Killshot (Icarus Series Book 1) (32 page)

              “No, it’s not, Liv! Your parents didn’t try to kill you, either, did they,” Micah sobbed, raging as he took another step toward me, “and they most certainly did not have their brains blown out and splattered across your goddamn face!”

              His grief-fueled rage finally boiled over and Micah lunged at me, shoving at my shoulders with both hands. Instead of losing my balance and falling back, I spun away from him and shifted to the side and used his momentum against him. I pressed my hands into his back, sending him hurtling past me towards the wall. I grabbed his right arm as his body flew forward, twisted it behind his back, and slammed him chest first against into the pretty floral wallpaper.

              “That’s enough,” I growled at his back, holding his hand high enough behind him that it pressed between his shoulder blades. “Jesus, calm
down
, Micah.”

              “Gah! Let…me go!” He struggled against my grip for a moment, grunting and swearing under his breath.

“Not until you get a damn grip, Mic,” I pushed harder against him.

After a brief struggle he sighed, and pressed his forehead against the wall. His shoulders sagged in defeat and he nodded, so I loosened my grip. The second I released him; Micah sank lifelessly to the floor and buried his face in his hands. His shoulders immediately started to shake as gave in to heavy sobs.

              “Jesus, Micah,” I said. I crouched next to him, still weary of his mood swings. “I know you are upset, and you have every right to be, but you can’t just give up like this. We will get through this. It’s going to be okay.”

              “No, Liv,” he choked out. “My mom is dead and for all I know, my dad is too.”

              “Don’t think like that, Micah,” I said. He flinched when I put my hand on his shoulder. “We will find him.”

              “It doesn’t matter,” he said, as the last drop of emotion drained from his face. He leaned his head to the side and pulled the neck of his t-shirt aside to reveal a festering, red bite mark just below his collarbone.

              “Damn it, Micah,” I yelled in his face. “Why didn’t you say something?”

              “It doesn’t matter, Liv,” he said, sighing. “It’s too late.”

              “No, it’s not,” I said, narrowing my eyes at him. “I can fix it, Micah. I can—”

              “Stop.” He shook his head, tears rolling past his chin. “Look at me, Liv. I mean, really
look
at me.”

              His eyes, almost completely reddened now, had sunken deep into his skull. His skin was a sickly gray and had already begun to hang loose against his cheekbones, and he smelled horrible. The odor we had mistaken for rotting meat earlier was actually permeating from Micah; leaking from his pores.

              “No, no, no,” I whispered, diving forward.

“Easy,” Micah hissed as I peeled his T-shirt up from the waist, desperate to prove him wrong.

The area around the bite mark was crawling with the same thick, black, tendrils I had seen on Zander’s arm, but his had progressed much more quickly. The vine-like parasite was snaking outward, as it slowly took over his chest. Black liquid oozed from the puncture wounds, forming inky trails down his stomach.

              “Oh, Micah. Wait…the medicine!” I dove toward my bag, but Micah kicked it away from me.

              “It won’t work,” he said, grabbing my arm.

              “But—” I stammered.

              “It’s in my
heart
,” Micah growled, his eyes glistening back at me. “Every time it beats, I feel the poison moving through my body. It’s like acid in my veins, Liv. I won’t let you waste those meds on me, especially if there’s a chance they might someday save Ry.”

“Micah, no,” I shook my head at him.

“How messed up is that? My own mom,” Micah snorted, laughing bitterly. “The second she bit me, I was dead.”

              “Micah, please. You have to at least let me try,” I begged. “Riley will—”

              “Liv, listen to me,” Micah pleaded, cutting me off as he grabbed my hands. “You can’t tell Riley. “

              “You can’t just—” The pieces finally fell into place. “You can’t do this to her Micah. Pushing her away is not the answer.”

              “It’s better this way, Liv,” he said, his eyes pleading with me. “If it’s her decision to walk away, it will hurt less than having me taken from her.”

              “Shit, Micah,” I ran my fingers through my hair, my heart sinking deep into my stomach. He had a point, and I hated him for it.

              “You know I am right, Liv,” he said, squeezing my hands. “I’m leaving when we get to Morrison, whether we find my dad or not.”

              “You can’t just walk away, Micah,” I said. “It will destroy her.”

              “Better destroyed than dead,” he said. “Think about it Liv. If this disease doesn’t kill me…if I turn into one of those
things
—”

              “Then you will be drawn to me.” My heart sank, and my butt hit the floor.

