Bedlam Page 3

  “What do you think you’re doing, asshole?” I demanded.

  The figure stilled. “Kyle?”

  I drew back and peered down at a familiar face. Shock locked my limbs in place and robbed me of speech. I swallowed and found my voice.

  “Sunny?”

  THREE

  Sunny

  Kyle gaped down at me.

  Not so long ago, the prospect of Kyle Chamberlain sprawled on top of me, his bare, sculpted chest mere inches away from my hands, would have sent my girl parts into hyperdrive. But now—holy shitballs—with my heart thumping and my torso squashed, my girl parts couldn’t care less. Instead of fondling the chest I’d secretly swooned over for years, I shoved at him with both hands.

  “Can’t breathe,” I choked out.

  “Sorry.” He rolled off me, jumped to his feet, then offered a hand to pull me into a seated position. I dragged air into my lungs. We stared at each other, both wide-eyed with shock.

  The brain-clouding panic subsided, and memories rushed in to fill the void. Kyle was the last person to see my brother. I clutched his arm.

  “Is Jake with you?” Kyle jerked back as if stung and pain filled his eyes. The answer to my question was stamped across his face. My jaw trembled. “He’s dead, isn’t he?”

  “Yeah.” His voice was gentle. “Jake’s dead.”

  I wasn’t surprised, not really. I mean, the flu had nearly turned Boise into a ghost town. If Jake had somehow survived, he would have come home. His continued absence should have been all the confirmation I needed. Intellectually, I’d made peace with his loss months ago. Still, a tiny part of my heart had hoped that my big brother was alive and that we’d find our way back to each other someday.

  “How did it happen?” I asked.

  “Last May—early on in the pandemic—Jake and Ali and I were driving home from Portland.”

  I nodded. “I remember. It was a Sunday. Our parents said that we might lose power so we should use up the meat in our freezers. They planned to have a barbecue when you guys showed up. My dad thawed out a bunch of rib eyes, and your mom baked a German chocolate cake.”

  “Mom made my favorite cake?”

  From his agonized expression I could tell that he knew. He knew his parents were dead, just like my parents, just like most of the people in the world. I took his hand and tugged him down to sit next to me. Skin to skin at last, his fingers warm against mine, electricity hummed along our joined hands. With his free hand, Kyle pulled a gun out of his waistband and laid it on the bed. The sparks of electricity faded, the sight of the gun like a splash of cold water.

  “What happened to them?” I asked.

  “Jake and Ali seemed fine when we left Portland. A couple of hours later, they started to show symptoms of the flu. We stopped in Pendleton.” He paused, staring straight ahead. “They both died during the night.”

  I had to know. “They didn’t get the flu mania?”

  He squeezed my fingers. “No. Thank God. At least they were spared that.”

  “Thank God,” I echoed, shuddering as an image flashed before my eyes. Mrs. Kaminski wandering up the middle of the street, naked, clutching a pair of bloody scissors. I’d crouched down behind a car. She’d howled like a banshee when she passed my hiding place.

  Pain bit deep with every death, but you either kept going—searching for ways to connect with other survivors and do some good—or you lay down and waited to die. After all the losses of the past few months, I knew I’d survive Jake’s death. I wasn’t sure I could’ve handled hearing that my easy going brother had fallen into homicidal mania.

  “Why didn’t you come home after Jake and Ali died?”

  “I decided to go back to Portland to look for Kenzie.”

  Kenzie, the beautiful ex-girlfriend. I’d overheard Mrs. Chamberlain telling my mom how relieved she was when they split up over Easter. I’d been relieved, too, although for a different reason. An entirely selfish reason.

  So, Kyle still carried a torch for Kenzie.

  I fixed my eyes on our twined fingers, my stomach clenching. “I thought you guys broke up.”

  He took so long to answer that I finally looked up at his face.

