Sympatico Syndrome (Book 1): Infection (A Pandemic Survival Novel) (16 page)

The beach was on the other side of the house in an open stretch. Cole rounded the corner of the house, intending to follow through on his idea of cooling off in the lake. He gazed at the water lapping at the sand, pausing to watch a bald eagle swoop down and snatched a fish right out of the water not twenty feet into the bay. What beauty and grace. As he tracked the raptor’s flight west, fish clutched in its talons, he caught sight of Trent in the fishing boat. He was a little farther out than Cole was comfortable with, and he lifted a hand to wave to him in an attempt to get the kid to bring the boat in closer.

The drone of an engine made him freeze mid-motion. Trent’s boat wasn’t moving, and Cole swept the bay, searching for the source of the noise. A speedboat skimmed close to Trent, making his boat rock precariously in the water. They shouted something Cole couldn’t make out, and Trent shouted back and spun on his seat, watching the boat. The hairs on the back of Cole’s neck prickled. The passengers whooped and hollered as they sped over the waves, only to make a sharp U-turn.

“What the hell?” Cole cupped his hands around his mouth. “
Trent! Get back to the pier
!”

Trent scrambled in the fishing boat, tossing his pole down and yanking the cord on the motor.

The speedboat made a return pass, zipping near enough for one of the passengers to lean over and drop something in Trent’s boat. Trent bent and scooped whatever it was up, tossing it over the side. The wake from the speedboat threatened to capsize the smaller vessel.

“What’s going on?” Sean raced down the path from the work shed.

Cole pointed.

“Who are they?”

“I don’t know. They just showed up.”

The boat closed in a third time, this time, throttling back and idling within a few feet of Trent, who was furiously yanking on the cord. The engine sputtered. In his haste, he probably hadn’t primed it. Finally, it caught. Cole breathed a sigh of relief, but it was short-lived as Trent reached for the anchor over the side of the boat. He started hauling it up, but the other boat closed in. Cole darted ten yards out into the lake, and yelled, “Cut the rope! Cut the anchor!” The advice was too little, too late and he knew it.

The boat circled Trent, causing his boat to spin. His fingers must have pinched between the metal side of the boat and the rope, because he suddenly let go, shaking his hand as the rope slithered over the side, the anchor dropping to the bottom again. He reached down, and Cole saw a glint of steel as Trent sawed on the rope, having either heard Cole before or thinking of it on his own.

The speedboat stopped alongside Trent and one guy leaped into Trent’s boat.

Sean lifted a hand, shading his eyes. “Oh, shit.
Trent
!” He cupped his hands around his mouth.
“Leave him alone
!”

Cole raced for the pontoon boat. It was slow and cumbersome, but it was all they had. Sean pounded on the deck behind him, yanking on the tether, then ran to the rear tether, pulling it off the post.

“Hurry, Cole!”

“I’m trying!” The boat started immediately, but it seemed to take forever to back clear of the dock.

“They’re holding him down and…” Sean stopped, his voice puzzled. “Forcing him to drink something.”

Cole looked to his left, trying to make out what was happening. Trent’s boat rocked wildly as now two guys wrestled with him, laughing as one held him down, guzzled a can of something, then put the can to Trent’s lips. The boy flailed, his legs kicking as he turned his head, but the one holding the can followed his actions, laughing like a hyena as he forced Trent to drink.

Suddenly, the guy holding Trent yelped and shoved Trent against the side of the boat. “You stabbed me!”

Trent crouched the knife in front of him.

Whatever anger the man had felt dissolved in a fit of laughter. His buddy joined in as both men almost collapsed in amusement as blood welled over the injured man’s hand where he held it against his thigh. It looked as if Trent had stabbed him in the thigh. Both men, still laughing, returned to their own boat, high fiving those waiting for them.

The speedboat took off, the front of the boat at a forty-five degree angle as it headed out into the bay.

“Do you think those people were sick?” Fear coated every word Sean uttered.

Cole stared at the receding speedboat, replaying the brief scene. He couldn’t be certain—not from here—but the way they moved, and their over-loud laughter, was not reassuring. He shook his head. “I don’t know. I wish I could give you an answer.”

“Trent! Are you okay?” They were close enough to see the fear on the boy’s face. He nodded, and moving mechanically, returned to work on the anchor, tossing the knife aside as he pulled the rope and brought the anchor over the side of his boat.

As they got closer, Trent waved them away. “I’ll follow you in!”

Cole waved that he understood and made a wide turn.

“Go back! I want to make sure he’s okay.” Sean stood beside Cole and reached for the steering wheel.

