Tainted Cure (The Rememdium Series Book 1) (14 page)

ON TARGET - Saturday - December 20
^th
– 6:30 a.m.

“You’re sure? All sources agree? A real crunch?”

“Damn straight. This ain’t no drill, Walt. Lamar is at his station and reported massive troop movement comin’ this way. EBS just came on, tellin’ us all to go to the high school. Time to switch to the CB from here on out. This is a C.C. event, my friend.”

Walter Addison snorted into the phone so hard he nearly dropped it. He could hear the excitement and worry in Curt Campbell’s voice. “If that’s true, ain’t no way I’m followin’ some stupid directive like that! Be all bunched up like sheep at a slaughterhouse? No way. I ain’t lettin’ my family be under the control of the government any more than what they already are!”

“I’m right there with you. Jesus, we knew this day would come, but you know what? Part of me hoped I was just a paranoid old fool.”

Walter stood and went to the front door, locking it as he stared out the picture window into the empty streets. “Me, too. Stay safe, Curt. We’re ready for whatever they throw at us.”

“Amen, brother. Amen.”

Disconnecting the call, Walt headed back into the kitchen. His wife of twenty-seven years, Martha, was still fixing breakfast, oblivious to what was going on. Pausing in the doorway, he watched her cook. Her light blonde hair with streaks of gray was pulled back into a ponytail. The lovely locks cascaded down to the middle of her slender back. The years had been kind to her. Martha was just as beautiful as when they met in high school.

Martha stood by him through numerous deployments overseas, and all the nightmares he’d endured upon returning home. She even put up with Walt’s rants about the government and decision to become a prepper. The first few years into the new lifestyle, Martha didn’t say much or voice her opinions on the subject. She just went along with her husband’s plans. However, about three years in and studying up on things on her own, the looks of doubt and misgivings disappeared from her face.

Walt’s thoughts while staring at the only woman he’d ever loved were a weird mixture. Pride filled his heart because he knew they were ready, yet fear pounded in his mind at the knowledge they had to be.

Taking a deep breath, Walt came up behind Martha and kissed her neck. “Honey? Please sit. We need to talk. Where’s Turner? He needs to hear this, too.”

Martha handed him a cup of coffee and smiled, her beautiful blue eyes made Walt’s heart skip a beat. “I think he’s still in the shower. Were you talkin’ to Curt?”

Motioning for her to join him at the kitchen table, Walt nodded.

“What’s goin’ on?” Martha asked while pulling out a chair.

“Let’s wait until Turner…”

“Wait for me for what?”

Walt and Martha turned their heads at the sound of their son’s voice from the doorway. Walt pulled out the chair next to him. “Sit. Family meeting. Code Crimson.”

Martha’s eyes widened, her lips formed a small circle. “Code Crimson—not a drill?”

“No.”

Turner froze in the doorway, his wet hair sticking up in every direction, face freshly shaven. The terror behind his eyes made him look like a little boy. He fingers shook as he fiddled with his cell phone.

“Turn it off. Right now.”

“But Dad, I’ve got to warn Jesse!”

“Jesse is her mother’s responsibility, not yours. Now, turn it off. You know the protocol for Code Crimson.”

“Walt, stop yellin’ at him. You just officially freaked us both out. What exactly are we dealin’ with?”

“The type of biological used is unknown at this time. All I know for sure at the moment is we are to report to the high school.”

Martha stifled a gasp. “Are we? Goin’ to go to the school?”

Walt shook his head. “No. Goin’ to our beta location in ten minutes, tops. Lamar Wilson is on point out in the woods by I-30. Curt said he reported a large caravan of troops headin’ our way and ETA is about ten minutes. We’ve got to get out of here before they have a chance to start countin’ heads and realize we’re gone.”

“We stickin’ to the full plan for location beta?” Martha asked.

Walt saw the change in his beloved wife’s face. Fear, anger, and determination made her pretty features harden. She stood and went to the sink, dumping out her coffee.

“Absolutely.”

With her back facing them, Walt noticed Martha’s head dip as if in prayer.

Straightening her shoulders, Martha’s voice was low yet strong. “Turner—you know your duties. Make sure all electronics and anythin’ linkin’ us to the outside world get turned off. I’ll get our gear and masks while your dad attends to his tasks of securin’ the house.”

Walter Addison—the fifty-eight-year-old machine shop owner, married to his high school sweetheart for almost three decades—had never been more in love with his wife than he was right now.

Mind spinning, Turner raced into the living room and unplugged the big screen TV. Reaching behind it, he disconnected the cable from the wall. He’d practiced the drill so many times, the muscle movement was ingrained. Though he’d never admit it out loud, he was actually grateful he was the son of two parents who’d prepared him to live when things went to shit.

And they just did. A fucking face-plant into the bowels of hell.

For a few seconds after his father dropped the news onto their laps, Turner had been full of doubts. Those thoughts vanished when Seth sent him a battery of text messages, each containing links to videos online. After leaving the kitchen, his parents still engaged in conversation, Turner paused in the hallway and clicked on the first link.

What appeared on the small screen of his cell phone made his skin crawl.

Jesus. Dad’s been right all along
.

He heard a strange noise outside. Peeking out the window, Turner’s heart thundered in his chest.

