Prep For Doom Page 33

  “Yes,” Asa nodded. His honey eyes danced. “And I balance him out with my reason once we see there’s no threat.” He smiled again. “It’s a good system.”

  Asa reached into his pocket and retrieved a folded piece of paper.

  “The rules for this zone.” He held it out, and she took it. “Read them. Let me know if you have any questions.”

  The door swung open. A girl wearing a silky, pink robe glared at them.

  “A roommate?” she exclaimed. “Really, Asa?”

  Her eyes found Wendy. She squinted.

  “Wendy? Wendy Mitchell? No friggin’ way!”

  A hint of disdain laced her voice, and she settled her pink-tipped fingers against her hips. Wendy blinked.

  It was Brooke Applegate, one of the most self-absorbed girls she’d ever known. Self-absorbed…and mean. Her blue eyes were riddled with irritation at the inconvenience. Because virus or not, Brooke only cared about Brooke. A wave of nausea flooded Wendy at the thought of spending the apocalypse in Brooke’s company. But Wendy wasn’t surprised. Mean girls always survived. Like cockroaches.

  “I take it you two know each other?” Asa inquired. Wendy glanced at him. He rubbed at his whiskery chin with an amused expression.

  Brooke, leaning against the door jamb, rolled her eyes at him before settling her gaze on Wendy. “Well, come on then, roomie.”

  She spun and traipsed off, pink slippers slapping against concrete. Wendy gave Asa one last annoyed look before she lifted her duffle bag.

  “Wendy.”

  She faced him.

  “You’re going to be fine now.”

  “Yeah,” she whispered.

  Outside, two boys were guarding the perimeter, automatic rifles in hand. Wendy shuddered and hurried past them. This “preppers” life was going to take some getting used to.

  * * *

  “How are you here?”

  Wendy sat on one of two double beds and waited for Brooke to answer. It was a valid question. Clearly, Brooke was not the “prepper” type.

  “My brother,” she answered indifferently. “He and Asa were tight.”

  Brooke was sprawled across the other bed on her stomach flipping through a fashion magazine, which was humorous considering the world was coming to an end. “He was a nerd.” She rolled her eyes. “All he ever did was play video games. It was completely out of control.”

  She paused, flipped a page. Wendy pursed her lips.

  “He didn’t make it, did he?”

  Brooke didn’t look up. Her voice went hard. “Nope. I’m it. The last of the family line.”

  Wendy nodded. She knew that feeling. Brooke tossed the magazine onto the nightstand, pulled a sleep mask over her eyes, and turned off the lamp.

  “I don’t want to talk to you about this,” she proclaimed. She rolled over to face the opposite wall.

  Wendy sat unmoving in the dark. Clearly, she and Brooke were never going to be friends, even under the worst of circumstances.

  She slipped beneath the sheets. The room was stuffy. She would have stripped down to her panties, but that wasn’t an option. She’d read Asa’s rules. They were as follows:

  1. Food packs served in the lobby at 8:00 a.m., 12:00 p.m., and 6:00 p.m. only.

  2. All doors locked by 8:00 p.m.

  3. Keep your bags packed.

  4. Sleep fully clothed, including shoes.

  5. Keep curtains drawn.

  6. Use lights sparingly to avoid outside attention.

  7. Weapons are to be fully loaded and ready for use. Safety first.

  8. Members found to be infected will be put out. No exceptions.

  9. If you don’t like the rules, leave.

  Brooke had broken several already. Her bare feet dangling off the end of the bed were proof. But Wendy refused to tread on thin ice. This place could be her only chance to reunite with Chad. She kept her tennis shoes on.

  She stared at the ceiling, willing sleep, but it didn’t come. Too much had taken place today with no time to compartmentalize. She’d rather forget. To remember meant blood-tinged vomit and her mother’s last wheezing breaths. It meant staring into Julie’s painfully bloodshot eyes.

  She would give anything to look into them now.

  With a sigh, she dug into her pocket and drew out a Fender guitar pick. She held it above her in the dark. She didn’t need to see it. She’d memorized it. A neon green vintage with black script across the front. Chad had given it to her at church camp two years ago. A promise. She always kept it with her.

