The lost churches of New York and New Jersey..
When devastating hurricanes struck the east coast, even houses of worship were not spared.
A local television station interviewed a woman from New York’s Harlem area and
asked how the loss of churches in the area had affected their lives.
Without hesitation, the woman replied, “I don’t know ’bout all them
other peoples, but we ain’t been to Church’s in years. We gets our chicken from Popeye’s.”
The look on the interviewer’s face was priceless.
It’s here! And only 99cents until the end of the month, so hurry and pick up your copy!
Insanity is tearing America apart.
Mobs of crazies own the streets and club anyone who provokes their wrath.
Government officials are dead or are being hunted to extinction.
The National Guard is killing everyone in sight
The Air Force is bombing anything that moves.
Is this the legacy of genetic tampering or a terrorist attack with weaponize rabies?
As madness consumes the Vally of the Sun, a group of family and friends will run the gauntlet to escape the city.
They will depend on each other for safety and comfort.
They will trust in each other’s sanity.
Unaware their worst enemy is already among them, waiting to strike.
kobo
ibooks
Chapter 6
Drew palmed his gun and aimed the business end at the vertical blinds covering the sliding doors to the backyard. So much for the golden plan to shelter in place. They’d been here less than an hour and already invaders wanted in the house. He wished that thin plate of glass was bulletproof. Then again, shit ran downstream and he always stood in a gully. He thumbed off the safety. “Marcus, if you don’t feel up to killing something, give the gun to Rosa.”
She already had one kill under her belt.
What was one more face to add to the night terrors? They would both find out tonight. His body count was up to five, might as well make it an even half-dozen. Drew steadied the gun.
“Um…” Marcus cleared his throat. “I left the gun in the bathroom when I showered.”
A fist banged on the glass, rattling it. “Open the fucking door.”
Drew’s eyes twitched. “Smooth move, Einstein.”
With a brain that big, he’d thought there’d be room for common sense. Guess, he was wrong. At least, Einstein wasn’t holding a gun. The golden plan called for sports equipment to be turned into deadly weapons. He glanced over his shoulder.
Everyone at the table played at statues.
Drew swore under his breath. “What are you? Amateurs on opening night? Shake a leg before someone breaks it.”
Ellen blinked. “Kids. Bathroom. Now.”
She set a hand on her daughter’s shoulder, steering her, then her brother behind the gaggle of teenagers heading down the hall.
Good. She would have access to the gun. If the invaders got past Drew, she might be able to finish off the rest of them.
The older couple headed for the garage. Drew hoped they had deadly sporting equipment on their shopping list.
“Geez, diva much.” Standing by the kitchen island, Rosa pulled a large knife from the block and handed it to Marcus. She rose on tiptoe and pulled a large cast-iron skillet from the rack overhead.
Drew cocked an eyebrow. “You planning to cook ’em an omelet, science chick?”
She tossed her head, brown hair slapping her shoulders. “It worked for Disney.”
“And so did all the furry forest creatures, Cinder-scientist. That don’t make it real.” So much for the family being immune to the crazy. Drew crept closer to the blinds. If he were smart, he’d pull back the blinds and shoot through the glass door to the invader on the other side.
But then he’d have to repair a door, and a trip to the local HoDee’s just wasn’t on his list of stupid-ass things to do.
He adjusted his hold on the gun. “Ready?”
Rosa scrambled onto the granite counter near the door and raised her skillet above her head. “Ready.”
Marcus cut the air with his knife, then hunched down like a defensive lineman preparing to tackle. “Ready.”
Definitely amateur night. Still, it was better than facing a jacked-up dealer in a dark alley. Drew yanked on the cord to the vertical blinds. The top of the white slats jerked to the left while the bottom fishtailed to the right.
A large black man filled the view. Blood marred his bald scalp. Raw skin dotted his cheek.
Drew’s ribs bound his lungs in a tight cage. Holy shit! Were hallucinations part of the crazy?
“Open the fucking door, Whiteangel, so I can kick your ass.”
Please take a moment to appreciate those in your life, and be kind to someone, a stranger may be the only person they have.
I arrived at the address and honked the horn.
After waiting a few minutes I honked again.
Since this was going to be my last ride of my shift I thought about just driving away, but instead I put the car in park and walked up to the door and knocked..
‘Just a minute’, answered a frail, elderly voice. I could hear something being
dragged across the floor.
After a long pause, the door opened.
A small woman in her 90’s stood before me. She was wearing a print dress and
a pillbox hat with a veil pinned on it, like somebody out of a 1940’s
movie.
By her side was a small nylon suitcase. The apartment looked as if no one had lived in it for years. All the furniture was covered with sheets.
There were no clocks on the walls, no knickknacks or utensils on the counters.
In the corner was a cardboard box filled with photos and glassware.
‘Would you carry my bag out to the car?’ she said.
I took the suitcase to the cab, then returned to assist the woman.
She took my arm and we walked slowly toward the curb.
She kept thanking me for my kindness.
‘It’s nothing’, I told her. ‘I just try to treat my passengers the way I would
want my mother to be treated.’
