Dead in Bed by Bailey Simms, The Complete First Book (19 page)

I couldn’t believe how much blood had
already gathered around Bryce. It had collected in a wide pool and was dripping
off the porch.

Ian held his gun firmly trained at Shawn’s
head.

“You haven’t tested
anyone, Shawn,” he said. “You’re not following protocol. Put your gun down.
Stop right now.”

Shawn didn’t lower his
gun.

Instead, he pointed it
directly at
my
face.

“New rules.” Shawn’s
gun was inches from my forehead. “Where have you been, Ian? We’re out of
Insta
-Read applicators. Until the next shipment comes in,
it’s
up to our
discretion to expire or arrest
.” He repeated the phrase like he was
reading it from a manual, never taking the gun from my face.

A
deafening
boom
.

Someone had fired
their
gun.

It couldn’t have been
Shawn, because I was still standing, unharmed. My husband was clutching his
right hand, and he was no longer holding his gun. Ian had shot the gun out of his
hand.

Shawn screamed out in
surprise and pain, staring hatefully at Ian.

“Do
not
point a gun at Ashley,” Ian said
flatly, keeping his own gun pointed at Shawn.

I heard my mom
screaming from inside the living room as she banged open the screen door and
hurried toward Shawn, shrieking.

“He wasn’t going to
shoot
her, Ian!” She completely ignored
Bryce and tried to wrap a dishcloth around Shawn’s bleeding hand. “He was just
doing his
job
. Somebody has to do
their
job
around here!”

My mom seemed to be
losing her mind. Shawn let her wrap his hand.

“You want a warrant?”
Shawn yelled at Ian. “You stay right fucking here. You all stay
right fucking on these premises
!” he
yelled. “There’s no
doubt
I’ll get a
warrant for him and Ashley both after what I’ve seen here.” Shawn jerked his
head toward Bryce, who was gasping and clutching at his stomach. “He’ll live,”
he said. “That stomach wound won’t do anything. When I come back with the
squad, we’re taking both of them in.” He looked at Lindsay, who was bent over
Bryce, her knees soaked with his blood. “And
you,
too!” he screamed. “Nobody cleared you to leave the motel!”
Now he turned to Ian. “And
you
most
of all! Shooting a Home Guard soldier? Are you crazy? You can kiss your cushy
rank good-bye, son. Say hello to a fucking court marshal. Just wait. Just
fucking wait!
Nobody
leave these
premises!”

Shawn jerked away from
my mom, who was still trying to tie the dishcloth, and hobbled into his truck.

He sped away in a
storm of dust.

Ian said, “We have to go. Now. All of us.”

Between Ian, myself, and Lindsay, we were able to
lift Bryce into my dad’s wheelbarrow.

Bryce looked
hopelessly uncomfortable. His legs dangled over the edge and his neck was bent
to one side like a dead pig, but there was no other way to move him.

“We have to leave
right now,” Ian said. “Jason’s squad could be here any minute. Shawn’s probably
already radioed them. None of us are safe here anymore.”

Ian, Lindsay, and I scrambled
from the porch down to the river and started making our way along the bank
toward the granary. Ian pushed the wheelbarrow as carefully as he could, but
Bryce’s head kept bouncing around inside. He was still conscious, but he’d lost
so much blood he’d grown gruesomely pale. Lindsay had grabbed her son and
struggled to carry the toddler as she hurried to keep up with us. She was
covered in Bryce’s blood. The kid wouldn’t stop wailing.

I was terrified that
the crying was going to give up where we were. If Jason’s squad showed up right
now, they’d hear the kid and come straight to us.

I grabbed him from
Lindsay’s arms. She must have been in a state of shock, because she let me take
him. I put my hand over his mouth, careful not to cover his nostrils. And I
just kept running.

All I could think
about was getting inside the granary where we couldn’t be seen.

We left the bank and
rounded the row of silos, but instead of an empty, weed-strewn grain yard like
I’d expected to see, there were people—seven or eight of them.

They looked like they
were waiting for something.

We all stopped,
breathless. I realized the kid had stopped crying and I uncovered his mouth.
Ian put the wheelbarrow handles down and tried to catch his breath while he
took in the scene.

