Prep For Doom Page 7

  There had to be another way. And Lexia vowed to find it.

  Using her cell phone, she began to search online forums within Little Italy. Maybe someone had set up a market of sorts, to exchange things or goods. Maybe someone was offering food for those who didn’t have it. Churches and charities usually did that, during emergencies.

  She searched while Greg worked. Eventually, he had claimed much of the wall-space, having brought a gallon-sized Zip-Lock bag of his own, stuffed full with clippings. They were all about the virus, the government, and how its release—down to the vehicle accident that had caused it all—had been planned and unleashed upon the population.

  Lexia believed in the principle of Occam’s razor. The simplest solution was usually correct. The truck carrying the virus had been driven by a human being. Human beings often made mistakes. Therefore, the accident had been caused by human error. There was no government conspiracy involvement, no corporation funding and facilitating the spread of the disease, as some of the articles alleged. This was just fuel for his crazy fire, as far as Lexia was concerned. And that was a fire she wished would burn its way out.

  She wanted her dad back. She wanted to be a normal sixteen year old, maybe even finish high school and look ahead to college. But as she looked around the room at all the bold-face type and tin foil staring back at her, Lexia knew that college was no longer an option.

  The pair settled down eventually that night—at least, Lexia thought it was night—and fell into a deep sleep.

  They should have taken turns or shifts to keep watch.

  * * *

  Lexia sat up in her bed, clutching her blankets to her chest. She silently cursed herself. Of course there was noise in the apartment. Her dad was back.

  Her heart beat wildly and she panted from the start. She lay back down and rearranged her pillow, nestling back into the warmth of the bed beneath her.

  Greg was snoring softly from the couch. She listened to the rhythm and let her eyes drift closed.

  Something in the other room struck the floor with a loud thunk and then rolled until it hit her door.

  Her eyes popped open. She could see the object blocking the small amount of light under the door’s clearance.

  Crunching noises came from across the apartment’s tiny space, echoing loudly. That was not Greg. He was still sawing logs.

  Careful not to make noise, Lexia eased back her covers and put her bare feet to the floor and rushed across the bedroom. She pulled the handle of the small chest of drawers beside her bed and felt for her handgun.

  When the cool metal was in her grip, she eased it out and flipped the safety off, holding the pistol so that its barrel pointed at the floor in front of her. One thing her paranoid dad did teach her before getting carted off was how to handle a gun, and handle herself in dangerous situations.

  More shuffling from the other room. It was getting louder. How was her dad sleeping through this? She knew he was okay because his snoring was so insanely loud. And she was grateful he hadn’t been harmed. If she worked quickly, neither of them would be.

  She slipped into the darkness, ready to confront the intruder head-on. Sort of. Her heart was pounding, her palms were sweaty, and her breathing—it definitely wasn’t loud and steady like dear ol’ dad’s.

  Lexia reached out, feeling along the wall until her fingers found the light switch to her right. Mentally she counted down in order to psych herself up.

  Three.

  Two…

  ONE!

  She flipped the switch and was immediately blinded. On a positive note, so was the intruder.

  “Dad!”

  He snorted and sat up.

  “Dad. Someone’s in here! I can’t see!”

  As her vision returned and color took form, she saw a writhing mass of men. One was her dad. The other was…Angelo?

  Angelo Gallo. The bane of her existence in high school.

  “Dad! Stop!”

  She pulled her father’s elbow until she caught his attention. “’s not safe!”

  “No! Dad, stop. I know him!” Greg stopped pounding the young man and sat up on his knees, still straddling Angelo’s legs to restrain him.

  “What in the world are you doing here, Angel?” Internally, she snorted a little. He was anything but an angel.

  The young man shoved at Greg, who wouldn’t relent. “Get off me, old man!”

  For a second, Lexia thought that Greg might start trying to kill him again. Those last two words ignited a fire in her dad’s eyes: old man.

  “Dad, please get off him. Check the doors. Make sure they’re safe.” That last word had gotten his attention. Greg nodded and climbed off the young man’s legs, rushing to the door and checking the locks in triplicate.