‘Oh, you’re such a good boy, she said.
When we got in the cab, she gave me an address and then asked, ‘Could you drive
through downtown?’
‘It’s not the shortest way,’ I answered quickly..
‘Oh, I don’t mind,’ she said. ‘I’m in no hurry. I’m on my way to a hospice.
I looked in the rear-view mirror. Her eyes were glistening.
‘I don’t have any family left,’ she continued in a soft voice.. ‘The
doctor says I don’t have very long.’
I quietly reached over and shut off the meter.
‘What route would you like me to take?’ I asked.
For the next two hours, we drove through the city.
She showed me the building where she had once worked as an elevator
operator.
We drove through the neighbourhood where she and her husband had lived when they were newlyweds.
She had me pull up in front of a furniture warehouse that had once been a
ballroom where she had gone dancing as a girl.
Sometimes she’d ask me to slow in front of a particular building or corner and would sit
staring into the darkness, saying nothing.
As the first hint of sun was creasing the horizon, she suddenly said, ‘I’m tired. Let’s go
now’.
We drove in silence to the address she had given me.
It was a low building, like a small convalescent home, with a driveway that
passed under a portico.
Two orderlies came out to the cab as soon as we pulled up. They were solicitous and intent, watching her every move. They must have been expecting her.
I opened the trunk and took the small suitcase to the door. The woman was already seated in a wheelchair.
‘How much do I owe you?’ She asked, reaching into her purse.
‘Nothing,’ I answered.
‘You have to make a living,’ she said.
‘There are other passengers,’ I responded.
Almost without thinking, I bent and gave her a hug.
She held onto me tightly.
‘You gave an old woman a little moment of joy,’ she said. ‘Thank you.’
I squeezed her hand, and then walked into the dim morning light.
Behind me, a door shut. It was the sound of the closing of a life..
For the rest of that day, I could hardly talk. What if that woman had gotten
an angry driver, or one who was impatient to end his shift?
What if I had refused to take the run, or had honked once, then driven
away?
On a quick review, I don’t think that I have done anything more important in my life.
We’re conditioned to think that our lives revolve around great moments.
But great moments often catch us unaware – beautifully wrapped in
what others may consider a small one.
PEOPLE MAY NOT REMEMBER EXACTLY WHAT YOU DID, OR WHAT YOU SAID.BUT
THEY WILL ALWAYS REMEMBER HOW YOU MADE THEM FEEL.
Life may not be the party we hoped for, but while we are here we might as well dance.
It is amazing the number of times I write the same book. I go over it 3 -4 times then pass it along to beta readers and revise again. After that it visits an editor. Then comes back and is corrected before being read out loud to me on my iPad. Mistakes get through. Why? Because I’ve read it so many times, I don’t what is there, but what I think is there.
At some point I just scream uncle and let it go out of my hands.
Then I start writing the next book. It is a masochistic cycle. One that will never end. Ever, but I keep writing.
Even now, waiting for the final edits of Hadean 2, my brain is cycling through 8 story ideas. 8.
But here’s the secret. It isn’t the editing that I find the hardest. It’s getting the words onto the page. I can fix anything. I can’t fix nothing:D. If that makes your head want to explode, then you know how I feel most days.
The end.
Chapter 1
Chapter 5
Rosa Robelski tore the pizza crust to pieces in her shaky fingers. Had she just said that her family and friends would have to leave their home? Yes. Yes, she had. The golden brown scraps plopped onto the grease congealing on her paper plate.
“We’re not safe here.”She repeated, hoping her words would sink into her skull and stick.
Around the long table assembled for family gatherings, her cousin shifted in her seat. Her teenage friends stared at their plates of pizza and salads. The others blinked, as if exposed to daylight after a long night.
Little Erin, Rosa’s six-year-old niece opened her mouth. A wad of chewed food plopped onto her plate before she burst into tears. “I don’t wanna be mean like daddy.”
At the head of the table, Rosa’s sister chucked her paper napkin onto her plate and shoved back her chair. The legs scraping the tile ripped apart the silence. Ellen glowered as she rushed to her daughter’s side. “Really, Rosa? You couldn’t have waited until after lunch?”
Rosa crumbled the sliver of crust. Her sister could be such a pain in the ass. And everyone thought she was in denial. “I thought we were talking about our day.”
A day that had started normal enough, but ended with the psychotic guard from her workplace stealing her purse, identification, and keys.
The guard who’d invaded her house.
The guard who’d vandalized a month’s supply of food.
The guard whose brains she’d blown out to save Marcus Westmoreland’s life.
On her left, her coworker Marcus stiffened. Moisture stuck his burnt gold curls to his skull and dripped onto the Alice in Chains t-shirt. The borrowed shirt stretched taut across his chest, reminding her he was much more than an IT repair geek. He, too, had killed—to save her life.
“I would think you’d want your children to know what’s going on so the could be prepared.” Rosa glanced down the table to her neighbors on the right.
Mr. Brent, sitting in her father’s usual spot, clasped his wife Kelly’s hand. “Prepared for what exactly?”
Mrs. Kelly shoved her salad around her plate with her plastic fork. “And how is it related to food?”
