Unknown (Unknown Series Book 1) (17 page)

It was almost midnight before I made my way to Mom’s car to drive home. I knew better than to drive when my eyes were heavy slits that I couldn’t keep open. So I lay back the seat, just for a quick nap, and then I’d go home.

Seconds later, I was hard asleep with visions of rashes dancing in my head. And across my skin.

Loud, rapid rapping made me scream at the top of my lungs, echoing in the small space. I sat up in a panic, confused as hell about where I was in the pitch dark. When I saw the crazed face in the window, I screamed again, then covered my mouth as Dad’s features became clear. I yanked open my door and tumbled out into his arms.

“Jesus Christ almighty, Amber!” He squeezed me tightly, and I felt his chest heaving. “I thought you were dead!” Dad let out a sob that broke me. The wails that rose from deep in my soul were unlike any sound I’d ever made. It was like the laughter earlier that day—I couldn’t control it. I cried in my father’s arms as he kissed my head over and over, murmuring, “It’s okay, baby girl. I’ve got you.”

It wasn’t until I finally pulled myself together and pulled away that I saw Rylen beside us, leaning against the car, watching me with this look of combined relief and heartbreak. My heart galloped. I quickly wiped my face.

“Rylen’s gonna drive you home,” Dad said.

“I can drive—” I began.

“Ry will drive.” Dad turned toward his vehicle as if to say
end of discussion
.

Rylen walked me around to the passenger side and opened the door. I slid inside and he closed the door. When he got behind the wheel, he didn’t start the car right away. He stared over his shoulder at the hospital. Even in the dark, I could make out the moisture in his eyes.

“When we saw it, Pepper . . .”

The sharp bloom around my heart squeezed, pricking me with thorns. They’d really thought I was dead.

“I’m so sorry,” I whispered.

He grabbed my hand and held tight, his eyes fierce on mine. “I’ve never been so happy as when I saw you laying in here.” He let out a dry laugh and his chin quivered. So help me, if Rylen cried I would break all over again. But he swallowed and cleared his throat, sniffing once and taking his hand from mine to face the steering wheel again. We were quiet a long time.

“Oh . . .” He leaned to the side and pulled something silver and crinkly from his back pocket. “Sorry, it’s probably broken.”

A PopTart. I tore it open like an animal and moaned at the smell of cinnamon and brown sugar. I nearly choked on the dry-ass pastry as I shoved it in my mouth. Rylen gave the road a small smile as he drove us away, leaving the wreckage and sickness far behind.

For now.

We were halfway home, both lost in thought, before he finally spoke again.

“I know you’ve been upset with me,” he said. My body tightened at the onslaught of grief and guilt. I stared down at the crumpled wrapper in my hand as he continued. “I’m sorry I didn’t tell you about Livia right away. I know you don’t take surprises well. I should have called or something.” He ran a hand over his head and let out a long breath. “It . . . I don’t know, I think I was still in shock myself. It happened sort of fast.”

My gut twisted hard. I had to force myself to say something. “She seems . . . really nice.”

“She is,” he said, grasping my words eagerly. “She’s a good girl, Pepper.”

I nodded.

“She’s been through a lot.”

Just like you
, I thought. I wondered what she’d been through, but he said nothing more. Part of me wanted to know everything, but that broken part of me still wanted no part of it.

“I’m sorry,” I whispered. “For how I’ve been.”

He shot me a small smile, as if to say
no worries
. And I vowed not to let my feelings make me act rude to him or Livia anymore. I had to get over this. I loved him too much to treat him badly, and if he loved Livia . . . well then, I needed to treat her well too.

“It’s funny,” he said quietly. “When you’re overseas, in warzones, after a while the people you love start to feel like fairy tales or something intangible. So far away they’re not real. You start to look for any small human interaction that makes you feel something.” He grasped his earlobe. “Sorry, I’m not making sense.”

“No,” I said. “You are.” I’d been watching him, hanging on every word.

He watched the road for another minute, staring at the beams of headlights.

“I guess the point of all that was to say that when I saw Livia . . . I felt something.”

I watched the side of his face as he stared ahead. He’d felt something. Something big? Or just . . . something good? I didn’t know. All that mattered was that I’d been far away—a distant memory—and he’d felt something in that moment with her right in front of him, something special enough to hold on to. And now he would stand by that choice.

“Okay,” I whispered. I faced forward and didn’t look at him again.

I
slept until nine thirty the next morning. That was long for me, but I still awoke groggy with my head pounding. In the bathroom, I stared down at the water in the toilet. The plumbing was working for now, but that water . . . it seemed so innocent, so normal, but I’d spent the last part of the day yesterday seeing how organisms in that water were killing people. Being terrified to use the bathroom was a whole new level of strange.

I went to the backyard and peed against the wall. I couldn’t believe it had come to this. An antibacterial shower would be amazing right about now.

I joined my family in the kitchen and saw my mom lifting a bottle of water to her lips. I cried out and raised a hand. She jumped and said, “What?!”

My heart was pounding erratically.

“It’s bottled water,” Dad said soothingly. “It’s not from the tap, Amber.” He, Mom, Abuela, and Grandpa were all staring at me.

I collapsed into a chair, holding my aching head, my heart slowing. I was sure Dad had told Mom everything last night because I vaguely recalled her sitting next to me on the bed and petting my hair.

“Don’t even wash your hands in it,” I said.

“We haven’t let any tap water touch us since the DRI gave us the warning,” Mom assured me. In truth, my headache was probably due to dehydration. I’d been too terrified to drink any water yesterday as the infected patients streamed in.