  She clutched it and pressed her closed fist to her lips.

  “Dear God,” she whispered. “Please keep Chad safe. Please let him be alive. And Annee and Mr. Montgomery, too. Please.”

  A tear raced backward down her temple. Chad was the only one left in this world that she truly cared about. She would cling to her faith that he was alive. She refused to let herself believe anything else.

  * * *

  Wendy collected her breakfast pack from the lobby in the morning: a cup of instant oatmeal, a bottle of water, a fruit roll-up, and a granola bar. She ate seated on a bench just outside the lobby doors.

  During the day, Asa allowed a bit more freedom. But he always had two guys on duty, walking the perimeter, checking the surrounding lots, looking out for infecteds. Members could sit outside, take walks—as long as they were armed. He’d given Wendy a small army knife; she’d left it in her bag. She was naïve about potential danger, and in her mind, everyone was hiding, dying, or already dead anyway.

  She munched on her granola bar and thought of Julie. She’d only been thirteen. Her death—it didn’t seem fair, and for the first time, Wendy wished it had been her instead. Sweet Julie…

  Her breakfast stuck in her throat. She squeezed her eyes closed. She would not cry. Today, she would stay strong.

  “Where’d you come from, Wendy?”

  She jumped at the voice. Asa had taken a seat at the opposite end of the bench without her noticing, his arm draped across the back. She shook her head to steady herself.

  “I hope you aren’t planning to do that every time we meet.”

  Asa laughed. “Sorry.”

  Wendy glanced at him, then looked away.

  “I’m from Tijeras Canyon,” she answered.

  “How do you know Brooke?”

  “I don’t, really. She was just in my pre-calc class last year.”

  “Oh.” Asa leaned forward on his knees and clasped his hands. He hesitated a moment before he continued, his voice full of sympathy. “You lost your mom and your sister? Who else?”

  Wendy bit her lip. There went her plan not to cry. She blinked several times.

  “I think—” She cut herself short, staring at the ground. She couldn’t voice her fears. “What about you?”

  He sighed deeply. “I lost everybody. And I’m the oldest of eight.” He laughed softly, a sad, bitter laugh. “It was a real slaughterhouse at my place.”

  His lower lip trembled, and Wendy felt his aching inside her. She hesitated, and then reached over and placed her hand on his forearm. His eyes, moist and full of sadness, met hers. He smiled.

  “Asa!”

  Carlos raced up the sidewalk, his rifle hugged to his chest. Asa leapt to his feet.

  “What is it?”

  Carlos, bent at the waist, breathlessly forced out the words.

  “It’s Devon, man. He just threw up all over the bathroom sink.”

  Asa straightened, and his role as leader slid into place.

  “I thought he was cleared,” Carlos insisted.

  “Get everyone to their rooms,” Asa ordered. “Find Juan. And Carlos…” He paused until Carlos met his gaze. “We’ll do what has to be done to protect the rest of us.”

  Carlos nodded and sped off. Asa faced Wendy.

  “Go,” he said. He pulled a mask from his pocket. “And stay inside.”

  Wendy gathered up the remainder of her breakfast as Asa thundered off to “do what had to be done.”<
br />
  She didn’t like the reference one bit.

  * * *

  Brooke paced back and forth in front of the curtains while Wendy sat cross-legged on the end of the bed and chewed on her thumbnail. They listened to Devon’s screams.

  “Please! Please don’t do this! I don’t have anywhere to go!”

  His pleas came from the parking lot. His voice was hoarse, and every once in a while a ragged coughing fit attacked him. It had been thirty minutes since Asa had sent them to their rooms. It felt like hours.

  “Why are they letting him yell like that?” Brooke stopped pacing and peered out a tiny crack in the curtain. She had a clear view of him. “He’s going to bring a lot of attention on us. We’re supposed to be safe here. This isn’t helping.”

  Wendy didn’t answer. She was thinking that today was the Fourth of July. She and Julie had an armory of fireworks stashed in the laundry room, and if this had been any other Fourth of July, they would be at their grandparents’ ranch eating barbeque. Her grandfather had called on July 1 to tell them not to come. He was sick. Wendy knew he and grandma were both dead by now.