Cole pushed his hand aside. “He said he was okay.”

“What if they come back?”

“I’ll stay close enough to get to him if they do, but I can’t even hear their boat anymore.” His worry about the boat returning was secondary now. His first worry was about Trent, and whether he was exposed. His training taught him that they had to assume he was and respond accordingly, which meant full quarantine. How was he going to convince Sean that was the proper course of action to keep everyone safe?

Sean sank onto the seat beside Cole’s, running his hands through his hair, elbows propped on his thighs. He let out a soft groan, almost like he was going to be sick. “Shit! What are we going to do?” Sean bent at the waist and groaned. “What happens if they were sick?” He jumped to his feet, pacing in the short length of the boat.

He had never seen his brother so agitated, not even when he had first discussed the virus with him. “Sean, just take it easy. We have the cabin ready, and Trent can just stay there. That’s why we made plans.”

Sean dragged in a shuddering breath. “What if he gets sick?”

Cole closed his eyes briefly. How many times had he asked himself that exact same question about Hunter? The answer wasn’t pretty. There was no cure. No treatment. Even diagnosis was based on behavior until the stricken died. The terror in Sean’s eyes ripped through him. As a father, he knew that fear. Had felt it first hand and was feeling it now. He didn’t wish that same feeling on anyone.

How could he tell Sean that there was nothing they could do? Helpless to offer advice, Cole simply reached over as Sean’s circuit brought him close, and pulled him in for a brief hug. Giving his shoulder a quick squeeze as he returned to steering the boat, he said, “I’m sorry, Sean. We have to do what we talked about.”

Sean slowly dropped onto the seat again, staring behind them to Trent’s boat.

Cole followed his gaze, watching Trent steer the boat just to the left of their wake. It sounded cold and barbaric now that he was facing the reality of putting his nephew in isolation, but he took a deep breath. He had to put aside his feelings. His job was to keep all of them safe.

He faced forward, spotting the small cinderblock building. It had probably been a changing room for beachgoers, but Cole’s background made it look like a perfect isolation ward. They would have to get Trent to go in there for a few weeks until they were sure he was going to be okay.

Joe was staying in one cabin, and while it had worked well for isolating purposes, Cole remembered with a shudder how his neighbors had acted. A truly sick individual wouldn’t pay any attention to quarantine rules.

The cinderblock was a better choice than a cabin. The building had a heavy door, a bathroom, and protection from the elements. It would work well as an isolation unit if they put a mattress in it. There was only one door, and it already had a place for a padlock on the outside. He supposed that was added so anyone who docked when nobody was in residence didn’t trash the building or to keep the door from blowing open from the narrow gap between the roof and the top of the walls. He was certain it had never been used to keep anyone inside.

He docked the boat but caught Sean’s arm as he started to disembark. He couldn’t let Sean get too close to Trent.

“Wait. We have to implement our isolation protocol.” He nodded towards the changing room building.

Sean followed his look and stepped back. “No way…Cole, you can’t be serious?”

“I’m sorry, Sean. We all agreed.”

“But I didn’t think we’d need to actually use it. I thought we were safe here!”

The boat engine slowed as Trent approached the pier, and Sean spun and sprinted to meet the boat as Trent moved closer to the slip.

Cole raced after him. “Sean, get back! Don’t touch him! Don’t touch the boat or anything in it.”
Shit!
“And for God’s sake, put your mask on!” He pointed to Trent, shouting, “Where’s your mask?”

Trent shook his head and held his hand by his ear. “What?”

Yanking his own mask from around his neck where he wore it when he wasn’t speaking to Joe, he put it in place, forced to slow down as he did so. He pointed to it with both hands, hoping Trent would get the hint.

Trent looked around in the boat, then reached down and held up his mask. It was torn and the straps no longer attached. The boat bumped against the dock, and he bent to secure the ropes.

Cole darted between Sean and the edge of the boat, teetering on the narrow pier but he’d prevented Sean from catching Trent’s outstretched hand holding the second rope.

“Uncle Cole, what are you doing?”

Sean took a step back but glared at Cole. “Get the hell out of my way!”

“You can’t, Sean. You know that. Where’s your mask?” Trusting his brother not to toss him off the other side of the dock, he twisted and met Trent’s eyes. “You can’t touch anyone or anything. You have to go straight to the building on the beach.” He ignored Sean’s grip on the back of his shirt. Maybe he was trying to keep Cole from falling in.

