Sanctuary (the Affliction Trilogy #2)

Chapter 2

Two

T raveling by foot in June has proven to be miserable. The air is thick and humid, and every breath I take has me questioning whether I need to chew it first. The tall, wild corn stalks growing in fields on each side of the road do little to shade us from the blistering sun. Its rays beat down on us, and it feels like we're being cooked alive. If Zs like their meals toasted, they're in luck; we're all well done.

“This is absolutely disgusting,” River says, pulling her damp shirt away from her body. Her honey curls are a frizzy mess, and beads of sweat scatter across the flawless tawny skin of her forehead. Even in complete disarray, she's still gorgeous.

Her beauty combined with her drenched clothing hasn't gone unnoticed by Noah. He isn't discreet in the way he takes her in. I swear there's drool sliding from the corner of his mouth. He never seems to become complacent with any fraction of her. It's as if he's as enraptured with her now as he was the first time he laid eyes on her.

He raises a muscular arm and wipes the side of his thumb over her cheekbone, removing the moisture from it. “Hopefully we'll run into a spot where we can rest soon,” he reassures her with a bright smile.

She combs her fingers through his dark brown hair, gazing into his brown eyes, and licks her full lips. Noah's not the only one who walks around with a lovesick look; River wholeheartedly reciprocates it. The only time I thought they might have reached a breaking point was when he upset her by conspiring with me behind her back. I quickly took the blame for that. Noah was an easy target since I knew there was nothing on earth he wouldn't do for my cousin, and he wanted to win my approval. Besides, our intentions to get her across the Oscuros border had been pure, even with the deceit factored in. Maybe I should say I'm sorry for what I did, but I'm not. I'd do it again if it meant she'd be reunited with her parents.

“The first safe house we come across, we'll stop for a bit,” Ryland says, chiming in from his place at the head of our group.

Wes takes a conservative sip of the water from his canteen before stating, “Am I the only one who's unnerved by how quiet things have been today?”

My eyes veer toward Ryland to get his reaction. He remains fixated on the empty country road like he's not fazed by the question, but I catch the slight tick in his sharp jawline. He's not one to voice his worries; instead, he deals with them by keeping a clear head and barking out orders designed to keep all of us safe. Knowing the way his mind works, he's probably been fretting about the lack of confrontation for hours now.

“Don't jinx it, you dickhead,” Aiden scolds Wes from beside me.

I snort, holding back the humor I find in his superstition.

Aiden pulls back the blond hair plastered to his forehead and glares at me with bright blue eyes. He does his best to make me believe he's annoyed, but the truth is, Aiden is the most laid-back out of all of us. From the moment he and I first interacted, I was captivated by his boy-next-door good looks and mellow attitude. He can call his friends the vilest names, and they take zero offense, knowing that malice is never his intent. He's our daily comic relief in a tense situation.

“You snorted. I'm going to have to rethink my offer to take you out on a date,” he says to me.

Ryland looks over his shoulder and shoots his friend a silent warning.

Going on a date has been an inside joke between Aiden and me since the beginning. I'm positive he gets a kick out of his friend's reaction, and it's why he still brings it up even though he knows there is no chance for us.

“Simmer down. I can't take her out on a date until we get out of this hellhole, so you're safe until then,” Aiden says.

“I think I liked you more when you were sick, bedridden, and unable to speak. I miss those days,” Ryland says, playfully referring to the severe bout of pneumonia Aiden had when the boys first came into my life.

If it hadn't been for Aiden's sickness, we all wouldn't be here right now. The boys would've never broken into my and River's home, seeking shelter from the harsh winter. His condition pulled at my cousin's heartstrings, and she insisted we let them stay until he was well. My better judgment told me it was a terrible idea, but I couldn’t tell her no. Our parents raised us to be compassionate people and to help those less fortunate than us. If I had sent them out into the sub-zero temperatures, Aiden would've died. It's the only time in my life I'm grateful I didn't listen to my nagging intuition.

“Your hurtful jabs confirm you think I have a chance with your girl,” Aiden says in a singsong tone.

Ryland smiles and shakes his head at the ridiculous notion.