  Through the thin motel walls, Wendy heard Devon choke on a sob and bellow again.

  “You can’t do this! Oh, God. God it hurts…”

  His misery penetrated her conscience, and she couldn’t take any more. She scrambled off the bed.

  “They shouldn’t be doing this,” she said. “They should have allowed him to die in his room.”

  Brooke whirled. “That’s not the rule, Wendy. If you get sick, you leave.”

  “And this is better? To let him die in a motel parking lot?”

  “He’s supposed to go,” she insisted. “He’s not following the rules.”

  “There are no more rules!” Wendy screamed, and Brooke’s eyes widened. “Don’t you get it? The only rules now are the ones we create. I don’t like this one.”

  “Well, it’s not your call,” Brooke sneered.

  Wendy fumed and flung open the door.

  “Where are you going?”

  Wendy glared at her.

  “I’m breaking a rule.”

  She marched across the lot to Devon. He trembled in a puddle of his own bloody vomit. She knelt. He wasn’t a small guy. His blond hair was streaked with the evidence of his sickness.

  “Devon?” He opened one bloodshot eye. “Let me help you. Can you stand?”

  “I don’t know,” he whispered raggedly.

  “Well, try.”

  From the corner of her eye, she saw them coming. Asa in the lead, with Juan on his heels, and at least seven others adorned in masks. They halted several yards back. She ignored them and concentrated on getting Devon to his feet.

  “You’re not taking him anywhere.”

  She stopped, a tense anger pinching her. Devon fell back with a moan, and she stood. Asa’s eyes were stern.

  “You can’t do this, Wendy. He knew the rules. And now you’ve risked getting infected.”

  “No.”

  Determined, she marched over to Asa.

  “Look. My sister threw up all over me seconds before she died. It got in my eyes, my mouth. That was yesterday.” Tears welled, but she didn’t avert her eyes. “I’m not sick. And you.” She jabbed an accusing finger into his chest. “You were there with your family. A slaughterhouse, you said? And you’re not sick. None of us are.” Her eyes swept across the others. “We’re the only ones who can help the sick die with some dignity. I would have wanted that for my mom. For my sister. And Devon’s mama would want that for him.”

  The group stood in utter silence. And Juan raised his gun, and shot Devon in the head.

  Wendy jumped, covering her ears as the report of the gun echoed off the building. In shock, she turned. Devon’s body slumped, a bloody, quiet lump on the broken asphalt.

  Nobody moved. Juan spoke.

  “We should have done that to begin with when he wouldn’t leave.” He holstered his gun and looked at Asa. “You know it. I know it. We all know it. We all agreed.”

  He cast his eyes over Devon and made a sign of the cross.

  “The infected are going to die in horrible ways. I just did him a favor.” He gestured with a nod of his head to two members. “Take care of the body.”

  Wendy covered her face with her hands and spun to flee toward her room.

  “Wendy!” Asa caught her by the arm. She yanked out of his grip.

  “Don’t touch me!” A sob escaped. Asa yanked his mask down.

  “I’m sorry, Wendy.” He dipped his head to catch her eyes. “We have to do things to protect ourselves. This had to happen.”

  “No. It didn’t.” Her lip quivered.

  “Look. I understand. What you said was right. It just wasn’t smart. And we’re all scared.”

  “You’re right,” she whispered. Her eyes pierced him. “Devon was scared.”

  He blinked once. She turned away. There was nothing more to say.

  * * *

  In the middle of the night, someone else began showing symptoms. Carlos came by pounding on doors to alert everyone to stay inside. Wendy double-checked the lock and climbed back into bed. She buried herself under the covers. Brooke was at the window again.

  “It’s Lisa,” she said quietly.

  Wendy wiped at a lone tear. This was a nightmare.

  “We’re all going to die.” Brooke’s voice cracked with the words, and she crumpled to the floor, sobbing. “It’s only a matter of time.”

  Wendy slipped out of the bed and knelt to wrap her arms around mean girl, Brooke Applegate. A girl who had never said a word to her in school unless she’d needed help in calculus. A girl who’d spent the majority of her time looking down her nose at everyone else. But tonight, they had something in common: fear. Brooke leaned into the embrace.