“Why?” Trent looked confused. He clung to the torn mask, his hands shaking along with his voice when he said, “I didn’t know they were going to jump into the boat. You saw me trying to get away. Didn’t you?” The last word cracked as he pleaded with Cole and Sean. “They
made
me drink the beer. I didn’t want to. I didn’t want them anywhere near me…they weren’t acting right.” His adam’s apple bobbed. “I…I stabbed one and made them go away.”

“We’re not mad at you, Trent. You fought hard. We saw you.” Cole wanted to give his nephew a hug and knew it was even harder for Sean not to be able to hold his son and make everything okay.

“Even though it’s not your fault—not at all—you understand, Trent?” The boy nodded. “You still have to be isolated.”

“Am I going to get the virus?” He sounded like a small child.

“No, son. You’ll be fine.” Sean gave the assurance as he glared at Cole.

It was the hardest thing he’d ever done in his life, but Cole couldn’t give in—as much as he wanted to. He turned, arms outstretched to prevent his brother from coming into contact with Trent. Sean’s hand bunched Cole’s shirt as he tried to move him out of the way. Trent climbed onto the pier, but stood, uncertainly. “We know it’s not your fault, Trent. But remember what our plan if anyone was exposed?”

Trent nodded, his eyes wide. “We have to go into quarantine.”

Sean’s shoulders sagged. “No…no.”

“Sean, we have to think of Jenna and Piper.” He pulled out of Sean’s grip, his brother’s hand slipping off without a fight. Cole’s mouth was stiff, his voice flat as he said, “Please put on your mask.”

Sean nodded, pulling his mask from his pocket, his eyes never leaving Trent’s face.

Trent’s gaze darted between his dad and Cole, his shoulders straightening. “It’s okay, Dad. We all agreed.”

H
unter shifted
in the saddle as the horse crested the small hill, his thighs protesting a second long day in the saddle. He drew back on the reins and Red slowed and stopped. Stroking the mare’s neck, he promised her that he’d find a new stream for her to drink from very soon. He was tired, and he was sure the horses were tired too. None of them were used to riding all day long. Even Buddy lagged behind. While Hunter couldn’t imagine leaving the dog to fend for himself, he also worried how he’d feed the animal once his supply of food ran out. At least the horses could graze, but last night, he’d dismissed all of his second thoughts about Buddy’s presence.

As he’d tossed and turned, every noise had pulled him from the brink of sleep. What if someone sneaked up on him in the middle of the night? What if the horses were stolen? He’d staked them as close to the tent as he dared without worrying about the animals treading on the tent, but someone could creep up and lead them away without him ever knowing, but then he’d observed Buddy. The dog had curled up with his head at the entrance to the tent, his head on his paws and not long after Hunter had settled in, the dog had stood, his ears pricked. It had turned out to be just an opossum passing through the camp, but it made Hunter realize that he had a watchdog. Buddy would let him know if anyone came near his camp. With that knowledge, he’d slept better than he had since his last night in his dorm.

One problem solved, but another surfaced. He was lost. Was he in Iowa or Minnesota? He was sure he wasn’t in Wisconsin because he hadn’t had to cross the Mississippi yet, but that was the only thing he was certain of.

He had never really found out where he was when he’d abandoned his car. Why hadn’t he at least checked the mail at the farmhouse? He could have narrowed where he was from the address on an envelope, but it hadn’t occurred to him to look. He’d been focused on supplies.

He had ridden east yesterday, but today was overcast, and he wasn’t sure of his direction anymore. If only his phone worked. He had an application that showed direction, stars, and everything. Of course, if his phone worked, he could just call his dad.

His riding experience had been on a few trails near his friend’s small farm and in their paddock. They had never paid attention to how many miles they’d covered so he had no frame of reference to calculate the distance he’d traveled since he’d started his trek the morning before. Hunter twisted and dug a bottle of water out of his saddlebag. He eyed it and grimaced. Half-full. It was the last bottle he’d filled at the farm. As he sipped it, he surveyed his surroundings. From the rise, checkerboard fields stretched in every direction, a white farmhouse or red barn dotting a few of the squares.

He’d skirted around all other homes he’d come across so far, but he might have to stop at one to find water. The last stream had been muddy and slow moving, and he hadn’t trusted drinking from it. He’d had enough water at the time to hold off, but now if he didn’t find a house with a working water source, he’d have to take his chances with the purification tablets and straining the water through an old t-shirt.

In the distance, he spotted a winding ribbon of highway and debated whether he should try for it. A highway meant signs and mile markers. He could figure out where he was, but a highway also meant people. He squinted, trying to determine if there was movement on the road, but he couldn’t make a determination from this distance. Would it be worse to find it devoid of life or to find it full of people who might infect him? He rubbed the back of his neck, feeling the grime and sweat. What he wouldn’t give for a real shower with hot water.

