking as your sister, Allen. Help me. Please.”
Allen ground his teeth together.
He went to a nearby chest, removed the lock, and opened it. He pulled out a small plastic baggie with a pill bottle inside. It was the kind they needed.
“When did you get all of that?” Naomi asked.
Allen refused to answer the question. “If I give this to you, you can only give it to Trinity.”
“Is this the Ryans’?”
“No. It’s my own stash,” Allen replied sternly.
“What else do you have in there?”
Allen glared and held up the pills. “For Trinity. No one else,” he said, avoiding her question.
Naomi looked at the pills and thought of her daughter. “You have my word.”
“Like that means much,” Allen reminded her.
Naomi took the pills and left.
She bumped into Becca, who waited outside of the room.
Naomi froze. The hair on her arms stood straight up as she looked at the sickly sixteen-year-old. Naomi hadn’t seen her for days. Baggy clothes hung on Becca’s skeletal-like frame. Her skin had lost color. Her long black hair fell over her face like something out of a horror movie. She swayed lightly.
“Becca, uh, what are you doing out of bed?” Naomi asked.
The girl was silent for a moment. “My mom… is very sick.”
“I know,” Naomi said softly. “She’ll get through it. We all will.”
They stood in the hallway as awkward silence lingered. Naomi wondered how much the girl heard of the conversation with Allen.
When Becca didn’t speak, Naomi did. “Keep getting rest. It’s too cold in here to be out of bed.”
Shoulders sunk and head down, Becca started down the stairs. Her feet dragged. Her unsteady hand glided down the railing. Naomi stood outside of Allen’s room for a moment. She thought about the pills and what to do with them. If she shared with everyone, the Ryans would think that Allen was holding back. Frankly, Naomi was shocked to find that Allen had a supply. She wondered if he was holding back. Feeling lightheaded, she quickly put the thought side and hurried to her room. She needed to trust her brother. Trust would be the only way they would survive the winter.
She opened the door into the bedroom. The covers were kicked away from the mattress and the bed was empty. In the bathroom, Naomi heard the horrible wretched sound of her daughter vomiting. Concealing a cough, Naomi gently approached the door and pushed it open. Trinity sat on the floor with her legs to her side. Her hands gripped the sides of the toilet seat. Nearby was a water bucket used to get the flushing mechanism to work. Trinity looked over her shoulder, broken and drained.
Naomi sat on the lip of the tub. She brushed Trinity’s hair. Her daughter leaned her head against Naomi’s knees and wept. With a trembling hand, Naomi drew out the antibiotics.
Confusion overtook Trinity’s expression. “I thought…”
“Shh,” Naomi said and popped the top off the pills. She poured two into her palm.
Slam!
The bedroom door had hit the wall. Naomi quickly shut the pill bottle in her hands as Conner stormed into the bathroom. Winded, he rested a hand on the door frame and glared at Naomi.
Naomi opened her mouth to speak.
Conner cut her off. “Where is it?”
Naomi didn’t say anything. Trinity stayed leaning next to her.
Conner stomped forward and forcibly grabbed her wrist, raising it up to view. With red-rimmed eyes and a rage she had never seen before, Conner said, “Open.”
“Conner, wait--”
“Open!”
His shout shook Naomi to her core. Suddenly, she remembered what Dean said about their background. This wasn’t just some dockside construction worker, he was a drug smuggler. Setting her jaw, Naomi opened her palm, revealing the antibiotics.
Anger turned to betrayal on Conner’s handsome face. The last dim light of kindness in his eyes died, making his pupils turn to flat and colorless.
Naomi chose her next words carefully, knowing full well that Becca betrayed her. “This is from my own supply.”
The skin around Naomi’s grappled wrist turned white as Conner squeezed tighter. “Don’t lie to me. You got it from him.”
“That’s not true,” Naomi lied.
Conner threw her wrist away, sending the pills skipping across the tile. Full of fury, he twisted around and stormed into the hallway. Naomi squeezed her sore wrist where his hand print remained. She handed the pill bottle to Trinity and rushed out the door.
When she got into the hallway, Conner was hammering his fist on Allen’s door. “Come on, now! Allen! Open up! ”
The door suddenly pulled open. The Irishman nearly hammered the ex-Navy Seal with his fist. The two men faced each other. Allen hid all emotion behind a neutral face. Conner fumed. Their rivalry was a spark between them. Neither said a word.
“Conner!” Becca yelled from downstairs. “Come quick!”
Both men broke their stare and turned to the steps. Allen gestured for Conner to proceed first. In a huff, he did.
Allen followed and then Naomi.
Becca stood outside Fergus’s room. Her eyes were wide. “It’s grandpa.”
Panicked, Conner rushed inside.
Dean was kneeling next to his grandfather’s bed. His face was red with rage. He turned his angry eyes up to Conner.
