Tainted Reality (The Rememdium Series Book 2) (18 page)

The sporadic clouds parted. The moonlight revealed a white, frothy foam running down Porterfield’s chin. His body jerked and writhed, making more spew out of his mouth and nose. The white turned to dark pink in seconds as blood mixed with it.

“Stay right there. I mean it,” Kevin ordered. To enforce the words, he pulled out his gun and pointed it at his friend’s head. “Talk to me. Tell me your name.”

Porterfield collapsed onto his stomach and quit moving.

“Good shit, huh?” Kevin muttered. He stepped forward, intent on checking for a pulse though he knew there wouldn’t be one. Even from several feet away and in the dark, he knew Porterfield was gone. “How in the world will I explain you overdosed on cocaine to Dirk?”

Porterfield jumped to his feet. Kevin stopped in his tracks, stunned. “What the hell?”

His friend of fifteen years opened his mouth, growled then lunged.

Kevin’s training took over and he fired. The bullet ripped through Porterfield’s skull, knocking him backward. He crumpled into a heap less than a foot away from Kevin’s boots.

Shaking, breath coming in gasps, Kevin stared at the gaping hole in the back of Porterfield’s skull, gun still trained on the unmoving corpse. He took several steps backward and pulled out his flashlight.

The bright light, and what it illuminated, made Kevin turn his head and throw up. The retching wasn’t from the fact he’d murdered his friend.

It was because Porterfield looked like all the others he’d seen on television.

He’s one of them? How? Shit! He was contaminated. Does that mean I am, too? God, are we all just ticking time bombs?

Kevin sank to his knees, overwhelmed by the last twenty-four hours. The clouds reappeared, blocking out the light of the moon. In the darkness, Kevin wept until no tears remained.

After several minutes, he pulled himself together. Removing his jacket, he crawled next to what once had been his friend and wrapped the coat around his destroyed head.

“Guess you’ll be making a contribution to science,” Kevin muttered while he slung Porterfield over his shoulder. “If I’m contaminated, too, looks like we both will.”

Sanity long gone, Kevin trudged through the dark woods toward to the cave. Porterfield’s head thumped against his back with each step.

“Just like in Afghanistan, when I saved your ass. The only difference now is you’re dead. At the rate we’re going, all of us will be joining you. Soon.”

Kevin hummed
I’ve Been Working on the Rail Road.
It was the same song he sang while carrying a wounded Porterfield to safety through the desert. He couldn’t bring himself to sing out loud, since Porterfield wasn’t available to provide backup.

A NEW HOME - Saturday - December 20
^th
– 7:15 p.m.

Martha looked back and noticed Turner stopped stroking Jesse’s hair. The poor girl was finally asleep, stretched out in the back of the Humvee on top of mounds of supplies. For hours, she’d just stared at her feet, not uttering a sound, even when things got dicey a few times. Breathing a sigh of relief, Martha looked out the window, thankful Jesse was getting some rest.

“She out?” Kyle whispered.

“Yes,” Turner answered from the back seat.

“Good. Let’s pull over here and stretch our legs.”

“And pee,” Martha added.

Kyle guided the Humvee over to the shoulder of Highway 9. Looking around, Martha noticed the small, two-lane road was still empty. They hadn’t seen another vehicle, or any signs of life for that matter, since switching off Highway 65 in Clinton.

The emptiness was a blessing, since they’d run into several issues on the way after leaving Malvern. Though the original group of fifteen vehicles tried to steer clear of the clogged freeways and main thoroughfares, when they reached Conway via 286, they almost didn’t make it any farther. Thousands of the dead and dying flooded the roadway like moving flood waters. Martha shuddered, remembering how four vehicles were swarmed in seconds. Their screams still rang inside her mind.

The others pulled up in a single line behind them and everyone jumped out. Martha touched Turner’s arm. “You go first, honey. I’ll watch her until you get back.”