Hunter didn’t just feel lonely, he felt
alone
. Two weeks ago, he wouldn’t have known there was a difference, but now he knew. Loneliness sprung from being among other people but not feeling connected. Alone meant zero human contact and no opportunity to make a connection. He drew a deep breath. He was tired of being alone—completely and utterly exhausted. It was as if the face of the Earth had been swept clean of human beings except for him.

Up until a few hours ago, he’d followed a stream that twisted and turned, but he’d managed to keep the sun in front of him in the morning or behind in the afternoon. The stream had petered out, so he was forced to abandon it.

It freaked him out that he had seen absolutely no signs of human life since spotting the single set of headlights his first night on the farm. What if
everyone
was dead? Then he confronted his worst fear. What if his dad was dead? His gut knotted. No, his dad was safe, and he’d keep everyone else safe too. That’s what he did. Convinced he was right Hunter banished the thought to the deepest, darkest crevice in his mind.

Instead of dwelling on the doom and gloom, Hunter had conjured up a fantasy that everything was fine. It was based on silly hope, but what if the disease had been contained and everyone was going about life as usual? He grinned as he imagined his dad’s reaction to his solitary journey through the countryside. His cousins would laugh at him, and he’d chuckle right alongside them. Then he remembered the farmer and his wife and the grin faded along with his hopes.

Nobody had noticed their deaths. If they had been dead only a day, he could understand, but he was pretty sure they had been dead at least two before he’d arrived and he’d been there a couple of days. So, four days they had been gone and nobody noticed? None of the farms he’d passed had shown any activity either. Hunter hadn’t seen a single tractor crawling across a field, not even in the distance. Periodically, he checked the sky for contrails or the flash of a plane high above, but the sky had been a blank, blue, expanse broken only by occasional clouds until today. It looked like rain was heading his way.

Hunter took one more sip, screwed the cap on and tucked the water back in his bag. He could try to rig another water catcher if he couldn’t find water. His dad was too smart to be dead. He knew about diseases and how to take precautions. Growing up, Hunter had been teased by friends for his washing his hands so much. Some had even suggested he suffered from obsessive-compulsive disorder, but Hunter had laughed it all off and reminded them that his bedtime stories had consisted of tales of scary diseases run amok.

Of course, his dad never told him those kinds of bedtime stories, but he had pressed home the point of thorough hand-washing to the point it was ingrained into Hunter. Especially after his dad had become so sick just before he got out of the Navy. He had said he forgot to wash one time and almost died. Hunter thought there was something more to it than that, and when his dad finally came home, he had looked terrible—pale and thin. It had taken him a year to get back to normal.

Hunter glanced around. The horses had taken the opportunity to grab a few tufts of grass, and Buddy had flopped onto the ground, his tongue lolling as he waited for Hunter to decide what to do. “Come on, Buddy.”

He gave the mare a light kick and pointed her in the direction of the highway.

E
lly raced down the street
, vaulting bodies on the ground. Dragging her case over the corpse, she made a mental note to wipe down the whole case with a homemade wipe made from paper towels, bleach, and water. She’d been careful so far, but now, there wasn’t time to be careful. Something was coming. She ducked behind a stalled car. As she caught her breath and her heart slowed, she strained to hear. Since leaving the hotel, she had seen no one alive—just bodies. Everywhere, bodies. The stench penetrated the mask and filled her sinuses. She didn’t think she’d ever get the stink out of her head. But, she’d grown used to it and had picked her way through the streets, heading for the lake.

She’d downloaded a map to her phone before ever coming to Chicago and had just enough juice left in the phone to consult it. Sheridan Road would take her as far north as Racine in Wisconsin. It was the most direct route north. If she had a car, the highway just west of Chicago would be her best bet in normal times, but now, it was the worst solution. Every street was clogged with bodies and cars. There was no way she’d be able to navigate to the highway, and even if she risked taking one of the multitudes of cars abandoned everywhere, and made it to the highway, she figured it was probably as choked with cars and bodies as the city streets.

The clacking sounded louder now. What the hell was it? She made sure her mask was firmly in place and inspected her gloves for any holes. The rhythmic clacking grew closer, then it stopped. She held her breath. It had sounded mere feet away.

After what felt like several minutes, but was probably only thirty seconds or so, Elly couldn’t stand it. She
had
to look. Rising up on her toes while still crouching behind the car, she peered over the trunk.