Rosa’s stomach clenched, threatening to return her lunch to her mouth. This was it. The moment of truth. But would they believe her? She clasped her drink. Condensation slicked her palm. “The food is what’s causing everyone to go crazy.”
Erin buried her face in her mother’s chest. Her tiny fingers clutching Ellen’s shirt.
Ellen rolled her eyes, while smoothing her daughter’s brown hair. “Auntie Rosa isn’t talking about this food, sweetie. She’s talking about the other food, not the kind that mommy cooks with.”
Most of the time. Rosa took a sip of her soda before she corrected her sister. They all enjoyed soda and fast food. They were all at risk of catching the crazy. The sweet liquid turned bitter on her tongue.
Ellen’s neighbor, Drew took a pull on his beer before setting the glass bottle across the green tablecloth. “This is the organic thing, yeah?”
“Not again.” Cousin Raine shook a sliced mushroom at Rosa before shoving it into her mouth and chewing. “Your crusading still gets me the stink eye from the lunch ladies at Beaver Creek. Now, you’re going off that it’s making people crazy.”
At the head of the table, Mr. Brent swiped at the tomato sauce on his lips. “I remember your folks saying something about it. Genetically engineered foods, or such.”
A cascade of words blocked Rosa’s ability to speak. There was so much to say. Where would she begin in a manner that they would understand?
Clearing his throat, Marcus twirled his plastic fork in his fingers. “Genetically engineered is one word to describe it, although it is misleading. I for one usually associate engineering with precision and a knowledge of strengths and weaknesses. What is done to the genome of a seed is more akin to buckshot from a shotgun.”
Rosa winced. The memory of the guard’s head exploding played out on her eyelids. She wished he’d chosen a better image. His IQ was high enough that he should have been able to think of something. “Marcus has a PhD.”
“Two PhDs.” A blush stained his cheeks.
If he was embarrassed to be a smarty pants, he shouldn’t have corrected her. But she’d known why he’d done it. Credibility. Mr. Brent and half the table were looking for another reason. She set her hand over Marcus’s, stilling his spinning fork. “Marcus has two PhDs, and his family owns the research facility where I work.”
Ellen settled her daughter back into her chair then swiped up the blob of regurgitated food. “You can eat, sweetie. The pizza and salad are safe. Mommy and Grandmother made it.”
Sniffling, little Erin scrubbed her damp cheeks. Watery brown eyes glared at Rosa. “I’m not mean like Daddy.”
“Of course you’re not.” Instead of reaching across the table to comfort her niece, Rosa wrapped her arm around her nephew on her right and hugged him close. “You and your brother are nice. Your mom makes sure you eat good nutritious food.”
Although that wouldn’t explain why Ellen’s ex had flipped out. They’d only been divorced for a little while, so his exposure to genetically-engineered foods wouldn’t have been that long. Rosa glanced at Marcus. Could they have missed something?
Her nephew, Rafael, squirmed out of Rosa’s embrace. “I knew I wasn’t crazy.”
Rafe stuck his tongue out at his sister.
“Right.” Tosseling his hair, Rosa doubted crazy people knew they were crazy. Wouldn’t they justify their actions by blaming others? This morning, folks wouldn’t have surrendered to road rage if the car hadn’t broken down and blocked a lane of traffic. God knew what the guard had thought. She shut down memories of the guard. Now what had she been saying?
Mr. Brent folded his pizza and pointed it at her. “We eat regular food and we’re not crazy. Heck, there were lots of folks on the bus home, and they didn’t look like the granola-eating Hippie type.”
Rosa gritted her teeth. Hippies were the ones who promoted free love, freer drugs, and freedom from responsibility. Wanting to know what you were eating wasn’t the same thing. “We require labels to make informed decisions. Our clothes have labels, our medicines have labels, even our mattresses have labels.”
“So does a can of corn, dear.” Mrs. Kelly nibbled on a piece of Romaine lettuce.
God, could the woman be any more obtuse? Rosa leaned over her plate. “The label doesn’t tell you that a pesticide is grafted into the genetic code of the corn. That label doesn’t tell you that a virus is added, to make sure the corn is constantly producing the pesticide, at the cost of nutrition or your health.”
Mrs. Kelly chewed slowly for a moment before shrugging.
“I don’t think the government would let us eat it if it wasn’t safe.” Mr. Brent tore off a piece of his pizza.
Rosa rose from her seat. “The government is more concerned with biotechnology and business than the safety of the people. The people at the head of the FDA are appointed based on their political connections, not their concern for public health or their scientific acumen. They’re nothing but corporatists, who put profit over people.”
Swallowing, Mr. Brent dropped his pizza onto his plate. “Would you prefer that we turn communist?”
“Name calling is the resort of those who have no data to back up their views and are afraid of change.” Rosa wadded up her napkin and chucked it on her plate. And she wasn’t going to stand here and be insulted.
Marcus stood, shifting so he blocked her exit. “This is your family.”
And he’d given up his ride home to be with her and her family. She flattened her hand against his chest. His heart thudded against her palm. Her shoulders bowed.