The skin under Turner’s eyes was dark and swollen. Worry lines cut a deep swath through his forehead, making him look much older than his actual age. Martha knew she probably looked even worse.

“No, Mom. I almost lost her twice today, so I'm not leavin' her side again. Ever.”

“That’s mighty admirable of you, son, but you need to take care of yourself, too. What good will you be to her if you fall apart?”

Turner squinted his eyelids in irritation. “I doubt I’ll fall ill from holdin' my bladder, Mom.”

“Actually, I’ve heard waitin' too long to piss causes problems later in life,” Kyle added. “Come on, son. Stretch. Eat. Fart outside, because God knows my nose hairs can’t take another one of those paint-peelers inside this here vehicle.”

“You’re hysterical, Kyle. Not. Stop tryin' to use humor to make things better. It ain’t workin',” Turner said.

“Enough. Get out and do your business. Eat. Just not anythin' gas-producin'.”

“Fine,” Turner muttered.

Martha waited until Kyle and Turner exited the vehicle before climbing over the seats to grab some water and toilet paper. Careful not to make any more noise than necessary so as not to wake Jesse, she gathered what she needed.

Once back in the front seat, Martha listened to the sounds of the others whispering outside. Her heart ached for Jesse and Reed. How they hadn’t gone stark-raving mad after witnessing Regina blow her head off was only by the grace of God.

Disgust rumbled in Martha’s stomach at the thought. She was glad she’d been out back with Turner and Kyle and missed the spectacle. Just thinking about the horrid scene brought back disturbing memories of her own childhood. Thirty-four years had passed since the day her life changed in her parents’ living room, yet when something sparked the memory, it seemed like only yesterday.

She remembered every sound, what everyone wore, even the television show blaring in the background when her father, drunk and in a foul mood, as usual, started yelling. Angry dinner was late, he rose from the recliner and stumbled into the kitchen. Martha stopped working on an English assignment and covered her ears when glass shattered and the sound of flesh smashing into flesh reached the living room.

What she didn’t know—until it was too late to do anything about it—was it had been her mother who punched her father. The argument stopped. Martha figured her mother was out cold on the kitchen floor—again—and her father had retreated to the garage.

He did, but returned with a shotgun.

“No, don’t go there, girl. Not today,” Martha whispered.

Forcing her thoughts elsewhere—rather than reliving the night her father killed her mother—Martha stared out the window, watching those she’d loved for years intermixed among the ones she’d come to cherish.

She held in the tears at the memory of Walt, Reed, and Kyle bursting out the back door of Walmart, a hysterical Jesse firmly secured in Reed’s arms. Residents flooded the back parking area, arms full of supplies.

When the shooting started seconds before, Martha, Turner, and Kyle shut the doors on the Humvees they were loading and tried to head back inside to help. The throngs of panicked people were like ants on a forgotten piece of candy, swarming out the doors going in circles until they found their vehicles and took off.

Walter and Jane stopped to aid an injured child and got separated from the group. Turner punched out a young kid blocking his path toward Jesse. Reed burst through the crowd, Turner right at his side, and Kyle yanked Martha backward into the Humvee.

“We’ve got to leave, right now! Look!” Kyle yelled while locking the doors.

“I’m not leavin' without my husband!” Martha screamed, clawing at the lock.

“Look, Dad’s fine!” Turner said while pointing out the window. “He made it to a vehicle!”

Martha rolled down the window and heard Walt’s booming voice, “Hospital! Now!”

Kyle guided the Humvee through the nightmare that was once the parking lot. Cars full of panicked drivers ran into each other while trying to jockey for a better position, or dodge the dead. Those in small sedans—so popular with the younger generation—didn’t stand a chance against hungry monsters. The large section of blacktop was like a bigger version of the bumper car ride at the county fair. The second cars collided with one another, the dead swooped in like two-legged vultures.