              “And if I can find
you
, Liv, then I will be able to find Riley,” he released my hands and ground his fists angrily at his eyes. “You saw what happened my mom, Liv. I can’t—no, I
won’t
, do that to Riley. I love her too much to watch her suffer like that. Do you hear me?”

              “Damn it.” The reality of what I was and of what Micah was facing hit me like a wrecking ball to the chest.

              “Liv, I have to do this,” Micah pleaded. “It’s the only way I can truly protect her.”

              Suddenly Micah’s actions of the last few hours made more sense than my own. He had watched his own mother die horribly just hours ago and he knew in his heart he faced the same fate. Despite the fear and loneliness that came with his own impending mortality, Micah was putting the rest of us first. When he needed us the most, Micah was pushing us all away, making it easier to turn our backs on him when the time came.

              Along with the knowledge of his impending demise, came the realization that I was most likely putting everyone’s life at risk by insisting we stay together.

              “Okay, Micah,” I said, sagging to the floor. “If you are going to do this, could you at least try to be less of an asshole in your attempt to be—?”

              “An asshole?” Micah snorted, wiping the tears from his eyes. “Fair enough. I promise to be a less dick, if you promise not to tell anyone, especially Riley.”

              “Fine, dammit,” I said, sighing in defeat. “I hate you, Micah.”

              “Thank you,” he said, visibly relaxing against the wall. He smiled sadly. “And, I hate you too, Liv.”

              “Whatever,” I said, scooting my bag back over. “Will you at least let me clean that up? It’s going to soak through your shirt soon. Good luck hiding all this if that happens.”

              “Sure, thing, Doctor Larson,” Micah shrugged.

He slid his shirt gingerly off one shoulder, and lay his head back against the wall, while I set to work, trying to clean and dress the blackened mess across his chest and abdomen. The proverbial “Band-Aid on a bullet wound” cliché was not far off in this case. There was not much more I could do than simply cover it.

“Um, Liv?” Micah whispered, as he carefully slid his shirt back on.

              “
What
,” I said, glaring at him.

              “I just— you know,” Micah said, averting his gaze. “Doctor-patient confidentiality.”

Chapter 31

Haven

               The sun had not yet crested the horizon, but the temperature was already on the rise. Beyond the walls of the house, the lightning raged on, completely undeterred by the dawn. Everyone was silent as we headed down the rickety wooden staircase into Junker Johnnie’s basement. Our temporary fortress against the elements was not nearly as beautiful as the rest of his house had been, but it was clean, dry, and a heck of a lot cooler than it had been above ground.

              Boxes and bins were stacked neatly on old wooden shelves, each carefully labeled with its contents. Jake swept up a bit with an old shop broom he found while Zander cleared the room of its eight-legged inhabitants. The rest of us gathered pillows and blankets from a pile beneath the stairs and scattered them about the empty space. Our efforts did little to combat the smell—a potent combination of dust, mildew, and mothballs, but the basement was certainly contained and, more importantly, well insulated.

              I quickly scanned through Johnnie’s inventory and was amazed to find he had taken the time to alphabetize his random collection of discarded treasures. I ran my finger across the shelf front, pausing to read each label. Ant farm, art supplies (gently used), ashtrays, Atlas-1901-1989? Nope. Batman, beer steins, brass doorknobs, and buttons.

              “Jackpot,” I said, pulling a box down from the shelf. “Candles.”

              “What you got there?” Jake said, his flashlight flickering out just as he took a step.

He tripped over my foot and pitched forward, but thankfully I caught him just inches from slamming his face into the corner of the shelf. His eyes were wide as he stared at the sharp edge in front of him and slowly righted himself.

“Holy crap,” he chuckled nervously, touching his face as if to be sure it was unharmed. “So yeah, remind me to look for more flashlight batteries, would you?”

              “Will do,” I laughed, turning to dig through the box.

              “So what are we working with here?” Jake asked.

              “Let’s see, we have cucumber-melon, vanilla-berry, cinnamon and spice, and sandalwood, whatever that is.” I held up a big brown jar candle and took a whiff. It smelled like aftershave and cedar. “You want something fruity or something manly?”

              “Is that a trick question?” Jake asked, grinning at me as he elbowed me in the ribs. “I’d go with sandalwood, I guess.”

              “Manly it is. There you go, sir,” I said, passing him the large jar candle and a hand full of matching votives. “Who has the lighter?”

              “Here,” Micah said, dropping it into my hand before turning, and walking away.

              “Do you think he is going to be okay?” Jake asked, the smile disappearing from his face as Micah melted back into the shadows.

