42. Chapter 42
Chapter forty-two
Shelby
After admiring the brilliant rays of the sun as it sets in the sky, I close my eyes and let it burn into my retinas, hopefully replacing the memories that threaten to pull me under.
Although a slow descent, Lance continues to get sicker and with each new symptom, my heart sinks that much further. I know I can’t save him, and Cason’s disapproving glare growing darker as the end approaches, isn’t helping.
I get it. His first instinct is survival but in this brutal world, I may do things I never thought I could, I still refuse to let kindness go too.
Leaving Lance on the side of the road alone and hurting would be barbaric and at some point, we have to draw the line between us and them.
Now that darkness is coming soon, we need to find a safe place to sleep. While Larry and Nora confer, I brush my hand against Lance's blazing cheek, achingly aware of Cason’s eagle eyes as I do.
Poor Nate sits rigidly beside me. He hasn’t spoken since Lance was bitten but I know his pain must run deep. He found a friend and maybe more with Lance just to watch it all brutally blow away.
When the others branch off to search the sleepy town, I lean my head against the side of the truck. I’m so tired I can barely keep my eyes open and I’m somewhere between sleep and wakefulness when Larry says, “There’s a place behind the bakery.”
For once Cason doesn’t have an opinion about where we stay and I eye him suspiciously as he nods before turning back to Lance.
While Larry opens the tailgate, assisting Bean to the ground, Bo following, I take in our surroundings.
I wasn’t paying attention to our route, so I don’t know where we are.
The single road with one stop light appears to be safe based on the population but that means little, unfortunately.
Most of the buildings along the street are boarded up and based on the dust covering the surfaces, I suspect they went out of business long before the end.
My eyes are drawn to the two canines as they sniff their surroundings, but I set aside the pulse of concern because they sense danger in a manner that I couldn’t begin to replicate. Case in point, Bo pauses a few feet away, and growls.
When Cason whips around, I follow his gaze as a single one of them appears in the distance. Where one is, there are usually more, and turning to Lance, I whisper, “Okay, we need to get you out of the truck.”
He’s so still, if he didn’t tilt his head, I might think he was already dead. He doesn’t move though and swallowing past the lump forming in my throat, I grab his arm and say, “We have to go.”
He’s so hot, I almost pull away, but we can’t afford to wait and I’m still not willing to leave him behind, so I reach for his chin only to pause when Cason says, “Take this.”
He holds out the rifle and I eye him warily as I grab it and scoot out of the way.
Once I’m at the edge of the truck, Cason lifts Lance by the shoulders and drags him that way.
Another lump fills my throat, born of gratitude this time when Cason sets him down on the tailgate before jumping to the road.
After that, he lifts Lance over his shoulder and carries him through the door that Nora holds open. Hurrying after, I step inside the second story building and follow Cason as he enters a room down the hall where he mutters, “We can’t stay here.”
Cason
It’s a studio fucking apartment with barely enough room for the two dogs much less eight people, especially when one of them could turn at any moment. We might as well create a kill chute and place Zoey at the end.
Fuck me.
Ignoring Shelby’s suspicious stare, I turn to Larry and ask, “What’s upstairs?”
His brow scrunches as he looks up and says, “Another apartment. Same as this one but there’s only one way out.”
While I consider my options, Larry says, “Down here, we got exits through that door, the attached bakery and a back exit.”
I’m uneasy enough as it is, I’m not about to put a dead man walking into a room full of people some of whom can’t defend themselves. Resolved, I shoulder past Larry and with Lance still laying limp over my shoulder, I say, “We’ll go upstairs. You stay here.”
I look at Shelby when I say this and her mouth pops open, but I shake my head and say, “Nope, you stay here.”
I’m not in the mood to argue. Lance may still be a teenager but he’s not exactly light and I can’t hold him much longer.
I know if I put him down though, I’m not picking him up again. I wouldn’t ask anyone else to get this close, so here I am, still holding the fucker.
“Cason,” Shelby says, touching my arm. Before she can convince me to change my mind, I step into the hallway and say as I walk away, “No. I need you to stay down here. Please Shelby, stay.”
Thankfully she doesn’t argue, and I huff my way up the single flight of stairs before stepping through the already open door with a groan.
The layout of this apartment is similar to the one below and I head for the bed against the far wall before setting Lance down.
There’s a small kitchenette against the opposite wall with a folding fan to block the view between. The single window faces a brick wall with a bathroom door adjacent to the bed.
Before anyone gets any bright ideas about following, I rush to close the door. Once we’re locked inside, I turn to Lance before shaking my head and stepping inside the bathroom.
Despite my reservations I know what Shelby would want me to do and after rifling through the drawers, I finally find a towel before wetting it down.
Lance is still sleeping when I return and with the cool, wet cloth resting on his head, I remove his shoes before pulling a blanket up to his shoulders.
He’s achingly still all the while and I pause to check his pulse, thready but still going before pulling a chair beside the bed and dropping into it.
This is how the evening wears on with Lance continuing to degrade while I watch with an eagle eye and damn him and myself for sitting here.
When he’s consumed with coughs, I lean forward, flipping the knife in my hand open as blood bubbles between his lips. Still, he lives, thrashing around on the mattress and mumbling words that don’t make sense.
After another hour of changing out the towel and trying to force water past his lips, I look up from where I was flipping through a magazine when his bloodshot eyes meet mine.
“Mom?” he whispers, and I bow my head.
Fuck me. I know I’ve been a dick about this whole thing, but this is what I was hoping to avoid.
Still, I’m here and it doesn’t matter if I want to be, so I lean forward and grab his hand as he says, “D-Dad? I’m scared.”
“It's okay, son,” I mutter, and his fingers tighten around mine before his lips form a ghastly grimace and he sags into the bed. “Lance?”
Dropping his hand, I lean over his chest before touching his wrist. The thready pulse is gone, and moving away I say, “God-fucking-dammit.”
But no one is here to respond to my cry and with a heavy heart, I turn Lance to his stomach, line up my knife with the base of his skull and slip it inside.