Turning back to me, Aiden continues, “I know this lovely place in Giran that serves all-you-can-eat salad. It’s top-notch.”

I burst into laughter as does the rest of the group.

It's moments like this that keep us sane. They remind us we're still human and capable of a vast variety of emotions. We get so caught up in trying to stay alive and forget we're still young. There are days when we hardly speak a word to one another because we're preoccupied with fighting for our lives. Making a joke and laughing feel like old-world practices found in history books.

Our outburst comes to an abrupt halt as we reach the end of the cornfields. Off in the distance stands a white two-story house. It feels like it's been hundreds of miles since we've run into any structure holding the probability of providing us with shelter for the night. The house stirs a mixture of emotions—thankfulness that we'll be able to step out of the sun for a short time as well as dread of what lurks inside.

Like it’s second nature, everyone reaches for their weapon. We learned a long time ago to never let our guard down, especially when everything is going well. Trouble has a way of appearing in full force when we least expect it.

It's exhausting being on high alert, but it beats being dead.

As we draw closer to the house, I'm in awe of how well-preserved it is. The navy-blue shutters match the front door and the blinds on all the windows are open, letting in the sunlight. Unlike so many other homes we've encountered, this one looks untouched.

The gravel of the dirt driveway crunches under our feet as we approach. Six sets of eyes scan the area looking for any sign of being watched. With a quick hand gesture, Wes signals to Ryland that he and Aiden are going to check the perimeter of the property. With guns poised to shoot, the two men break from our group and walk around the house from opposite sides. The rest of us carry on toward the front door. Noah and River stop short of the three steps leading to the porch and examine the exterior for any sign that someone is spying on us from a window. Ryland and I continue to the entrance. Before opening the screen door, he places his arm out and uses it to direct me behind him.

I sigh at his irrepressible need to protect me.

“Sorry, love, but old habits die hard,” he says, flashing me a lopsided grin.

I roll my eyes. He's hardly trying to contain his boorish instincts to protect his woman. From the start, Ryland's felt compelled to keep me safe, even though I've proven to him time and time again that I can handle myself in dangerous situations. Okay, there have been a few times he may have saved my life, but I've also saved his. I'll give him credit though; in the past, he matched my irritation toward his over-protectiveness with agitation, getting all authoritarian-like and barking out orders. I prefer his new tactic of charming me into submission. Not that it works any better, I just prefer it.

The screen door loudly creaks as he cracks it open and slides his hand inside to knock on the door. While he waits to see if someone answers, I glance through the front window. The inside of the house looks untouched. Except for the dust covering everything, the items in the living room seem in place.

“Nothing?” he asks.

“It looks abandoned.”

He cocks an eyebrow. “I remember once looking into a house thinking it was abandoned, too.”

With a knowing smile, I shrug my shoulders at his reference to my family home in Devil’s Lake. “And look how well it turned out for you.”

“You have a point.” His shoulders shake as he chuckles, and I'm mesmerized by how gorgeous he is. He used to live in continuous darkness. The weight of his past decisions never let up, and sorrow and regret tainted his smile. He still has his moments when the past hurt creeps in, but more often than not, they're subsiding and allowing him to find happiness.

Aiden and Wes return from searching around the house.

“It's all clear. The back door is locked, and there's a cellar, but nothing’s down there,” Aiden says.

“Gotcha,” Ryland says, opening the screen door all the way and aims his gun at the door handle.

“Wait.” I place my hand on top of his. “Don't do that. This is someone's home, and they've taken care to lock it up. There might be a key out here.”

I move the ceramic pots holding dead plants out of the way, but there's nothing underneath.

“Quinn, I'm melting, just let Ry blow it open,” River begs, moving to sit on a step in the shade.

“Give me a second.” I pass by her to the flower bed below the porch. A little garden gnome with a faded red hat catches my attention from the overgrowth. I snatch it up and smile at the sound of metal jingling inside, shaking it until the key falls out into my palm. I bound back to the front door and jam the key into the lock.

“Does it look like something is moving in the field over there?” Noah asks River.

“Where?” She stands on her tiptoes to get an unobstructed view.