Ellen’s chair creaked when she sat. “What makes you think it is the food?”
Marcus cocked his head. A honey-colored curl drooped over his forehead.
Rosa nodded and dropped onto her seat. “The animals that we’ve been feeding the genetically-engineered food to were dead. We’d thought we’d had a break-in, but the evidence indicated that many had flown into a rage and…” Her gaze cut to her niece and nephew. “Their actions led to their deaths.”
“Suicide?” Ellen’s neighbor, Drew leaned back in his chair and stacked his two empty plates. “Like people have been doing?”
“It was a form of suicide,” she supposed. Or a bid for freedom. And yet…
Marcus scratched his chin like he did when he was thinking. “There was also evidence that they killed each other.”
Mr. Brent snorted. “People are not rats.” He gestured to the closed drapes blocking out the emerging sunshine and the arcadia doors. “This is because people are fed up with the government, politicians, and… corporatists.”
Cousin Raine wrinkled her nose before turning to her dark-hair, bruised friend from school. “From what Jason said, he eats organic.” She set her hand on his arm before turning to Brent and Kelly Zindell. “But I know Cheyenne and her parents don’t.” After shoving her white-blond hair out of her eyes, she pointed to the guy across from her. “Colton didn’t eat organic until he came to live with us. If it’s the food, then why aren’t they crazy, too?”
Rosa stacked her fork on her uneaten food. And there it was, the facts that smashed her perfectly good theory.
Lips twitching, Mr. Brent finished his slice of pizza.
Marcus slid his empty plate under hers. “Not everyone gets sick at the same time. There are bound to be people resistant to the crazy, whose body can repair rogue genetic code faster, mitigating the effects. It makes sense that it would follow blood lines.”
God, she could kiss him. Such an explanation was brilliantly simple. Rosa stood just as he moved away. “And there’s the rage itself. Aside from the ACTH, there’s two hormones involved in the rage response that do double duty in pair bonding. Since we’re a close family with lots of touching, the secondary hormones could calm us so we don’t trip into crazyland.”
Somehow she doubted the government would go for the whole touchy-feely therapy. Gathering her nephew’s plate, she picked up Marcus’s discarded napkin and fork near her sister.
Drew side-eyed Ellen. “So, touching is the cure, yeah? I like to touch.”
Shaking her head, Ellen rolled her eyes but patted his hand. She leaned over her soup bowl, and her shirt gaped open. “Feeling calmer?”
Drew’s attention dropped to her exposed skin. “Well, I definitely ain’t feeling unusually crazy.”
At the far end of the table, Mr. Brent cleared his throat. “So if some of us are immune, and touch is the cure, there’s no reason to leave our homes, or the valley. We stick to the plan.”
Picking up Ellen’s empty soup bowl, Drew pushed to his feet. “What is this golden plan I keep hearing about?”
Ellen smoothed her crumpled napkin then began to fold it. “Well, um.”
Crafting had always been her sister’s way to deal with stress. Rosa had gotten a quilt out of her divorce. “We stay here and wait until the all clear is given. Then we resume life as usual.”
Simple.
Easy.
Rosa didn’t think it would work. They might be safe from the crazy, but everyone else’s train had derailed the tracks of sanity.
Embarrassment painted Ellen’s face in broad red strokes. “We have food for a month. Dad bought a filter for us to drink the pool water. We have propane tanks for cooking. Food, water and shelter all in one place.”
“And protection?” Drew’s hand dropped to the gun at his waist.
Rosa looked away. She didn’t want to see a gun for a while.
“We have knives, bats, and hockey sticks.” Mr. Brent used his beer bottle to point to the garage. “And enough adults to keep watch while the others sleep and prepare. We’re set.”
“If they’re gonna challenge you to a game of shirts versus skins.” Drew’s disbelief bounced off the high ceilings. “I mean real protection. Something to hurt or maim badly.”
At the thud on the table, Rosa flinched. That weight. It had to be the gun.
“My father doesn’t allow guns in the house.” Ellen’s statement produced a snort.
“Do any of you even know how to use a gun?” Drew tossed his scorn on the table.
Rosa raised her hand.
So did everyone else at the table, even little Erin. They’d all had gun safety classes after Cheyenne’s rape. And self defense courses. And survival bootcamp. Her parents were quite thorough.
Smiling, Mr. Brent slowly lowered his hand. “So you see, we aren’t as defenseless as you think. Paul Robelski believed the best way to survive was to band with others and use force only if absolutely necessary.”
“Sorry I missed the sign post to Fairyland when I walked into the neighborhood.” Drew stomped to the sink. “At least, we have two guns—Rosa’s and mine. Someone comes with another, and we’ll have that one, too.”
The flap of the garbage banged open when he dumped the dirty plates inside. He slapped on the tap to wash his hands.
Rosa shivered. The plan had so many holes, it might as well be made of Swiss cheese.
Mrs. Kelly dumped her empty plate onto her daughter Cheyenne’s. “Help with the clean up, Sweet Pea.”
Flicking it off, Cheyenne snapped. “I’m still eating here.”
Silence blanketed the room at the outburst.