  The humming of an engine caught Wendy’s ears. Lisa must be leaving. She hoped so because she didn’t care to see a repeat of Devon’s demise. Standing, she peered through the curtains.

  Lisa stood near a streetlight, a small suitcase dangling from her fingers. The light was so bright that Wendy saw everything clearly. And the humming engine was not a car. It was an armored truck. It slowly rolled to a stop beside Lisa.

  “Who is that?” Wendy asked. Brooke scrambled to her feet.

  “Who?” She sniffled and squinted through the window.

  The truck was bright white under the light. A diamond-shaped logo graced its side, overlaid with three large, crisp letters. PFD.

  “Prep for Doom.” Brooke leaned back. “It must be Montgomery.”

  Their eyes met; Wendy’s heartbeat thumped erratically. Without thinking, she pulled the curtain wide.

  Chad could be in that truck.

  A side door on the truck slid open just as the two preppers on perimeter duty cautiously made their way over to greet it. Simultaneously, Lisa bent over and threw up on her shoes.

  A man in a HAZMAT suit appeared in the open doorway of the truck. Lisa straightened, and with a sharp pop, he put a bullet through her brain.

  Brooke gasped; Wendy pressed a hand against the cool glass; the two group members halted in shock before they turned and fled toward the lobby. They never made it.

  Gunfire suddenly fractured the night. Brooke screamed and ducked beneath the window. Wendy dove for the space between her bed and the wall. They heard shouts, return fire. Wendy curled into a tight ball as the Fourth of July celebration finally arrived in the form of exploding bullets.

  Ages later, Asa miraculously arrived at their door unharmed, the butt of his rifle propped against his hip.

  “You two okay?”

  Wendy climbed to her feet.

  “Yeah,” Brooke’s trembling defied her answer. “Who are those people?”

  “I have no idea. But get your things.” He eyed Wendy. “We’re leaving.”

  “Leaving?” Wendy panicked. “But…what about Montgomery?”

  What about Chad?

  “The internet’s down,” Asa an
swered. “But we left a note in the lobby. Anybody coming here will know where to go.” He smiled weakly. “Don’t worry, he’ll find us.”

  Wendy’s heart sank, but she grabbed her duffel bag and followed him.

  The parking lot was a graveyard that Wendy couldn’t stomach. Bile rose in her throat. The fight had ended with four dead men in HAZMAT suits. The group had lost six.

  Would this nightmare never end?

  The lobby was a mess of broken glass and tattered furniture. Asa’s note was taped to a window full of bullet holes. She bit back her tears.

  Where are you, Chad?

  “What are you going to do with the bodies?” she asked numbly.

  Asa’s expression turned grim.

  “Nothing,” he replied. “We can’t help the dead. We need to worry about the living, and the motel has been compromised.”

  Wendy’s heart ached. Some of these guys were his friends. She heard pain reflected in his words.

  Members hurriedly loaded vehicles with supplies. Brooke dragged her rolling suitcase past. Wendy dug Chad’s guitar pick from her pocket.

  “Wendy?” Asa took a step. “We need to go.”

  “Just a minute.”

  She disappeared into the lobby. Behind the counter, she found a black marker. She quickly scribbled one word across the back of the guitar pick. Asa watched her curiously as she taped the pick securely next to the note. She stepped back with a sigh.

  Asa didn’t say a word, but he offered his hand. She took it gratefully, and she made a silent promise to herself.

  She would survive. She would see Chad again. And she would never stop believing in hope—even in a dying world.

  Hope was all she had left.

  Learn more about Casey Hays

  Luke stared at the shotgun laying heavy in his hands. He’d discovered it a year ago, hidden in a secret spot in his father’s closet. His dad claimed to be a pacifist and believed guns created more problems than they solved, so it didn’t make sense that he owned a weapon. Luke had never confessed to his dad that he’d found it or asked why he had it. He meant to, one day, but that day never came.

  Things were different now. The world had changed and Luke was alone. It might be a good idea to figure out how to use the gun.

  He examined it carefully and discovered it was already loaded. After a search of the top shelf, Luke found a box that held extra shells. He shoved four into his pocket.