              “Just give him some time, Jake,” I said, knowing full well Micah wouldn’t have the luxury. “Let’s all try to get some rest. It’s been a long-ass day, and it ain’t even close to over yet.”

              “I hear that,” Falisha said. “Come on little man, let’s go get a spot before all the good pillows get snatched up. I refuse to sleep on a cushion that smells like old people.”

              She scooped her arm through Jake’s and dragged him away. Jake informed her she was bossy but trailed after willingly. The two of them settled into a pile of mismatched blankets and throw pillows and were snoozing quietly within minutes. Empty water bottles and wrappers scattered the space around them.

              After a thorough inspection of the area for floor-snacks, Bella joined them. She spun in a circle a few times, curled herself up in the center of their nest and drifted off to sleep. Micah slumped in the empty stairwell with his back to the room and drifted off into a fitful sleep. His shoulders rose and fell in a rushed but steady rhythm, but his arms and legs twitched as if he were fighting in a dream. I watched him for a minute while I dug through the boxes to find Jake’s batteries, worrying silently. Soon, I felt Riley at my side.

              “Hey, Liv,” she whispered. “Did you get a chance to talk to him?”

              “Yeah,” I said, my stomach climbing into my throat. I hated lying to her. Even more than that, I had promised her I wouldn’t.

              “And?” She looked hopeful, despite the dark circles beneath her big brown eyes.

              “Ry, I—” An ocean of untruth swirled in my head, but the lump in my throat held them at bay.

              “Oh.” Her face fell. “That good, huh?”

              “Riley,” I began again.

              “You know what? It’s okay, Liv.” Riley held her hand up. “You tried and for that I am grateful, but this isn’t your problem, and I should never have tried to drag you into it.”

              “I’m sorry,” I said, and I was. More sorry than she’d ever know.

              “It’s not your fault, Liv. It just is what it is.” Riley squeezed my hand. Tears glistened in her eyes, but she pasted on her best fake smile and swallowed them back. “Well, I am beat. I am going to hit the hay.”

              My heart sank to my feet as I watched her walk away. I watched out of the corner of my eye as I cleaned up the boxes I had been raiding. After finishing her last bag of chips, Riley curled up in the big pile of cushions and softly cried herself to sleep. In his own way, Micah was probably saving Riley’s life by breaking her heart, but that did little to ease my guilt. My best friend was hurting and I had played a part in it.

              “Hey,” Zander whispered as he emerged from behind the shelf. He slid his hand across my lower back and rested it on my hip.

              “Hey,” I said. My voice, like my aching body, was deflated.

              “You alright?” he asked, pulling me closer.

              “Not really,” I said. I closed my eyes and leaned into his side.

              “Come with me,” Zander whispered.

              He wrapped his arm around my shoulders and led me further into the basement. We walked past a long wooden shelf lined with a fascinating array of glass jars and bottles. Some were filled with unidentifiable liquids, others with nuts and bolts. Just beyond a row of shelves at the back of the basement (between the R’s and the S’s), we came to a stop.

              Zander had arranged a thick pile of comforters and old seat cushions. Cream-colored candles surrounded the area, filling the space with a soft orange glow and a warm, sweet smell that reminded me of baking with my mom.

              “Vanilla,” I smiled, closing my eyes to take in the aroma. “I love the smell of vanilla.”

              “I had a hunch,” Zander said, his warm copper eyes dancing in the amber glow as they met my gaze. He smiled shyly and I felt my face heat.

              “How did you? I mean, I never said—,” I stammered, looking into his eyes.

              “Your hair,” he said. Once again, he slid a loose strand behind my ear, his eyes hooded beneath dark lashes. “It smells like vanilla.”

              “Oh,” was all I could manage, in my butterfly-fueled stupor.

              “Was that weird?” Zander laughed softly, rubbing the back of his neck. “That was probably a really weird thing to say, wasn’t it?”

              “A little,” I laughed, placing my hand on his chest. “But it’s a good weird.”

              “In that case would you care to join me for dinner?” Zander asked. He pulled two smashed granola bars and a small fruit cup from his pocket and tossed them into the middle of the pile of cushions. He held his hand out to me, bowing at the waist as if I were royalty. “I reserved us a table at the finest restaurant in town.”

              I slid my hand into his and let him pull me into the center of the pallet, laughing softly as we slumped down to the floor. My feet throbbed out an angry beat inside my boots but, for obvious reasons, I didn’t dare take them off. Instead, I sank into the cushions, groaning as my angry muscles finally started to relax.