Rosa froze; her breath locked in her lungs. Could she be wrong about the touch thing?
Colton nudged Cheyenne before spearing up his salad. “We eat, then we’ll clean up.”
Cheyenne nodded then glanced up. “What?”
Rosa’s shaky laugh joined the others’. She could deal with normal teenage angst. “Marcus and I will clean up. Why don’t you guys play board games with Erin and Rafael after you finish?”
Monopoly and Sorry didn’t involve violence or shooting. Circling around the table, she picked up Drew’s stacked plates then stopped by her niece Erin’s spot.
“Mom said we could have ice cream.” Erin leaned back in her metal folding chair and wiggled her loose tooth with her tongue.
“I think we have ice cream.” Non organic. Rosa bit her tongue. Ice cream had to be exempt from crazy-inducing or what was the point of living?
“And go swimming.” Rafe shoved the last bit of crust into his mouth. His cowlick fell over his eyes when he shoved his plate at her.
Swimming… Swimming was outside. The crazies were outside. Rosa glanced at the door. The sun must have scuttled behind a cloud as the outside darkened. Surely her sister wouldn’t let them go out there?
Ellen cleared her throat. “Why don’t you play a few games while you eat your ice cream. I’m pretty sure I saw lightning, and you know you can’t swim when it’s lightning out.”
Nice save. Rosa padded into the kitchen. The vertical blinds clacked together in the breeze of the ceiling fan. Between the gaps in the slats, movement shifted in her peripheral vision. She paused by the kitchen island. Was someone outside?
Her memory kicked back the image of the dead guard.
Marcus tugged the plates from her clutched hands and tossed them onto the granite counters. His arm swept around her shoulders. “You’ve gone pale on me. Are you going to pass out?”
“I thought I saw…”
Boo, the chocolate lab, lifted his head. His ears pricked up as he stared at the sliding door.
A loud rap echoed around the room. “Let us in. Or we’ll break the damn glass and come in anyway.”
Since today is my birthday, I thought this would be funny to post.
As I age, I realize that:
Old age is coming at a really bad time!
I don’t trip over things, I do random gravity checks!
I don’t need anger management. I need people to stop pissing me off!
My people skills are just fine. It’s my tolerance of idiots that needs work.
The biggest lie I tell myself is “I don’t need to write that down, I’ll remember it.”
I talk to myself because sometimes I need expert advice.
Sometimes I roll my eyes out loud?
When I was a child I thought nap time was punishment. Now it’s like a mini vacation!
The day the world runs out of wine is just too terrible to think about!
I don’t have gray hair. I have “wisdom highlights”. I’m just very wise.
I like my middle finger best because it always sticks up for me!
I’ve lost my mind and I’m pretty sure my kids took it!Even duct tape can’t fix stupid, but it can muffle the sound!
Wouldn’t it be great if we could put ourselves in the dryer for ten minutes; come out wrinkle-free and three sizes smaller!Last year I joined a support group for procrastinators. We haven’t met yet!
If God wanted me to touch my toes, he would’ve put them on my knees.
When the kids text me “plz” which is shorter than please. I text back “no” which is shorter than “yes”.
At my age “Getting lucky” means walking into a room and remembering what I came in there for.
Chocolate comes from cocoa which is a tree, which makes it a plant, which means it’s salad….Almost.
Lord grant me the strength to accept the things I cannot change, the courage to change the things I can & the friends to post my bail when I finally snap and give me patience and give it to me NOW.
Green statement: No trees were harmed in the sending of this email, but billions of electrons were really agitated.
I don’t know many authors who don’t mourn the loss of bookstores. It is one of the best ways we get to meet and interact with readers. Thankfully, writers are creative people and my friend came up with the Indie 800. It’s a crowdfunded attempt to build not just an amazing bookstore, but an arts center for all those who visit Phoenix.
So here are the benefits for becoming a charter member:
Benefits to Charter Members
website or Amazon/iTunes page. (This is a huge benefit in a city like Phoenix which attracts tourists, since most travelers do not want to pack art or books when flying.)
For more information visit: http://www.dogearedpagesusedbooks.com/?page=shop/disp&pid=page_indie800
Chapter 4
“Don’t throw the controller.” Raine Czekalski barked the order to her little cousin a second too late. The wing-shaped game controller bounced off the brown sectional and plunged toward the marble tile of the family room floor. Ignoring the damage, her six-year-old cousin skipped to the long dinner table. Being ignored by the little brat was the same as before.
Before her teacher crushed a fellow classmate’s skull with a projector.
Before the Nerd Court put her on trial for minding her own business.
Before members of the Beaver Creek High baseball team attempted to use her head for batting practice.
Raine had heard things changed during Senior year, but she wasn’t a senior. Yet.
If ever.
No. No. She couldn’t think like that. Holding her arms rigidly at her sides, she stomped across the tile. Just because so much was different than before, didn’t mean things wouldn’t return to normal soon. Her uncle had planned for a bad event, had set aside supplies for it. That was only supposed to last three days. Her uncle had never been wrong in the last ten years. Hadn’t made a mistake since he’d picked her up from Child Protective Services, after her parents died in an automobile accident.