She hadn’t known what she was expecting. Maybe some gruesome cadaver come to life or a pack of wild dogs, but what she found was a teenaged boy on a dirt bike—the kind of bike kids used with ramps to perform various tricks. It might be good for stunts, but it wasn’t the best for long distance biking, but perhaps the teen wasn’t planning on going far.

His back was to her as he scoped out the intersection. When he looked left, Elly noted the bandana tight across his nose and mouth. He’d taken precautions, even if the measures weren’t the most effective. That gave her hope he wasn’t infected because she hadn’t encountered a single dead body wearing a mask or gloves. That led her to believe the infected hadn’t been worried about catching anything. Maybe they had before symptoms started, but since the symptoms were so different from any other illness, most never even realized they were sick. The last thing the virus would want was for its host to take precautions.

He wore studded leather bands on his wrists, black leather driving gloves and a knit cap on his head. She’d seen the caps before but never understood why anyone would wear a cap in the middle of summer, but what did she know of fashion? Blond scraggly hair escaped the back of the cap.

Other than the bandana, he sported a tattered black t-shirt and ripped jeans. The tough guy image was spoiled by the Sponge Bob backpack. It hung low on his back, bulging with whatever he had in it. The backpack might have made her smile, but when he stretched up on his tip toes to see farther down the road, she spotted a gun tucked into the waistband of his jeans. It gave her pause.

The boy lounged on the seat as he used one hand to steer the bike into a circle. It was then she realized the clacking had come from a playing card stuck between the spokes. Why would he have that in there? She ducked back down before he had completed his turn.

Should she wait him out and hope he went away? Or should she try to make contact with him? He had a gun and could take her supplies without a fight, and she needed everything she had. Silence was the best option. Now, if only he would go back the way he’d come.

The clacking, slow and intermittent now, crept closer. He was at the end of the car.
Damn it
. Of all the cars she had to dive behind why had she chosen this one? She should have gone farther down the street and hidden behind one of the others.

And then suddenly, he was right there. Even though she knew he had been close, his appearance at the end of the car caused her to start. But if she was surprised, he was so shocked he almost fell off his bike.

“
What the fuck
?” He staggered sideways as the bike tilted, then he regained his balance. He straddled the bike, facing her, but he didn’t reach for his gun. Instead, he eyed her with a mixture of curiosity and apprehension.

She rose, holding her hands out to show she meant no harm. “Hi.”

He rolled back a few feet and nodded, his eyes flashing to her suitcase. She pulled it close, stepping in front of the case as she leveled a hard look at him. “Don’t even think about it.”

His eyes widened, but then he must have grinned behind the bandana because a dimple dented his cheek. “Don’t worry, lady. I don’t want your shit.” He swept a gloved hand out. “The city is full of stuff. Everything you could need or want. You just have to be careful to avoid the stiffs.”

“Okay. Good to know. Well, I’ll be on my way.” She backed away, but he followed her, pedaling just enough to keep the bike from falling over.

“Where are you going?” His tone wasn’t threatening, but not only was she wary of telling him her plans, she wondered if it was just a casual question or if he was becoming friendly due to the virus. She edged away from him.

She increased her pace. “Why do you want to know?”

He kept abreast but remained several feet away. “Look, lady. You’re the first person I’ve seen in days who wasn’t either dead or partying like it’s 1999.” He shrugged and gave a whistle like a plane spiraling out of the sky, his thumb pointing towards the ground “And then they’d die. I’m curious is all.”

She glanced at him as she marched down the road, skirting right of a body while he went left. “I’m meeting some friends.”

He skidded to a stop. “You mean other people survived too?” There was a note of wistfulness in his voice that brought her up short.

Had Cole survived? She was counting on it, but she didn’t know for sure. “I don’t know. Possibly.”

“Where?”

She resumed walking, more slowly now. “Why do you want to know?” Two could play the question game.

“I just thought maybe there was a town or something, where everything was normal still.” There was a catch in his voice, and she did a double take. The kid looked tough on the outside with his studded wristbands, and she noticed a bar through his right eyebrow, but he’d sounded like a little boy for a moment.

She was too wary to let down her guard completely, but she gave him a sideways look. “What’s your name?”

“Jake.”

“Hi, Jake. I’m Elly.” Last names weren’t necessary.

“Nice to meet you, Elly.”

“Yeah, same to you. Sorry to be rude, but I really need to get a move on.” She doubled her speed. She was almost to Michigan Avenue and from there, could hook up with Sheridan Road.

“Why are you walking?”