“We boil the hell out of the water before we use it,” Grandpa said. I nodded and eyed the coffee. I knew the germs had to be dead, but I still could not stomach the idea of drinking anything that had come from those faucets.

Abuela got up and went to the camping stove, filling a bowl with scrambled eggs, black beans, and rice. She put it in front of me and sat beside me, rubbing my back.

“That’s the last of the eggs,” Mom said to Dad. They shared a look. They’d been keeping the eggs and dairy stuff on ice in a cooler, but the ice was now melted.

“It’s been days,” he said. “They should be getting the power up and running now. This is getting ridiculous. I asked the grocery store manager when their next shipment would be in and he said he had no idea, and that their generator was about done.”

Grandpa shook his head and gave a gruff grunt. “Don’t tell anyone about our goods. They’ll be over here trying to get their hands on it.”

Nobody said anything to that. Times weren’t desperate enough to ravish neighbors’ homes. But if the power remained out, and stores weren’t replenished, and people couldn’t access their money to be able to buy or trade . . . what was going to happen? Especially with the water being infected. Water was a necessity, and bottled water sources in local stores were already gone.

I shivered, and Abuela rubbed my back again.

I ate all of my breakfast and then made my way to the pantry where I picked up a bottle of water. I wasn’t prone to anxiety, but I felt panic symptoms as I unscrewed the cap and tilted the bottle up to my mouth. What if these water bottling companies had been infected as well? People could live without food for a while, but not without water. My body needed the liquid so badly that I chugged the entire thing, despite my terror. By the end there were tears in the corners of my eyes.
Please don’t let me get sick.
I stood inside the pantry, breathing hard, trying to hide my near-anxiety attack from my family.

My arms prickled, as if the burn of whelps were rising on my skin. I rubbed my hands up and down my arms. I couldn’t see anything. But I was so hot I broke out in a sweat. Was it a fever? I could feel hives rising.

The pantry door suddenly swung open and Mom’s eyes widened when she saw me hunched over on myself, sweating.

“Dios! Baby, what’s wrong?” She pulled me out and the others rushed over. The kitchen was so much cooler than the pantry. Mom ran a hand over my forehead, smoothing back my hair, the worry apparent on her face. Dad looked me over.

“Are you feeling okay?” he asked.

“Is she sick?” Grandpa yelled too loudly.

I looked at my arms again, then down at my legs. Normal. I felt my cheeks. Cool. Oh, my God . . . it had all been in my imagination. And now I was shaking all over.

“I just . . .” I stammered. “I’m okay.”

Mom wrapped an arm around me and led me into the living room, down onto the couch. “Listen to me, Amber.” She took my chin and forced my eyes to meet hers. “You need to take this day off.”

I shook my head. There was no way.

“You listen,” she said again. “Take the morning off. You are going to make yourself sick.”

I closed my eyes and leaned my head back, slumping. I really could not imagine getting in the car and driving to that elementary school right now.

“Okay,” I said. “I’m going to take some ibuprofen and rest until after lunch. And then I really have to go.” I looked at her again. “They need me. So many people are sick from the water—”

“I know.” She squeezed my forearm and got up to get me another bottle of water and some meds for my headache. She watched me as I looked hesitantly at the water, even sniffing it, before I finally drank. “Just promise me, Amber . . . if you see any suspicious people walking around . . . any suspicious packages or boxes or bags, you run. Don’t worry about anyone else. You can’t save everyone.
You run
.” The adamancy in her voice made me nod.

My stomach was too full. I lay my head back again, hoping I would not puke up all of the water I’d forced down. I took even breaths, trying to relax. When I felt better, I went into the bathroom and scrubbed myself down from head to toe with antibacterial wipes, then pulled my hair back into a slick, high bun. Mom tried to talk me into going back to my room, but I wanted to be with them. So she had me curl up in the corner of the couch with a pillow and blanket.

Dad turned on the radio and we all sat together, listening. The news was dire, even more so today.

“The Eiffel Tower has fallen,”
the newscaster announced. Holy shit.
“I repeat, the Eiffel Tower. . .”

“God damn it.” Dad grasped his head in his hands and leaned his elbows on his knees.

Things were not getting better. They were worsening. Hearing the details spout from the radio, I felt like I might sink under the despair. It was as if whoever was responsible wanted to wipe out all of the world’s history—every symbol of culture and pride. They wanted to leave us with nothing, and it felt like they were against everyone on earth. Anyone who thought the attacks were from the Middle East was flabbergasted when oil refineries were blown sky high. The ruler of North Korea and half his army? Gone. That shady Russian leader? Adios. This was like a serial killer of epic proportions, leaving lands in anarchy.

Looking around at my family, it made me miss Tater and Rylen so much. Even though Rylen was only a potato field away, he seemed so much farther than that. And Tater . . . I wondered how he was. I hoped he was keeping safe, and not drinking the water.

I nearly jumped out of my skin when the front door flew open. Ry’s key was in his hand, and his face swiveled over our family members until his eyes locked on me.

His face was ghostly white. “Pepper . . .”

“What’s wrong?” I sat up, flinging off the blanket.

“My dad.”

I
grabbed my medic kit from Mom’s car and sprinted behind Rylen through his potato field. We rushed up the steps, through the creaky screen door that slammed behind us. Inside smelled musty, like old furniture and old scents of grease that had yellowed the walls and ceilings. The throw rugs were threadbare and faded. The place was cluttered, with junk piled up in corners, but otherwise clean.