CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

Ainsley ran her hand over Ethan’s forehead. She wiped his bangs off to the side, but some of the hairs stuck to the sweat. His cheeks were flush, red and splotchy, and he moaned with each exhale; there was a throaty growl with murmurs of pain. The house was quiet and waiting, each of the survivors entering the den at intervals to take a turn to sit with him. He’d deteriorated rapidly in the last few hours, slipping into a state between sleep and wakefulness. Occasionally he’d mutter something, and once Darla heard him call for his sister, Lucy.

It pained her to hear him. Lucy and Grant had been gone for weeks now, but it felt like so much longer.

Ainsley turned to Darla, her look a cross between weary and pleading. Her mother walked into the room holding a new array of drugs raided by Joey, she counted pills into her hand and sighed. It wasn’t enough.

“Mom,” Ainsley said turning to Doctor Krause. “You have to do something. Tell me those will help him.”

But Doctor Krause just closed her eyes. “Don’t you think I’m trying? We’re doing everything we can do. I’m not electing to neglect my Hippocratic oath here…I’m trying.”

“He has to live, Mom,” Ainsley rose to her feet. She walked over to her mom with clipped steps and she grabbed her by the wrists. Doctor Krause startled and dropped a bottle, the pills spilled to the floor. “We came here to save him. So, save him.”

Darla, sitting at the desk, turned away. She had lost all of her energy and all of her fight. In some ways, it was encouraging to see Ainsley take up the cause. The girl still wanted to take on the world while Darla was ready to beat a hasty retreat from the stress and angst of a home waiting for death. She looked at the spilled pills and wished for someone else to make a move to pick them up.

“I can’t help him anymore,” the doctor admitted and pulled away from Ainsley’s grip, but then she reached back out, and her daughter walked away from the outstretched hand. “Without the proper medicines or care…what can I do, Ainsley?”

“He can’t die,” Ainsley said. She looked straight at her mother, “We made it this far. He can’t die now.”

Dean entered the room. He looked down at Ethan and scratched his temple. “Can you make him more comfortable at least?” he suggested. “It’s a shame. He seemed like a good kid.”

“Don’t you dare use the past tense,” Ainsley seethed. “If we can get his fever down…if Darla or Joey can do another run for antibiotics. We can search more houses…”

“Stop,” Doctor Krause said. She leaned against the bookshelf.

“We’ve pilfered through everything in our radius,” Darla added. “Some of the things on the shopping list just don’t exist.”

“What? There’s only one hospital? One pharmacy? Please,” Ainsley rolled her eyes. “I feel like I’m the only one who is still trying.” She pointed a finger at Darla. “Don’t make excuses just because you’re tired.”

“Damn right I’m tired,” Darla replied and she lifted her legs and rested them atop the desk. “But could we stop with the pity party? I cared about that kid long before you showed up.”

“Dean is right,” said Doctor Krause in a loud voice and Dean turned at the mention of his name. “Making him comfortable is the most important thing.”

“Mom—” Ainsley challenged. But her argument was cut short by the sound of the front door slamming shut. Spencer rounded the corner, and he banged his hand against the door to the den for emphasis.

“Quiet!” he yelled, putting a finger to his lips. “Everyone shut up.”

The group turned to him.

Joey appeared on the landing from upstairs, fresh from an afternoon nap. His brown hair stuck up in a clump along the crown. He stretched and yawned; then his head slowly rose and he peered at the ceiling. His hand rose and he pointed. Then he opened his mouth to say something, but Spencer raised his hand to silence him.

“It’s them,” Spencer whispered. “I thought I heard a plane overhead about an hour ago. But now…”

“Helicopters,” finished Dean.

Spencer nodded. “Two. From the west. And close.”

After months of silence—no sirens, no engines, no roar of engines in the sky—the whirl of the helicopters was upon them and they were as loud as a clap of thunder in a Midwestern storm. It was difficult to hear anything else.

“How do we know it’s them? The Nebraska group?” Doctor Krause asked in a whisper.

“Who else could it be?” Spencer spat and he reached for his gun, checking it and readying it. “Go. Go. Everyone into position.”

Ainsley hesitated and looked between Ethan and the group. “Let me stay with him,” she begged Spencer. “Please let me stay with him.”

“Positions!” Spencer yelled again and as the helicopters gained ground.

“I want to stay—” Ainsley tried again, approaching Spencer, her curly hair flying.

“We had a plan. And you will honor the plan,” he said in a hushed voice. Then he raised his gun at her and held it steady. “Non-negotiable.”

Joey rushed into the closet bedroom upstairs and grabbed the sleeping Teddy. Tucking the child into his arms, he bounded down the steps.

“What’s happening, Mama?” Teddy said sleepily.

Darla took her son from Joey and kissed his head.

“Buddy, remember what we talked about? You and Ainsley are going to hide in the dark for a bit. It’s a game and you need to stay quiet,” Darla said to him, her voice catching. She swallowed and watched as Joey and Spencer moved their arsenal of weapons into reach. Darla shook her head. “I love you. Be good.”

“No,” Teddy whined. “I want to stay with you.”

“You can’t, Theodore. You can’t stay with me. It’s dangerous.”

Ainsley walked up to Spencer and touched his arm. “Please,” she said in a whisper. “My mom can sit with Teddy. He’d want me to stay. I want the chance to go with him…it’s only fair—”

Spencer raised his gun. He held it steady against Ainsley’s head, pushing the metal barrel between her brows. She flinched and a single tear rolled down her face; her breathing became rapid and unsteady. The whirl of the helicopters had died down. Close-by the enemy had landed. Ainsley stared down into the barrel of Spencer’s gun, and she took a step backward. Then without another word she grabbed Teddy’s hand and together they rushed into the basement.

Darla watched her son until he had disappeared. She gripped the banister tightly, and pressed her eyes closed for a single second, before spinning around and sprinting upstairs to the second-story.

Spencer’s plan was detailed. It involved a meticulous action plan, and each of their roles had been drilled into their heads. Spencer and Dean’s incessant distrust had seeped into daily conversations and during their days and evenings they plotted against this unknown enemy who they singularly held responsible for the death of mankind. Only Darla, fueled with loyalty for Ethan, challenged the plan. But in the end, she was outvoted and outnumbered and tired of feeling like she was the only voice of dissent, she abandoned her rebellion and settled into her role.

It was a simple course of action: Spencer would put himself front and center. Joey would act as his backup. They would lead or keep the enemy in the front yard, where Darla and Dean, positioned as snipers in the upstairs windows, would respond to any act of insurgence by unleashing violence upon them. Ainsley and Teddy would hide in the fruit cellar until given the all clear.

Ethan, unable to be moved, would stay in the den, with Doctor Krause by his side.

Spencer’s entire plan was to negotiate Ethan’s release. Darla saw the flaws in this logic: it made the Oregon survivors enemies from the start and assumed that those coming from Nebraska were both terrorists and reasonable negotiators.