Armored vehicles crammed with troops in full gear rumbled through the street. He lost count after the first thirty.

So much for Lamar’s great skills. Ten minutes my ass!

Running to the stairs leading down to the basement, Turner broke one of the rules and called Jesse. By the time he reached the bottom of the stairs, he was in full panic mode. 

Her phone had gone straight to voicemail.

“Shit!”

Shoving the phone into his pocket, Turner flicked the overhead light on. He opened the small metal box that housed the internet connection and cut the wires. Once finished, he stopped and listened to the sounds from upstairs. He could tell both his parents were on the other side of the house, so Turner pulled out his cell and tried Jesse again.

No answer.

Turner closed out all the thoughts vying for attention in his mind. He focused on only two: his parents and Jesse.

Deprived of her sweet presence for years, he’d spent countless nights worrying and praying for her safety while she was gone. Turner had been miserable without Jesse. When she returned from rehab, sober and apologetic, begging for forgiveness from all the pain she put him—and others—through, Turner had been thrilled. They resumed their relationship not long after, and Turner thanked the Lord every night for the transformation of the woman he loved.

He’d saved two hundred dollars from each paycheck for the last six months and bought the best engagement ring he could afford. He planned to surprise Jesse on Christmas Eve, presenting it to her while on one knee in front of the massive display of lights at the courthouse.

Considering Hot Spring County would soon be under control of the military, Turner decided to show Jesse how much he loved her in a different way.

And finally put to use the skills his father hammered into his brain and body for years by staying at the side of the girl he wouldn’t live without. There was simply no way he’d leave with his family to head to the cave up near Blanchard Springs and leave Jesse behind.

Period.

Glancing up to the ceiling as he listened to the sounds of his parents tromping around, Turner made his choice. Even though he loved them, he knew they would be fine. No two people in Rockport were better prepared for what was coming than Walter and Martha Addison.

Jesse Parker wasn’t and Turner knew it was his job to protect her.

Taking the stairs two at a time, Turner exited the basement and slipped into his room. He shut the door and ran to the closet, pulled his boots and jacket on, and then grabbed his prep bag from the top shelf. He slung the pack over his shoulder and scrawled out a note to his parents. Leaving it on his bed, Turner went to the window and climbed out. Dropping down to the ground below, he glanced around the yard. Seeing nothing, he burst from his position, heading to the cover of trees behind the house.

As he ran, Turner could hear the booming sounds of a man’s voice over a bullhorn. The deep voice shouted instructions to his neighbors to meet at the high school immediately.

“Like hell,” Turner whispered into the quiet woods.

Pushing his muscles to their limits, Turner said a silent prayer, asking God to let him make it to Jesse’s.

And to keep her safe from whatever the hell was going on.

Jesse Parker rolled over and stared at the pink teddy bear next to her. She smiled, remembering the day Turner won it for her at the county fair. The eight-inch stuffed animal cost Turner nearly ten dollars and provided a lot of laughter as he kept trying to shoot three yellow ducks in a row.

She heard Mom and Uncle Reed talking, but couldn’t make out what they were saying. Figuring they were whispering about her, plotting their plan of action to keep an eye on her whereabouts twenty-four-seven, Jesse ignored them. The need for coffee and a hot shower overrode the desire to eavesdrop on their conversation. Even though she loved them both, the continual worry about whether she would slip and start using drugs again drove her crazy.

She thought about all the ugly, painful counseling sessions during and after her stint in rehab. The counselor told her the over-protectiveness would happen, and would probably take several years to fade away. Jesse had nodded, tears running down her cheeks. She knew her stupid mistakes and choices caused deep scars inside the minds of those who loved her. Fighting off the feelings of guilt and remorse was a daily struggle.

Shivering at the chill in the air and the ever-present sense of shame, Jesse shoved her feet into the fluffy pink slippers next to the bed. She looked out the window and guessed it was close to seven, which gave her plenty of time to get ready for her shift at ten.

After using the bathroom, Jesse stared at her reflection in the mirror. It took her three full months after returning home to stop bursting into tears when looking at herself. Meth had destroyed her features. Some of the damage was fixable, like her teeth. She’d lost six of them and had to endure weeks of dental procedures. Her hair had finally started to thicken up again and turn shiny rather than hanging in a dull, shapeless mess against her head. She could take showers without worrying clumps would fall out, which was a blessing.

However, there were some physical side effects she feared would never heal. One was the color of her skin. Though she’d always had a fair complexion, before she became a hardcore addict, the pink undertone in her skin gave off a healthy glow. That was gone now, replaced by a sallow, yellowish tint.

The other side effect—the one that bothered her the most—was her sunken cheeks and thin body. According to the scale, she had gained fifteen pounds of healthy weight, yet her face and torso still looked as though she was an active user. Ever since Thanksgiving, Jesse had been stuffing herself with as many calories as her stomach would allow. Her goal was to wipe away the remaining traces of her former life.

And stop seeing the wounded, worried look behind her mother’s eyes.

Jesse sneezed three times in a row. Her sinuses throbbed in response and her eyes watered. She’d been blessed with her father’s immune system. Her mother used to tease them, calling them human barometers, because both of them suffered allergy attacks in conjunction with pressure changes in the atmosphere. Their noses were better than any weather report, and always right on target. Usually, within twenty-four hours of an attack, it rained.