Raine blinked, returning to the present.
Before the game controller slid into the chocolate lab snoring beside the TV stand, a tan hand caught it. Brown eyes crinkled behind a curtain of brown hair. “Got it.” After carefully setting the wing-shaped device beside the gaming console, Jason DeWitt winked at her.
He was an after. Definitely.
“Thank you.” For the last three years, Jason had been her rival in every class they took together. And there’d been at least four every semester. Like God, the universe, and fate all conspired against her.
But this was after he’d led her out of her classroom.
After he’d convinced the Nerd Court to release her.
After he’d confessed that he had no one waiting for him at home.
Raine shook out her clenched fingers. Jason wasn’t a bad after, but was it so wrong to want things to stay the same?
Jason loped toward her. The rolling gait not of the cocky know-it-all she’d once assumed, but of an accomplished gymnast. “I always wanted to be part of a large family.”
“Yeah.” Raine eyed her cousins, their friends, and her two best friends queueing up to the kitchen island to load slices of pizza onto their paper plates. That was kinda the same. The knot in her stomach unraveled a bit. In three days, everything would return to normal. She had to believe it.
The doorbell chimed in the hall.
Everyone froze in place.
Raine locked her knees to keep from collapsing. Please don’t let the crazy start again. Please don’t let the crazy start again.
Her oldest cousin, Ellen, unloaded an armful of soda cans onto the counter and headed for the front door. “We’re expecting the Zindells to return. It’s probably them.”
Her dark haired neighbor darted in front of her while pulling a gun from his waistband. “You gotta peephole to check?”
Raine’s shoulders relaxed a hair. That’s right, they were expecting Cheyenne’s folks.
“Of course,” Ellen crooked her finger at him to follow. “And cameras in the front.”
The knot of fear tightened in Raine’s gut. The gun was definitely an after. Even though she, her cousins, and her aunt had shooting lessons, Uncle Paul didn’t allow guns in his house. Raine chewed on her bottom lip. Oh, how, she wished her roly-poly uncle and stick-bug aunt were here, now.
Stopping in front of her, Jason rocked back on his heels. Blunt fingers combed the flap of dark hair out of his eyes, exposing the bruise on his forearm. “You okay?”
Her mouth opened and a strangled sound rasped up her throat.
“Yeah. It’s been a…” Jason shrugged. His eyes darkened for a moment. “You gotta believe they’re okay, right? I mean they’re old, but not so old that…”
Guilt made her skin tighten and itch. Her aunt and uncle were in familiar territory, traveling to see her grandmother. His parents were on a cruise. Were there any places to hide on a ship?
“I’m sure they’re fine.” Raine sucked cold air through her teeth. Nodding, she pinned the thought in place, guaranteeing it was the first thing she’d think of.
She jerked her head to the kitchen island. “I hope you’re hungry. My sister’s pizza is the best.”
Only her friends Cheyenne and Colton remained in line. With broken fingernails, Cheyenne peeled pepperoni off her pizza and dropped them onto Colton’s plate. Blond heads bent together, they debated the merits of which dressing to add to their salads—Italian or Ranch.
Jason nudged her shoulder. “You sure their new kissy-status doesn’t bother you?”
“As if.” Raine rolled her eyes. Colton and Cheyenne were a before.
Cheyenne rose on tiptoes and kissed Colton’s bruised jaw.
Okay, that was afterish. But these were her friends. Raine padded toward the open kitchen in her socks. Plus, they’d both assured her nothing would change; they’d still be the Three Musketeers.
“Good.” Jason’s fingers skimmed her back before hanging loosely from his sides.
Voices echoed in the entryway leading to the great room. The deep rumble of a man’s voice overrode the others.
The hair on Raine’s arms stood on end. Snatching a plate off the table, she held it like a shield in front of her. Please, don’t let anything bad happen. Please, don’t let anything bad happen.
On her right, Jason gripped the folding chair. His knuckles flashed white.
Cheyenne’s dad appeared first. His ice blue eyes slid off her, stuck on Jason then moved onto Rosa’s friend. Stepping inside the great room next, Cheyenne’s mother gestured in sweeping motions to a nodding Ellen. Ellen’s friend clung to the shadows painting the hall.
Raine shivered. The Zindells were a before. They’d often dined here. Heck, she considered them another set of surrogate parents. So why did this feel like an after?
Jason tugged the chair next to hers out from under the folding table. The long green tablecloth brushed the floor. “Do you want to sit and I’ll get you a slice of mushroom?”
How did he know she liked mushroom over pepperoni? How—
“Daddy!” Shoving her plate at Colton, Cheyenne bounded across the room. Her white-blond hair bounced around her oval face.
Mr. Brent opened his arms and grinned at his daughter. “Sweet Pea!”
Stomach churning, Raine turned away from the reunion. She would throw herself at her aunt and uncle just as soon as they returned home.
Colton grinned at her on his way to the table. One plate contained a pyramid of salad and a narrow slice of skinned bread with bits of cheese and sauce. The other had three oversized pieces on a bed of green glued in place by a pond of Ranch dressing. “Don’t worry, you two. There’s still plenty of mushroom left.”