I recognized the
Botteroffs
, who lived on the other side of the Hershel’s, and
my third grade teacher, Nancy Thomas, who was sitting against the rusted tin
wall. I didn’t recognize anyone else; they all must have been from out of town.

What were they doing
here, at the granary? I didn’t understand.

“Is this the Underground?”
one man asked Ian. He was dressed in a mechanic’s jump suit, covered in grease.

“The what?” Ian lifted
the wheelbarrow and started making his way warily through the small crowd
toward the granary door.

“The Underground,” an
elderly woman said. “You do shelter positives, don’t you? From the Home Guard?”

“Fuck,” Ian said under
his breath. “Well, I guess we fucking do now…”

Ian tapped on the granary’s
wall. “Chris! What’s going on out here, man! Who are these people?”

Chris appeared at the
door.

He looked around at
the desperate faces. “Shit. There’s more?”

“What have you been
telling people?” Ian demanded, rolling Bryce into the granary’s dark interior.

“I haven’t said
anything!” Chris said. “You think I can treat any of them?
Any
of them?
They just keep
showing up!”

“We’ll just have to hide
them all in one of the silos for now,” Ian said, flustered. “Tell them not to
make a sound. Home Guard will probably be crawling all over the place soon.”

“What happened to him?”
Chris looked more closely at Bryce. “He’s positive, isn’t he?”

“He got shot, that’s
what happened,” Ian said. “And, yes. He’s positive.”

“I
knew
it,” Chris said. “I
thought
something was up with that guy.”

“Just get those people
out of sight before someone shows up,” Ian said, hoisting Bryce from the
wheelbarrow and laying him onto the granary’s dusty floor.

Chris hurried outside to
deal with the crowd while Ian took Bryce’s pulse.

Bryce raised his head
slowly, watching Ian as he pinched his wrist. He’d stopped bleeding. The small
bullet hole in his stomach had started to scab over. His skin was a sickly gray
color. I’d never seen anyone so pale.

Bryce dropped his head
back onto the floor. “Hungry,” he groaned.

Ian was still holding
on to Bryce’s wrist. “No pulse.” Ian shook his head, confused.

Chris hurried back
into the granary and fell to his knees beside Bryce.

“I can’t find a
pulse,” Ian said.

“No shit you can’t
find a pulse! He doesn’t have any fucking blood left! What do you think?” Chris
shined a light into Bryce’s eyes. “Can you stand up?” he asked him.

Bryce shook his head.
“No legs.”

“The bullet must have
hit his spine,” Chris said. “He can’t move his legs at all.”

“
Hungry
,” Bryce whimpered again.

“How is he
conscious
?” Ian dropped Bryce’s wrist
and sat back on his heels. “I don’t fucking understand!”

Chris grabbed a
disposable syringe from a box on his desk. He kneeled beside Bryce while
unwrapping the packaging, then tossed aside the clear plastic. He jabbed
Bryce’s forearm. He pulled the plunger backward, drawing fluid into the
syringe.

What came out of
Bryce’s vein wasn’t blood. It was a deep amber color, translucent, and thick
like bacon grease left over in a skillet.

“Honey,” Chris said.

“What the
fuck
?” Ian looked closer at the syringe.
“I don’t get it.”

“I don’t really get it,
either,” Chris admitted. “Somehow the pathogen replaced his blood with its own
honey. His heart stopped beating, but the honey is still oozing through his
veins somehow. It’s keeping him conscious.” Chris shook his head in amazement.
“The larvae must need tons of protein and sugars to produce so much honey. That’s
why he’s so hungry. The pathogen needs him to eat. It needs the energy.”

Bryce flopped his head
from one side to the other. His face was ashen. His hair was slicked with
sweat.

“Just—
wanna
fuck,” he stammered. He started to cry. “
Wanna
fuck
so
bad
,” he whimpered. “Can’t.
Can’t
.”

Bryce weakly pounded
his hip with his fist. His legs lay limp, bent in the same awkward angle they’d
landed in when Ian had lowered him from the wheelbarrow. It was obvious Bryce
couldn’t feel or move anything from the waist down.

“
Wanna
fuck so
bad
,” he stammered, sobbing
now. A thick, greasy tear spilled from his eye. “Why?
Why
?”