  She offered a hand to Angel, but he just sneered at it, wiping his bloodied lip with the back of his hand.

  His dark hair was shaggy and too long. He hadn’t had a haircut in a while. But it looked good on him. Lexia thought that just about anything would look good on him. He was just that guy: the hot Italian that other guys buddied up with and girls batted eyelashes at. In school, it had been almost ridiculous. “The Italian Stallion,” he’d named himself. Nice.

  Working at the bakery, she’d seen him at least once a week. She’d seen many classmates come through their doors. No one ratted her out. Somehow, they’d understood her predicament and kept their lips zipped.

  “Explain,” she ordered.

  “Put the gun down, Lexia.”

  She shivered. Just hearing her name on his lips was almost enough to undo her. She lowered the gun.

  “I’m not gonna hurt you. I wouldn’t do that.”

  She rolled her eyes and looked at her dad, who nodded, patting his side. He always carried when he was home. Stupid boy. He’d been lucky. If Greg hadn’t been sleeping so soundly, he would have more holes in his body than Swiss cheese.

  Lexia returned her pistol to its proper place and then returned, shrugging on a sweater. One man, one boy were staring each other down, her dad standing guard at the door.

  That wasn’t how Angel had come in, though. And, unlike his namesake, he hadn’t flown. He’d climbed the rickety fire escape and eased up her window. It didn’t lock. None of them did. But her dad’s aluminum foil was quite loud when disturbed. It had let her know that someone was there.

  Maybe Greg wasn’t quite so crazy after all.

  Greg’s voice startled her.

  Greg was muttering under his breath. “’s not safe. ’s not safe. ’s not safe.” Over and over…and over.

  Angel was just staring at him. What had been an angry, dark look had faded into understanding and wariness.

  Great, she thought.

  “Sit, Angel. You better explain why you broke into my apartment in the middle of the night.” She glanced out the now-open window to make sure it was still dark outside. Yep. Still night.

  He huffed and drew his dark brows down as he settled uncomfortably onto the edge of her couch. “I needed some stuff.”

  “You could have knocked and asked me for it.”

  He ran his fingers through his hair. “You wouldn’t have given it to me.”

  “Maybe. Maybe not. But you don’t just climb through someone’s window in the middle of the night.”

  Signature smirk in place, Angel replied, “Romeo did it.”

  Heat surged into her cheeks. “You’re not Romeo, Angel. What did you need?”

  He swallowed. “I need the gas masks and some supplies I thought your dad might have left behind. I didn’t know he was here.”

  “You came into my home to rob me. I almost shot you. Do you even get that?”

  He coughed. “Yeah. I get it. I’m not stupid, Lexia.”

  “Are you sick?” She glanced from her dad, who still stood near the door glaring at their exchange, back to Angel.

  “Not anymore.”

  Her brows rose along with her curiosity. “You got sick? You survived?”

  “Yeah.
So did you.”

  “How did you know that?”

  Angel glanced at her just for a moment; his cheeks turned the slightest shade of pink. “I just know.”

  “Well that’s not creepy,” Lexia responded. She didn’t know what to think of that admission. “Tell me or I won’t help you.”

  “I’ve been checking on you, okay? I saw you through the window.”

  “You climbed the fire escape?” The very thought of the height made her stomach turn flip-flops. It turned them faster because Angel had been keeping an eye on her.

  “Hey, why do you need the gear, anyway?”

  Angel pulled his iPad out of the inside of his pocket and glared at Greg. “You cracked it, man!” He ran his hand through his hair.

  Greg didn’t flinch, just stared him down until Angel relented and looked away. Lexia made a mental note never to challenge her dad to a staring contest. Holy crap. He was intense. And a little scary when provoked.

  Angel began punching a web address into the browser. A site began to load, albeit slowly. Prep for Doom.

  “What’s Prep for Doom?”

  Angel smiled. “It may be a ticket out of this hell hole.”