Martha tried to help. She rolled the window down and fired at the dead. Riding in a vehicle while it zigzagged through the parking lot made her miss more than she connected. When they passed the smoldering remains of the Humvees, hundreds of dead crouched down and eating the remains of the soldiers, she was out of bullets, unable to end the suffering of those still alive.

Jesse’s screams of agony morphed into deep, racking sobs by the time they pulled into the parking lot of the hospital. When they stopped, Martha jumped out. She noticed fifteen vehicles had pulled in behind them, all escapees from the store. Ignoring them, Martha ran to Walt’s Humvee, throwing her arms around his neck when he stepped out.

“Thought you were a goner,” she whispered into his chest. “Don’t ever scare me like that again.”

Walt kissed her forehead. “Lover—it’s gonna take more than some dead corpses to take me out.”

“God, it’s all gone! Look at that!” Jane muttered.

Turning around, they watched in silent horror as plumes of thick smoke rose from the vicinity of Walmart’s parking lot. The bursts of gunfire had stopped. The only noise left was the faint, distant screams of those who hadn’t escaped.

At the time, they thought the destruction and massive loss of life at Walmart was awful.

It paled in comparison to the carnage they discovered inside the hospital. The small, 72-bed facility was nothing more than a tomb for hundreds of murder victims. Spent shell casings littered the floors, firmly stuck in several inches of tacky, dark blood.

Jane and Kyle volunteered to extract all the medical supplies they could carry while the rest of the group headed back outside. When Walt broke the news no one was alive inside, wails of sorrow rumbled through the crowd. Pastor Trent stepped forward, tears running down his face while making his way to the entrance, and offered up prayers.

No one joined him.

They were too overwhelmed to move.

Time to mourn the dead ended when Jane and Kyle exited the building. A swarm of dead appeared from the side streets. Walt screamed, “If you want to a safe place to stay, follow me!”

Martha sighed. She knew she’d never see the place she’d called home her entire life again. The good, the bad, and the oh-so ugly memories were all that was left. Cold fear raced up her spine as she recalled the jets raining down bombs in Hot Spring County. They’d barely made it into the thick woods before the explosions started.

Jesse stirred, bringing Martha out of her ruminations. Martha turned around in the seat to see if the girl was awake or just shifting positions.

“Momma,” Jesse whimpered.

The side door opened and Turner slipped back inside. “Shhh, baby. It’s okay. I’m here. Go back to sleep.”

Jesse fell silent once more the second Turner’s hand touched her back. Exchanging glances with her son, Turner nodded and mouthed,
“Your turn.”

Martha slipped out the door, toilet paper in hand. The view of the mountain range used to bring a sense of serenity and peace every time she saw it. In the dark, surrounded by hungry, heartbroken, dirty stragglers, the serene feelings were long gone.

Spotting Reed up ahead, Martha moved forward. He stood, his back to her, staring in the direction they’d come. He hadn’t spoken much during the last several hours, and the opportunity to offer her condolences hadn’t surfaced while they fled their hometown.

Clearing her throat to announce her presence, Martha came up behind him and stopped. She figured Reed was crying and wanted to give him the chance to pull himself together before facing her. “I’m so sorry about what happened to Regina. She was a great woman. A true hero.”

Martha’s instincts were right. Reed reached up, wiping his face several times on his sleeve before turning around. Even in the dark, Martha could see the look of anguish on his face. “Yes, she was. Thank you.”

“She had the right idea, you know. We could’ve holed up there for quite some time. Others just screwed it up.”

“Yeah, some people are just pieces of shit,” Reed muttered.

“Yes, they are. We can’t let that taint our views on everyone, now can we?”

“I’m not so sure about that, Martha. Not sure at all.”

“I am. Lived through some really dark times in my life, as I’m sure you recall. Thought things would never get better, but then I met my Walter. Silver linin’s in the storm clouds sometimes appear out of nowhere. Or, in my case, transfer schools.”

Reed smiled. “I remember. You two hit it right off. Didn’t you guys get voted best couple or some such nonsense?”