              We had been going, pretty much non-stop, since this whole mess began and my body was feeling the strain. I could count the hours of sleep I had gotten in the last few days on one hand, and the deprivation was doing me no favors. My head was pounding, my body ached, and even my skin hurt. I was severely dehydrated, and exhausted to the point of near-delirium, but smiled contentedly down at the touch of cinnamon-raisin normalcy he had placed in my hand.

              “By the way, I hate granola bars,” Zander laughed, wrinkling up his nose as he downed the smashed up bar in two bites. He filled his mouth with water and swished it around before swallowing it. “I don’t know how you can stand these things, Liv. That seriously tasted like cardboard.”

              “Are you kidding? Granola is awesome. I could
live
on granola bars,” I said, giggling as I took a normal-sized bite. “Which, as it turns out, we may have to.”

              “God, I hope not,” Zander said, as he tossed his wrapper aside.

              “Hope is not a strategy,” I said on reflex. “Or at least, that’s what my dad used to say, anyway.”

              “You don’t talk about him much,” Zander said, peeling open the fruit cup and holding it out to me. “What was he like?”

              I pulled my hair tie out and let the rat’s nest fall in waves around my face. It had been forever since I had run a brush through it. It was so gnarled and tangled I feared I’d have to shave it all off and start over. I shook my head, letting it swing across my back and I gently rubbed at the sore spot on my scalp. “He was just,
my dad
, you know?”

              “What did he do?” Zander asked, lacing his fingers behind his head as he settled against an old floral couch cushion.

              “I didn’t memorize his exact job description or anything,” I shrugged, “but he worked for the zoning commission. Some boring nine to five desk job. I think he secretly hated it, but it was decent money and he never really complained.”

              “And your mom,” Zander asked, smiling as he slid closer to me. “What was she like?”

              “My mom? She was a force to be reckoned with, kind of like Riley, over there,” I said, laughing to myself. “As much as my dad liked to pretend he was in charge, there was never any doubt as to who really ran the show. God, she had dad wrapped around her little finger. Seriously, it was pretty disgusting sometimes.”

              “That sounds nice, actually,” Zander said, lacing our fingers together between us. “And your little brother?”

              “Ahh, Beans,” I smirked, shaking my head.

              “
Beans,
” Zander said, raising a brow. “I’m guessing there’s a story there?”

              “There is,” I said, absently pulling my hair into a braid over my shoulder. “Lucas was, I dunno, maybe three, when dad decided he was old enough to go on his first rough-it. It took him weeks to convince my mom, but eventually, she caved. So, dad reserves us this primitive site at Governor’s Dodge State Park in Wisconsin; you know, the kind where you have to backpack in to get to it?”

              “Got it,” Zander said, the corner of his mouth curving up.

              “It was, seriously, like a half a mile to the nearest bathroom,” I laughed. “Mom was up in arms about the whole thing. See, she was trying to potty train my brother and felt that teaching him to pee in the bushes was counter-productive to those efforts.”

              Zander laughed and the sound was like music. I relaxed back into the cushions and closed my eyes, traveling back to that day in the woods. I remembered every detail like it was yesterday; the cool breeze on my face, the pine boughs that shaded my face, even the mosquitoes buzzing about while I quietly read my book. I could practically smell the crisp pine scent of the freshly fallen needles at my feet.

              “We had already set up the tents and unpacked the food but they were still going back and forth about the whole potty-training debacle. My little brother kept butting in, trying to get their attention. He’s like,
daddy, daddy, daddy,
but Dad was like,
not now, buddy, why don’t you go get a snack.

              “A couple minutes later, he runs back over to my parents, who are
still
going on and on about the bathroom situation, by the way. He’s all d
addy, I made pretty flowers
. My dad shrugs him off again, intent on winning the debate with mom, but Lucas doesn’t give up that easily. He starts dancing between them singing
, mommy, daddy, come see, come see!
That’s when mom realizes his little hands are completely brown.”

              “Oh God,” Zander says, choking on his water.

              “Yeah,” I laughed. “Anyways, he goes toddling back over to the tent and my mom goes sprinting after him. She skids to a halt in front of the tent and just stares at it with her mouth hanging open in shock. My little brother had drawn a big brown flower on the side of the tent. My dad is, like, rolling on the ground laughing, but my mom is horrified. She’s all,
Lucas, what did you do?
She’s running around crazy trying to find wipes or hand sanitizer, when Lucas says,
mommy, I clean, I clean.
Before my mom can stop him, he rakes his fingers through the brown mess and shoves them into his mouth.”