  “What do you mean?” Lexia sat down beside him and watched his fingers swipe the screen as he scrolled down the posts until he found what he’d been searching for.

  “Look,” he looked up at her. She could see his desperation. “According to these guys, there’s this safe haven on Staten Island. It’s stocked with food and supplies. And there aren’t dead people everywhere.” He blew out a harsh breath. “I know you’ve been holed up in here, but Lex, you have to be running out of food. And there are dead bodies everywhere. If we thought the virus was bad, who knows what diseases can be caused from all of the rotting bodies. They’re everywhere. No one moves them. No one wants to touch them. The stench alone…” Angel cringed.

  Lexia couldn’t imagine what was going on outside. But from what Angel said it was horrific.

  “How did you learn about this site?”

  A full-on blush made Angel’s cheeks glow. “Look, I know I’m not what you’d probably consider a survivalist, but I agree with a lot of the things these guys have to say. I’ve been hovering around in the forum for a while. I got an invitation to join,” he shrugged. “So, I joined.”

  He got an invitation to join a group that was prepping for the apocalypse? That wasn’t weird or anything, Lexia thought. Angel was strong. He was athletic. But he wasn’t one of these guys who left the city streets to go hiking or anything.

  “Have you checked out the safe zone or heard from anyone who actually made it there?”

  Angel shook his head. “No.”

  She knew he wondered the same thing she did. Were they all dead now? Or, could some of them have made it?

  Lexia rolled the thought of a safe zone around in her mind. It would be weird to live with strangers. But, they might be safer there. They would have food and water, shelter…

  “’s not safe,” Greg shouted, abruptly interrupting her thoughts.

  Angel looked at him and asked, “What’s not safe?”

  “’s not safe,” Greg ground out. Lexia’s dad started pacing, pointing frantically at his articles on the wall. She stood and walked over to where he had stopped, pointing like a dog who was signaling his master.

  The article he was fixated on read, “PFD Conspiracy: The Truth Behind the Lies.”

  “Peter Franklin Donalds,” she mouthed, studying the simple, diamond-shaped logo emblazoned with the company’s initials.

  “’s not safe, L-L-Lex.”

  He begged her with his eyes. Greg was scared. He was always paranoid, but not usually genuinely afraid.

  Lexia swallowed and turned back to Angel, who was watching them curiously.

  “I’ve heard of Peter Franklin Donalds. The reporter, Amy Savino, has talked about them. I don’t watch television that often, since we only have one station and it’s all news all the time, but I have heard of this, Dad.”

  “’s not safe.”

  She smiled and grabbed his hand, giving him a comforting squeeze. “It’s okay. We’re safe here.”

  Angel stood up. “So, I guess I should go. I’m gonna at least check it out, Lex.” Lexia almost laughed when he ticked his head back toward the window. Shredded silver strands of foil hung off the edge. The rest of it was crumpled where the two panes met.

  She looked to her dad. “Do you want to go with him? To Staten Island, Dad?”

  He shook his head in a vehement no. “’s not safe.”

  Part of her wanted to hug her father. Something in her gut said that Staten Island was bad news. Maybe it wasn’t safe there. Maybe someone had played some sort of a sick joke on people. Or perhaps, everything the anonymous person posted was true.

  She mentally kicked herself. She was sounding more paranoid than her dad. But he wouldn’t make it. She knew it. He was comfortable in their apartment. He felt safer there—with aluminum foil-covered windows, a few old handguns and walls plastered with newspaper clippings—than he would feel anywhere else.

  Lexia would have to find food. But, they could make it. They could stay inside, stay safe.

  “Can we give him a few things, Dad?”

  He looked from her to Angel and scowled. Lexia knew he was still angry that Angel had broken in with the intention of stealing what he needed. But this was survival. Wasn’t everyone doing what they had to do instead of what was proper? Wasn’t she about to steal food if she had to?

  “Dad, we’re staying put. Let’s help him out. Maybe he’ll come back and tell us if it’s safe. Right, Angel?”