I couldn’t watch any
longer. I knew the pathogen was going into overdrive, making Bryce crave sex,
and now there wasn’t anything he could do about it. Everything below his upper
torso was useless and numb. It was driving him mad.

I had to focus on
something else. If I stayed here doing nothing but staring at Bryce in his
misery, I’d start to go mad, too.

I stepped away and
tried not to listen to Bryce’s whimpering. Instead, I started rummaging through
the bin of military rations Chris had been living on. I’d wanted to bring
Morgan something to eat from the house, but when we all had to rush away, I
didn’t even have enough time to grab a jacket, let alone extra food.

I found a pouch of
vacuum-packed oatmeal and a sleeve of strawberry jelly at the bottom of the
bin. It would have to do. I felt awful feeding Morgan like this. It was like
she was some captured beast and I was bringing her a treat, but I refused to
think of her as anything but human. I grabbed one of the kerosene burners and
made my way as quietly as I could toward Morgan’s silo.

When I unlocked the
door, she was asleep. She was curled up in a little ball against the tin wall.

She actually looked
peaceful.

It appeared as though
she’d been surviving mostly on candy bars. There were wrappers scattered all
around her unlit lantern. But she was breathing evenly. She was deeply at rest.

I remembered Ian saying
she hadn’t been sleeping well. Now that she was, I didn’t want to wake her.

But I didn’t want to
leave, either. I felt comforted with Morgan nearby.

So, for a long time I
just sat in the silo’s quiet semi-darkness, listening to Morgan breathe, trying
to figure out what the hell I was going to do now.

I knew I had to go
back to the house. I still had to get Jason’s pharmacy access card. Now that I
was a wanted fugitive again, I had no idea how I was going to get him alone,
but I had to. Somehow, I
had to
make
him think I wanted to sleep with him. It was the only way. I refused to let
Morgan progress to stage three. She’d be totally lost to me.

And it wasn’t just for
Morgan now. It was for all the refugees who needed help.

And it was for myself,
too. If it turned out Bryce had infected me, there was no way I was letting
myself progress past stage one. There was no way I was letting what was
happening to Morgan happen to me.

A gunshot rang out.

I leapt up, expecting
to see Home Guard troops raiding the granary. But when I peered out the silo
door, the granary yard was empty. And silent.

The gunshot had come
from inside the granary itself.

I raced across the
yard, trying not to trip in the weeds. I flung the wire-hinged door open and
hurried into the dim interior.

My eyes adjusted to
the light.

Bryce was still lying
on the granary floor. Chris and Ian were standing over him. Ian was holding his
head in his heads. Chris stood with his arms folded, staring down at Bryce,
holding a pair of tweezers. Nobody was speaking.

Bryce was motionless.
He was holding a small pistol in his hand. He clutched it loosely at his
throat.

I stepped closer.

Now I could see that
the back of Bryce’s head was missing.

The pistol had blown
off a chunk of his skull. A mass of tiny larvae streamed from the wound. Almost
immediately, each one of them writhed and died, as if contact with the open air
killed them.

Chris picked up one
larva with the tweezers and dropped it into a vial.

“What did you
do?
” I screamed. “You didn’t have to
kill
him!”

“Ashley.” Ian rubbed
his forehead. He looked exhausted. “We have to keep quiet.”

Chris slipped the
pistol out of Bryce’s hand and tucked it into a holster concealed under his
shirt.

“We didn’t kill him,” Chris
said. “He asked me for a gun. I gave one to him.”

Ian looked at Chris
warily, but seemed too defeated to make any objection.

“What
should
I have done?” Chris asked.

“
Not
give him your fucking gun!” I struggled to keep my voice as low
as possible.

“And then what?” Chris
answered, angrily. “You think I could have treated him? Even if I had any more
antibiotics, which I don’t—I gave the last dose to Morgan two days
ago—I couldn’t do a fucking thing about his severed spinal cord. Could I?
He was
miserable
. He asked for a gun,
and I gave him one. Am I really going to tell him no? And just watch him
progress to stage three, in that state? Just let him live in a nightmare for
four or five months until he expires? Fuck you, I’m not doing that.”

“Where’s Lindsay?” I
looked around the granary. “Where’s his son?”