  Kyle shoved a hand through dark-blond hair that touched his collar, quite a change from his usual high-maintenance taper fade haircut. Longer hair suited him. Unlike the short, fastidious style, it invited touch. The longer strands practically begged to be mussed, to be swept back from his brow when they fell across his eyes.

  “We did break up,” he said, “but I thought… well… never mind what I thought. Long story short, I found her. She’d fallen in love with another guy. They’re immune, and they’re still together.”

  “Really?” My gaze darted to his face. Maybe I should tell him that I was sorry that Kenzie had fallen in love with another man, but I couldn’t lie. “Are you okay with that?”

  He shrugged. “It took a while, but yeah, I’m okay with it. In fact, we’ve all settled down at Valhalla, a ranch in central Oregon.”

  “Together?” I asked, incredulous. “You live with Kenzie and the man she fell in love with?”

  “Not just them,” he said quickly. “Other friends, too.” He swept out his hand, gesturing toward the outside world. “You must have seen what it’s like out there. When almost everybody you’ve ever known is dead, you aren’t going to walk away from a familiar face. You find a way to make it work.”

  “I get that,” I said. “You’re the only person alive who remembers my family and who knows our stories.” My eyes filled with tears. “Mom’s corny jokes. That time Dad’s homemade root beer exploded all over the basement. How Jake fell off his skateboard, bumped his chin, and swallowed his loose tooth. You never feel more alone than when you realize that nobody shares your memories. I understand why you’d want to stay connected to Kenzie.”

  Kyle threw an arm over my shoulders and pulled me close for a hug. My heart went ka-thump. “Finding you is a miracle, Sunshine.”

  The childhood nickname did me in. I buried my face into his chest and held on tight. I’d fantasized about wrapping myself around Kyle, but never like this, while seeking comfort from an old friend after the world fell apart.

  “So what happened in Northumberland Heights?” Kyle asked.

  “Pretty much what happened everywhere else, I imagine,” I said. “More and more people got the flu. The security guards stopped showing up for work. We lost power. The Home Owners Association asked neighbors to take turns watching the gate. That worked for a couple of days, until too many people got sick. Everybody locked their doors and tried to ride it out.”

  “Did you see my folks?” Kyle asked.

  “I checked in on them on that Friday. We had a lot of bananas that were starting to go soft. Fresh fruit was going to be hard to come by, so I thought I’d share. Your dad came to the door carrying a shotgun. He said somebody broke into the house behind yours the night before. He said Kristen and Matt were sick. When she heard my voice, your mom came to the door. She asked how we were doing, then told me to get home and stay safe. Actually, she said, ‘Use the sense God gave you and stop gallivanting around the neighborhood.’”

  Kyle snorted. “Yeah, that sounds like Mom.”

  “That was the last time I saw your folks.”

  We sat in silence for another minute.

  “How about your parents?” he asked.

  “We were fine for the first two weeks.” I closed my eyes and shuddered, remembering the day everything went to hell.

  Kyle gently stroked a hand up and down my back. He was finally touching me, a caress I’d fantasized about for years, just not like this, not when he was offering consolation. “You don’t have to tell me if talking about it hurts too much.”

  “No.” I shook my head. “I want you to know.” Kyle loved my family, and it felt right somehow that he understood what happened to them, that the memory—even secondhand—would be something we shared. “Mom woke up with a headache and a fever
. By the middle of the afternoon, she was gone. Dad and I dug a grave in the backyard, next to the gazebo. Dad was sweaty and pale, and I was afraid that he was getting sick. We carried mom’s body out back, and then… and then...” I paused, images from the worst day of my life rushing in. Kyle’s arm tightened around me. I swallowed and pushed on. “And then Dad collapsed next to Mom’s grave. A stroke or a heart attack. I tried CPR, but it didn’t work.”

  “I’m so sorry, Sunny,” Kyle murmured.