Hesitant, as if scared to wake Fergus, Conner approached the bed. The eighty-one-year-old man lay with his arms stretched out across the covers. His jaw fell slack. His eyes were closed. Naomi wrinkled her nose at the putrid smell.
Conner, his face losing color every second, knelt down beside his father and took his hand. “Dad?”
Fergus’s didn’t reply.
He didn’t breathe, either.
44
Pyre
On a makeshift gurney, they carried Fergus outside the property’s walls. Heavy wind and icy sleet battered their ponchos as they reached a twenty-foot-tall teepee Allen had constructed. Rope bound the three long pieces of bark-covered lumber at the top, allowing a small hole for the fire to rise. Tattered blue tarp made up the walls. Naomi, Conner, Dean, and Allen walked the body under the tarp and into the teepee. They laid the gurney on a three-foot-high bed of sticks Naomi and Allen had spent the whole morning preparing.
Becca lent her arm to ghastly-looking Cathleen. The wind tugged at their umbrella.
Occasionally, she hunched over and entering into a violent coughing spell.
Naomi and the others backed away a few feet away from the frail body. It had only been a day dead, but Allen wanted to burn him quickly. If not for the weather, they would have no need for the teepee. Nevertheless, they didn’t want to contend with the wind and sleet for the fire’s life.
Another gust slapped against the Baxters and Ryans. It appeared Dean and Allen were the only two not battling with the virus. They stood opposite of one another. Dean wouldn’t look Allen in the eye. Conner was the opposite. He couldn’t stop glaring. At least not until he spoke of his father.
“Fergus lived beyond his years. From a hell raiser in the Devil’s Pocket to the man that fathered three great sons, he won’t be forgotten. He taught me how to get up when I got down, to stand up against any adversary, and to fight until I won. I love you, Dad.” Conner took out the lighter fluid and splashed it over the body and the wood pile. When he finished, he handed the fluid to his brother, Dean.
Dean looked down at his father’s pale face. “Dad didn’t talk much, so I won’t talk much. All I have to say is this - a lesser man would’ve died days ago. Dad stuck with it. He was a fighter. That’s how he’ll be remembered.” He sprayed more lighter fluid over the body and handed it to Becca.
The teenage girl sniffled. She wiped away a tear with her finger. “You always knew how to make me laugh. I’ll miss you, grandpa.” With a shaking hand, she spritzed some of the lighter fluid on him and handed it to Cathleen. She didn’t take it or say a word.
The Baxters didn’t have anything say.
Conner lit the torch--a stick with a shirt wrapped around it--and shoved it into the pile of kindling. Dean did the same.
Calvin subtly held Naomi’s hand as the fire grew larger.
Trinity was the only one who didn’t attend. She was asleep in Naomi’s room. Naomi was glad for that. There were certain things a thirteen-year-old shouldn’t witness.
The tongues of fire snaked through the pile of wood and licked at Fergus’s flaky skin. His clothes ignited and the stench of sizzling meat wafted into the air.
Naomi shut her eyes. Her mind went to a time when things were not so barbaric.
When it was finished, they returned to the house in somber silence. Conner didn’t say a word to Allen about the pills, but his dagger eyes cut deeply into the veteran. Naomi could see their confrontation was only delayed by the mourning of Fergus. What happened after that passed, only time would tell.
Calvin returned to the living room couch. He snuggled under a blanket and coughed to himself.
Becca and Cathleen returned to their room. Dean moved in with them, not wanting to be in the same room where his father died. Conner moved into the recreation room. Naomi moved back into her room with Trinity. Her daughter rested against the bed backboard. She looked out the window at the teepee beyond the wall. Naomi took a seat on the bed next to her. Trinity scooted away. “Don’t get too close. I’ll make you sick.”
“How are you feeling?”
Trinity shrugged.
Naomi looked down at her hands. She smelled like smoke.
Trinity traced her fingers on the covers. “Am I going to die?”
“What?” Naomi felt a spike of stress.
Naomi scooted closer. Trinity moved to the far edge of the bed. She eyed Naomi like a feral animal. “Don’t come over here.”
As much as it hurt, Naomi stopped herself from proceeding forward. “You’re not going to get me sick.”
“You don’t know that,” Trinity said. “You could die like Fergus.”
“That won’t happen,” Naomi said firmly.
Trinity wasn’t convinced.
Naomi softened her tone. “Fergus was an old man. His body was weak. His health was already failing. Whatever he had, whatever he gave us, we’ll get through it. It just takes time. Sleep.”
Trinity turned back to the window. “I want to give my medication to Becca.”
Anger flared up in Naomi. “No.”
“And why not?” Trinity complained the way that thirteen-year-olds do.
“Because I said so.”
Trinity moaned in annoyance.
Naomi fumed. “Don’t give me that pouty face, young lady. That medicine is for you only. Okay? No one else. Do you understand?”