  “Yeah! I’ll come back for you,” Angel agreed quickly. Angel was many things, but he wasn’t a liar. He would come back for them. And that alone was enough to ask her dad to help.

  “See,” she begged her dad.

  Greg seemed to mull it over for a long moment. He finally nodded.

  “What do you need?” Lexia asked. She had Greg’s blessing to help Angel out.

  Angel left through the apartment’s window—his choice, not hers—with a gas mask, a couple of maps, her old pink backpack, a spare flashlight, and one of her dad’s revolvers. That would leave them with three. Her Dad had refused to give him any bullets, insisting that it wasn’t safe. He didn’t trust Angel, not that Angel had given him a reason to.

  Angel didn’t say thank you. He didn’t hug her or promise her anything. When he slipped out the window his dark brown eyes said he would be back. And she hoped he was able to keep his promise, hoped he would make it to the safe zone, and then hurry back to her.

  She sighed, watching him climb down the fire escape, retracing the steps he’d taken to get to her. Turning around, Lexia watched her father work diligently to recover the disturbed window.

  The whole world was disturbed. Now Greg just fit in with everyone else.

  * * *

  Lexia hadn’t heard anything from Angel. He should have been there and back in a day. Maybe he’d gotten hurt or into some sort of trouble. The thought made her stomach hurt.

  There was a tiny sliver of aluminum foil peeled up on the corner of one of the window panes. She could see that it was daylight. It was bright, almost promising. Maybe Angel would come today.

  Her dad was another story. He hadn’t eaten in a day, shaking his head, saying his usual garbled phrase…repeatedly.

  If something didn’t give soon, she might lose her mind.

  An hour ago, he’d gone into her room and closed the door before she could question him about what in the world he was doing. Sometimes, he needed to be alone. Since he wouldn’t leave the apartment, he’d barricade himself behind closed doors.

  Lexia’s knuckles rapped against the cool wood. “Dad?”

  No answer.

  “Greg?”

  Nothing.

  Then she heard the worst sound in the entire world.

  Her dad had begun vomiting. She could hear him stumble toward her tiny bathr
oom, hear the splatter across the tiles that said he hadn’t quite reached the toilet.

  “N-n-NO! L-Lex! ’s not safe!” he roared, just before retching again.

  But it was safe. She’d already gone through it. She would see him through this, too. Lexia thought for a second about how to get the door open. She had no idea how to take it off the hinges, or how to pick a lock. Brute force was her only option. Time for Louie.

  Louie was her Louisville Slugger. Made of thick, solid wood, Louie was a good option. She lined the bat up with the door handle and took a couple of practice whacks before finally swinging it down in a heavy arc.

  A few swings and loud cracks later, the handle broke and the door swung open.

  Emotions warred in her father’s face. Greg was simultaneously relieved and afraid that Lexia was with him. She helped move him toward the toilet, positioning him for what was going to be a long day.

  Thank goodness she still had cleaner under the sink.

  * * *

  He’d had a headache and his face looked flushed. Those were the first signs. She’d dismissed them. Everyone got headaches once in a while. When the vomiting started, she knew, but thought he would pull through. When blood filled his vomit, it became clear that he was in trouble.

  Greg was now snoring softly on the couch. His eyes were vampiric now. Bruises covered every inch of his skin, capillaries and veins had busted in the middle of the storm that had struck such a physically strong man down. How can the tiniest of organisms still cause such mayhem, she thought.

  Lexia peeled back a little more of the foil along the corner of the window. It was pitch black outside. But someone still living nearby had their television on. Freaking Amy Savino. If she could, she might stab that woman with a spoon. Lex was tired of hearing only her and her conspiracy theories. She was making things worse, not better!

  Her father’s chest rattled and then the gurgling began to pour from his lungs. He blinked awake, too tired to lift his head off the pillow beneath it.

  His red eyes pleaded with her, but for what?

  “L-Lex?”

  She left her perch by the window and knelt beside him, grasping his hand in hers.