I angle my head to follow Noah's pointed finger to a cornfield. The leafy tops of the corn stalks sway back and forth in a steady motion, heading our way. My heart pounds in my chest, and I turn my attention back to the lock. My hands shake and sweat, making my grasp on the key clumsy.

“Quinn, move out of the way and let me shoot the lock,” Ryland barks.

“I got it. I got it!” I peer over my shoulder, the wave in the field is feet from reaching the end. I bite the inside of my cheek, focusing on the frozen lock mechanism. My slick fingers scrape over the unmoving key, rubbing them raw. Everyone yells at me to hurry, wearing on my frazzled nerves.

“Quinnten Hope Ellery, get the fuck out of my way!”

Ryland's booming voice rattles me for a second, but it also helps set my resolve. I'm going to do this my way. I jiggle the key once and then twice before the lock gives. Glancing behind me, the tall stalks part as I swing the door open. Everyone rushes into the house, and Wes slams the door shut behind us.

As soon as we're locked inside, Ryland lays into me. “God dammit, Quinn! What the fuck was that? You could have gotten us all killed over a stupid door.”

“It's not stupid. This is someone's home, Ryland!”

He rakes his hand through his hair. “For fuck’s sake.”

I cross my arms over my chest and turn my back to him. I understand he was scared I wouldn't get the door opened in time, but I did. Of course he doesn't see it that way. It's impossible for him to look beyond the risk factor and accept that everything worked out fine.

High-pitched hysterical laughter fills the quiet house. Wes bends over at the waist with one hand on his knee and the other points out the window.

Ryland and I shoot him annoyed glares.

Wes can't catch his breath to make a coherent sentence. Every time he starts, he erupts in a fit of laughter again. He calms down enough to say, “Oh, this is perfect.” He chuckles in his attempt to stifle more laughter. “You two are fighting over a damn cow.”

I rush to the window. A malnourished brown and white cow wanders in the yard. Its big brown eyes stare at me before he makes a pitiful noise and walks away. Relieved, I rest my forehead against the warm glass and wait for my heart to settle.

We're so tightly wound that we don't even bother to think that the things that go bump in the night are harmless. Every little noise and movement equate to something horrendous in our minds. It's hard not to wonder how many times we put ourselves in a panic over nothing. We've probably increased our chances of a heart attack by tenfold.

“It smells terrible in here, like rotting food,” Aiden says, walking through the living room.

For the first time since we entered the house, I take in my surroundings. He's right—it smells awful, but everything seems to be untouched. It's almost like the people who lived here cleaned before they left. It reminds me of the care River and I put into our own home before we left. We did all that we could to secure our most precious belongings with the hope of someday returning.

Pushing aside our altercation, Ryland resumes his position as our leader. “Let's split up and see what we can find. Quinn and I will take the upstairs.”

He doesn't even look at me as he says my name. I wish this would've been one of those moments when he separates girls and boys. It would be nice not to deal with the silent treatment while we investigate the house.

The smell on the second floor isn’t any better; in fact, it's worse. Perhaps it's the heat rising, and with it, the stench of whatever is rotting in the kitchen. As Ryland moves to the end of the hall, I lag behind, opening doors at the front. The first leads to a bathroom with typical furnishings. I open the medicine cabinet and skim through the contents, grabbing a bottle of aspirin and a tube of toothpaste before leaving.

We reach for the next door at the same time. He lifts his hands in the air and takes a step back in a gesture that screams, have at it, sweetheart. With my head bowed, I open the room and blink against the smell, making my eyes water. I breathe through my mouth as I step into the primary bedroom, followed by Ryland. Like the rest of the house, it's tidy—the bed is made and everything seems to be put away. I move to the closet and sort through the clothes inside, but my focus is on Ryland as he sweeps through the primary suite's bathroom. He opens and closes drawers and shuffles items around, and I wonder if he's having any problems concentrating like I am. We have our disagreements, but I think this might constitute as our first official fight, and it's not sitting well with me.

When he returns to the bedroom, I give him a few minutes to see if he'll say anything. He carries on rummaging through the room, and I hit my breaking point. “So how long does the silent treatment normally last?” I ask, sliding one hanger at a time across the bar in the closet.