Trinity frowned and looked away from her.
“Do you. Understand?” Naomi said, putting emphasis on the last word.
Trinity mumbled. “Yes, ma’am.”
“Good,” Naomi got up. “When I come back in here, I expect you to be asleep.”
Naomi headed out of the room and shut the door behind her. Her heart raced inside her chest. A sudden chill danced up her skin. She shuddered. Her knees and arms felt weak.
She headed into the study. The leather chair fit her like a well-worn glove. She swiveled back and forth before digging into a medical textbook.
Five minutes later, her eyes ached. She rested her face on her hands and lifelessly leafed through pages of a dense textbook. Her pulse and breath were erratic. She drifted off and had a discombobulated nightmare where everyone in Allen’s house was killed one-by-one by the plague.
The next couple of days sapped Naomi’s life away. She lost about fifteen pounds and found herself frequently regurgitating her meals behind the greenhouse. The sickness gave Calvin the shakes. He was couch-bound and useless. Becca and Cathleen had shut themselves in their room. The only person who’d check on them was Dean, who seemed to be immune to whatever was happening. Naomi thought that would make him useful. Instead, he got lazier and his attitude changed. He’d take long walks at the late hours or go on hunting trips that lasted from daybreak to sundown with little to nothing to show for his efforts.
Two days after the funeral, Naomi found him standing by the downstairs storage closet. The room was bound by four different locks. When questioned why he was there, he shrugged at Naomi and walked on.
Conner shut himself inside the recreation room. His violent coughing fits could be heard throughout the house.
Meanwhile, Allen and Naomi were the only two doing work.
Allen worked outside most of the time, repairing the fence where Conner had left off or improving the cold storage shed that Calvin had prototyped.
Meanwhile, Naomi took care of the house. She cleaned, changed sheets, washed clothes in the tub outside, pumped the well until her palms blistered, swept, set the table, mopped the floor, tended to her sick daughter and husband, kept track of the candles, and treated the fire. By themselves, the tasks were simple enough, but with no one to help her, Naomi found that even standing was a chore. Her dreams were invaded with running the clothes through a wooden washing rack. She’d go to sleep late and alone and get up early to repeat the process. Long crow’s feet grew out of the corners of her eyes. Her head swam. If she stood still for too long, she found herself leaning. Bruises blossomed on her knees from scrubbing out the floor of the tub. Small cuts seemed to appear out of nowhere.
Her one time of rest was during her therapy sessions, which she moved to the study. The only person who would show up was Dean. He’d talk about his father and how Sean, his youngest brother, was always the favorite. That was mainly because Sean escaped the slums and made a good life for himself. Dean also spent time talking about Cathleen, being more open about the chemistry they shared and how he wanted more.
After a few days though, even Dean stopped coming to therapy.
Allen stayed separated from the drama, and the whole group for that matter. As time went on, the Baxters grew further apart while the Ryans tightened their pack. Surprisingly, Cathleen was on the road to recovery the quickest. Becca followed soon after.
Meanwhile, Trinity and Calvin fell deeper into illness.
By day twenty-five, the Ryans were all back at the dinner table, or their own version of the dinner table. They sat in the recreation room adjacent to the dining room. Naomi and Allen had the whole dining room to themselves. Allen sat at one head with a clear view of the recreation room. Naomi sat at the other end. She rubbed her forehead, trying to kill her headache that hammered her skull like a jackhammer.
Allen said little as he ate his heavy rationed soup. He looked haggard. His beard had grown longer, and his eyes more tired. Naomi felt too weak to start a conversation. Allen didn’t take the initiative. He was still pissed Naomi hadn’t sent away the Ryans away, and she was too prideful to admit her mistake.
She listened to the Ryans talking lowly with each other during dinner.
Calvin dragged his feet into the dining room and looked around, only now realizing there was a divide between the families. He slowly lowered himself into the seat and asked for tea. The conversion was replaced by the sound of spoons clinging on the sides of soup bowls and the faint whispers of the recovering Ryan family.
Every night, Naomi listened to their quiet chatter and her frustration grew. One night, toward the end of the month, she was eating normally when the Ryans started whispering again.
As she nursed soup to her lips, anger grew inside Naomi like a mold. At first, she didn’t even notice it, but as it spread, it began to take over every part of her heart.
The Ryans kept whispering.
Allen had become an expert at ignoring them and Calvin was completely ignorant. Naomi squeezed her spoon so hard the metal handle imprinted the palm of her hand.
More whispering. They gave Naomi’s table silent hostile looks.
Naomi grinded her teeth.
She reached her breaking point.
Smash!
The bowl shattered against the wall. Naomi lurched up, her chair falling out behind her. Her face glowed red. Allen slowly lowered his spoon. Calvin looked up at her with a mixture of confusion and concern. The Ryans turned their eyes to the dining room and Naomi, who’d just tossed her bowl.