Her friends’ appetites were the same as before. This situation was only temporary.
“There better be.” Raine growled. Reaching the counter first, she tossed down her plate then snagged the last two pieces of mushroom pizza. The warm dough sagged in her fingers. Cheese oozed toward the sides as heat transferred to her skin. She glanced down. Empty granite. “Where…”
With ninja skills, Jason snagged her plate, holding it opposite his own. “Trade you one plate for one piece of pizza.”
“That’s blackmail.” Hot cheese stretched over the sides of her slice. She shifted her hand, causing the glob to swing.
“Nah, blackmailers wouldn’t be happy with just one slice.” He shook the plates like tambourines. “They’d want one and a half to start, then force you to order more and more and more.”
The hot cheese splatted against her wrist. She hissed through the starburst of heat. “My uncle is a lawyer. He would advise me to stand strong against blackmailers.”
“Then consider this payback. You know the lunch ladies only make one mushroom pizza for second lunch. And you always have your friends save you a place in line so you can get the last piece.” Switching one plate to his other hand, Jason twirled his finger through the string of cheese connecting her to the pizza. He pulled the blob free from her skin, then stuck the wad inside his mouth. His eyes closed as he swallowed. “Mmmm.”
Her insides did a funny dance. Maybe not all the after things were bad. “This is ridiculous.”
“I agree.” Jason divided the plates into his hands. His brown eyes widened as if an app had made him deliberately look like a pathetic puppy dog. “Since you don’t like the idea of blackmail or payback. Think of this as charity. The only pizza I’m allowed is at school. You’re doing me a great service by allowing me to eat real pizza.”
Raine tore the slices apart, dealing each onto a plate. Once her hands were free, she blew on her red fingertips then wiped her greasy fingers on her pants. “You got a slice of my pizza. You can stop the act.”
He weighed the plates in his hands before shoving the smaller piece at her. “Who’s acting? My parents think processed foods are the Devil’s handiwork.” Shifting away, he stared at the untouched pepperoni pizza on the counter before selecting a corner piece. “I had my first Snickers bar on my first day at Beaver Creek.”
“Nuh-uh.” How stupid did he think she was? Raine snapped the salad tongs at him. “If you’re gonna lie, at least make it believable.”
“It’s true.” Jason held up his hand before pinching a blob of cheese left on the pan. “My parents are health nuts. I thought shakes were green and made from vegetables until I was six and discovered ice cream.”
She shuddered. Her cousin had made some dreadful kale drinks after doing a report on GMOs her sophomore year in high school. Even though Raine was six years younger, the lunch ladies had long memories and still gave her the stink eye—guilt by association.
Jason added another slice to his plate, glanced at the nearly empty salad bowl and shifted his plate away from the offending vegetables.
She dished two helpings of salad onto her plate, right over her slices of pizza, then drizzled the ranch over everything. Dropping the tongs into the lettuce, she pushed the bowl toward him. “House rule: you have to have a vegetable at every meal.”
He dropped two leaves onto his plate. “Satisfied?”
“Sure.” Especially since she just made up the rule. Turning, she stared at the table. Air left her lungs like she’d been sucker-punched.
Mr. Brent sat in her uncle’s seat.
The plate of food wobbled in Raine’s hand. It wasn’t right. He shouldn’t be there. He—
Jason brushed her shoulder. “I got you a Dr. Pepper. They’re kinda warm.”
She dragged her attention away from Mr. Brent. What had Jason said? Right. Soda. “They were in the garage. And we have cups with ice on the table.”
Her gaze skittered back. Her cousins chattered across the folding table; little Erin wiped the sauce from her rosy cheeks with the green cloth instead of the paper napkin crumpled near her milk glass. Ellen sat at the end, opposite Mr. Brent. Her neighbor hovered at her elbow. Skull tattoos grinned under his t-shirt sleeve as he popped the lid on the can of chicken noodle soup. Two plates filled the empty spot near Ellen—one with salad and the other with pizza.
A shadow stretched across the tile.
Ms. Kelly, Cheyenne’s mom, opened her arms wide. “I was never so happy to see anyone after my dear husband, than I was to see you, Cheyenne, and Colton safe and sound.”
Balancing her plate in one hand, Raine leaned into the other woman’s embrace. “It’s been quite a day.”
Which was like saying the Grand Canyon was a small ditch.
Ms. Kelly rubbed Raine’s back. Her wet hair tickled Raine’s cheek and the scent of soap drifted off her skin along with the foul scent of Mr. Brent’s cologne.
Raine wrinkled her nose, then ducked her head so no one could see her face. She wouldn’t hurt the couple for anything, but they should have better taste in perfumes. That stuff really stunk.
“You need to put a little meat on your bones, child.” Leaning back, Ms. Kelly squeezed Raine’s shoulders. “Here I tell you to eat, yet keep you from doing just such a thing.” Her attention slid off Raine to stick to Jason. Her brown eyes narrowed. “And who is this?”