He releases a puff of air and pulls his hair back from his face. “I don't know, Quinn. I guess until I feel like you give a damn about what I'm saying to you.”

My heart drops to the pit of my stomach. Nothing says lousy girlfriend like being told you don't listen. Ryland and I have always struggled with relinquishing our roles as leaders. For so long, we were the voice of reason in our situations. We each came up with the plans to keep those in our care safe. Sharing the responsibility isn’t always easy for us.

I lean against the wall next to the closet and face him. “I'm sorry.”

He stops searching through the dresser and places his elbow on the top. Closing his eyes, he pinches the bridge of his nose like a headache coming on. “You get something in your head, and you don't even consider another possibility. Some things aren't debatable, and your stubbornness put everyone at risk today.” He lifts his head and looks at me. “Don't get me wrong, I love that you're driven and think about things that would never cross my mind. But sometimes, you need to step aside, love. It's good that you thought about the people this house belongs to, but I was thinking about the safety of our friends.”

There's no fighting him on this; he's right. My head wasn't in the right place. Thankfully, we were trying to escape the clutches of a starving cow, but next time, we might not be so lucky. “I'll back off,” I utter, looking at my shoes.

“That's not what I want. I want you to remember we're a team. You and I have the same goal.”

“I can do that,” I say with a curt nod.

He closes the drawer and walks over to me. Lifting my chin, he places a kiss on my forehead. “You're a pain in my ass, but I wholeheartedly love you.”

Taking my hand into his, he pulls me away from the wall and guides me out of the room. He stops to look in a linen closet, and I continue across the hallway, opening the last door. I'm bombarded with thick warm air and a rancid smell so pungent it triggers my gag reflex. I let go of the door to cover my nose, and it swings open. “Oh my God!” I scream before my hands clasp over my eyes.

My legs give out underneath me, and I sink to the carpet. Ryland rushes to my side and comes to an abrupt stop at the sight before us. He crouches next to me and pulls me into his arms, hiding my face against his chest. I close my eyes and try to forget the image seared into my brain. With several deep breaths, I ball the front of Ryland's shirt into my fists and breathe him in, willing him to consume my senses. From my dark safe place in his arms, I can hear feverish steps racing up the stairs. Each horrified gasp is a testament that what I saw is real.

Even with my head turned away, the image is vivid in my mind's eye. The room is decorated in Disney characters, toys are arranged throughout the space, and a wooden bunk bed sits against the far wall. In the middle of the floor lies the most heinous sight I've ever seen. A woman with a grayish tint to her skin and sunken in facial features holds two children wrapped in her arms. They lay in a dried pool of blood. Next to them is a man with one hand resting on top of the woman's while the other holds a gun near his temple. Each member of the family has a single bullet hole in the head.

My body shakes, and the front of Ryland's shirt is soaking wet with my tears. He pulls me into his lap, rocking my body back and forth. His hand runs along my back.

“Shh, I got you. I got you, love.”

River assesses the carnage with a detached tone, saying, “The children were Afflicted. It looks like one of them bit the mom on the arm. I guess the dad put an end to the spread of the Z virus the only way he knew how. They must have decided to end it together.”

I mourn for them, especially the father and the excruciating pain he must have felt as he euthanized the people he loved one by one. I was so sure they escaped the Affliction, but now I know they prepared their home for their deaths.

“Let's get out of here,” Ryland says, lifting me into his arms.

“There's a car in the garage, but we haven't been able to find the keys,” Aiden says.

“Check the father's pocket,” Ryland says, emotion thick in his voice.

I shake my head at the thought, and his arms hold me tighter.

The unmistakable sound of keys rattles throughout the quiet house, and Ryland guides me to my feet. He holds me to his side as we take the stairs.

I've never been one who wanted to play the damsel in distress. I pride myself on being independent, the epitome of strength, and the person others rely on. Yet, every day I feel like I'm changing into the complete opposite. The Affliction is contaminating who I am and who I want to be. I don’t think I can hold on to who I am if we continue to have to live like this. I have to get us to the Sanctuary. If I don’t, I fear I'll succumb to the devastating effects of the Affliction without ever being bitten. And if that happens, I, and those I love, will be no better off than the family left decaying inside of this house.