Raine shifted; her toes clenched inside her cartoon character socks. After Cheyenne’s rape, the Zindells interrogated every new friend they brought home. Given Jason’s sex, this was bound to be worse. She dug out her manners from some closed portion of her brain. “Ms. Kelly this is Jason DeWitt. Jason, this is Cheyenne’s Mom, Kelly Zindell.”
Jason swiped his hand down his jeans before offering it to Ms. Kelly. “Mrs. Zindell.”
Ms. Kelly stared at his hand. After squinting for a moment, she forced a smile and pinched his hand in her fingertips. “Pardon me for not greeting you more warmly, but we’re very protective of my girls.”
“I understand.” Jason’s easy grin stiffened at the edges. “It’s been a day I never want repeated.”
And one Raine didn’t want to talk about. Ever. They only had two and a half days before things returned to normal. Resisting the urge to stick her fingers in her ears, she focused on the table.
Cheyenne and Colton sat in the folding chairs on Mr. Brent’s right. Cheyenne made certain her arm pressed Colton’s through his oversized dress shirt while holding her father’s hand.
Raine’s stomach clenched. She usually sat between her two friends. She didn’t like this after. She needed some things to be the same as before. She needed to be surrounded by her friends.
Jason nudged her toward the open chair opposite Colton.
Ms. Kelly’s attention shifted to her daughter. The skin around her eyes softened. “Did something happen at the school? The radio said classes had been cancelled, but didn’t mention anything… bad.”
Jason adjusted his hold on the two cans of soda. “There were a couple of things that happened.”
A couple? Acid burned the back of Raine’s throat. On numb legs, she stumbled to the empty seat. The metal creaked as she plopped down. When she looked down at her plate of food, her stomach bucked. “There was more than a couple of things.”
At the far end of the table, Ellen dipped her spoon into her bowl of soup. “Perhaps we could talk over the days events after we eat.”
Little Erin smacked her lips then set her empty glass next to her plate. Her pink tongue licked off her milk mustache. “My daddy was crazy. He tried to hurt me.”
Ellen winced. “Erin, sweetie…”
Mr. Brent leaned back in his chair and rested his hands on the curved wooden arms. “So it wasn’t just downtown that went nuts.”
Ms. Kelly set a plate of salad and two slices of pizza in front of her husband. “We tried listening to the news on the drive home, but only static played on the radio stations.”
Ellen’s lips thinned.
Raine didn’t want to hear about this morning’s events either. She reached for her plate.
Jason grabbed her wrist, pinning it to the table. “We all need to talk about it. Rehashing everything will minimize the PTSD later.”
She tugged on her arm. He didn’t release her. She didn’t want to talk about it. She wanted to forget it. If she could do that, she wouldn’t get PTSD now or later.
“He’s right.” Ms. Kelly abandoned her plate of salad to retrieve two long neck bottles of beer from the fridge. She handed them both to her husband to twist off the caps. “I read that talking about trauma, even as unpleasant as it is, will reduce the chances of PTSD later.”
Mrs. Kelly stared at her daughter.
Cheyenne chased a carrot around her plate.
Talking to the fancy counselor hadn’t helped Cheyenne. But they had talked about that night, over and over and over again until Raine sometimes dreamed she’d been the one held down by the quarterback. She wrapped her fingers around her fork.
Sitting between her and Ms. Kelly, Jason released her arm and picked up his slice of pepperoni pizza. “We were in English class when a student made a comment, and bam, the teacher just went off.”
Raine stabbed a piece of lettuce. Ranch dressing dripped off the edges. They were really going to do this? Now? She twirled her fork. “Several students pulled out their phones. I thought they were going to call the police. But they were recording it.”
Cheyenne’s red plastic cup shook in her hand. “They did that with a dog and a coyote who were fighting.”
Colton stretched his arm along the back of her chair. “The dog did get away.”
Cheyenne leaned into him then nodded.
Raine shoved down the stab of envy. Usually the three of them comforted each other. Now she was on the other side of the table.
On Raine’s right, her cousin Rafael swung his legs and bounced in his seat. Tomato sauce filled in the gap between his two crooked, front adult teeth. “My dad went nuts when mom came to pick us up.”
Ellen stirred the noodles in her yellow broth. “It was a deputy that set off the neighbors. They came after us because the deputy were there to talk to us.”
Ellen’s neighbor chewed his bite slowly. “Folks were a squirrelly before then, Dogooder and Dumbass just made themselves an attractive target.”
Mr. Brent cut his pizza into bite-sized pieces. “So there’s really no common denominator. I was thinking people were just fed up and targeting the government, but now…”
Now… Now, they were no closer to the truth and Raine didn’t feel any better. So much for talking about it.
Ms. Kelly stiffened. “What if it is a terrorist attack?”
Raine rolled her eyes. A terrorist attack? Her teacher wasn’t a terrorist. Neither were the kids in her class.
“It’s the food.” Her cousin Rosa dropped her crust onto her plate. “The changes scientists have made to the genetic code of our food has finally polluted our gene pool. The food is making everyone crazy. We have to consider leaving this city, this house. Forever.”
Linda Andrews 