  I swallowed, my throat too thick to speak. Kyle pulled me onto his lap, and we rocked back and forth, holding on to each other. I tucked my head under his chin and splayed my fingers across his chest. You don’t realize how much you miss human contact until you’re deprived of it. I burrowed into Kyle, savoring the warmth of his skin, the warmth of his personality. I’d made new connections since the pandemic struck but holding onto my old friend felt damned good.

  “It’s going to be all right,” Kyle breathed. “You aren’t alone anymore. I’m here.”

  This was almost too good to be true. Kyle’s reappearance felt like the answer to a prayer, as if my imagination had conjured up my dream man. Was he really here? I bit the tip of my tongue, testing reality. The pain did nothing to banish his presence. Not an illusion then. Kyle had truly returned.

  “Kyle.” I sighed happily, snuggling into his chest.

  “We’re going to pack up your things, and you’ll come back to Valhalla with me.”

  Pack up and go to Valhalla? Hold on. I lifted my head to meet Kyle’s eyes. “I can’t leave Boise. People here are counting on me.”

  Kyle’s eyes narrowed, and he looked confused. “Of course, you can leave Boise. There’s nothing left for you here, nothing left for either of us. You’ll come back to the ranch with me where it’s safe, where I can take care of you.”

  Would Kyle always see me as Jake’s baby sister, a kid he had to watch out for? “You’re not listening to me.” Exasperation colored my voice. “I told you that people here are counting on me. I have responsibilities.” I turned in his lap to face him straight on. “Tell you what, instead of me coming back to the ranch with you, how about you stay in Boise with me? It’s our hometown, and people need our help.”

  FOUR

  Kyle

  “I can’t believe you’re still driving the Refrigerator.”

  Sunny huffed indignantly from behind the wheel of her ancient, white economy van and patted the dashboard. “Don’t you bad mouth Daisy. She gets me from point A to point B, and she has lots of room to carry stuff.”

  I couldn’t argue with that point. The thing had plenty of room to carry the bags of cat food and litter that companies donated to the no-kill cat shelter where Sunny had volunteered. More than enough room for the food she’d delivered once a week for Meals on Wheels. All that cargo space was the argument she used when Jake and I tried to talk her out of buying a twenty-year-old van with almost 200,000 miles on the odometer.

  Most of her friends wheedled their parents into buying them a cute car. Not Sunny. She worked fast food part time during her junior year of high school and proudly purchased a boxy monstrosity that couldn’t do fifty miles per hour against a headwind. Jake and I dubbed it “the Refrigerator.” Sunny slapped bright-yellow flower decals over the rusty spots on the paint and christened it Daisy.

  When my mom complained that it brought down the tone of the neighborhood, Sunny added plastic car eyelashes to the headlights. Mom had conniptions, prompting her first real fight with Naomi McAllister. A week later, Sunny peeled off the garish car lashes. She told me that she couldn’t stand to cause strife between our mothers. Sunny’s always been softhearted, sometimes too much for her own good.

  “All I’m saying is that you could have your pick of reliable, newer cars,” I said. The post-pandemic world was lousy with vehicles whose owners had died. It wouldn’t be hard to find a neighbor who’d left their car keys in a bowl on the kitchen counter or hanging on a hook.

  “I like Daisy,” Sunny said in a voice that would brook no further argument. She’d always been stubborn—especially when she thought she was right—so there was no point in pushing. I threw my hands in the air, giving up. For now.

  “So where exactly is this Haven place we’re going to?” I swiveled my head from side to side, scanning the street for any sign of danger.

  “It’s at a small hospital close to downtown.” Sunny rounded a corner and the Refrigerator—Daisy—approached a pair of stationary vehicles that blocked the lane ahead of us. The back of the second car angled into the oncoming lane.

  What would Ripper do?

  Ripper would be leery of an ambush. I tugged my Glock from its holster and turned toward the window as Sunny pulled around the cars. When my fingers closed around the grip, my pulse ratcheted up, far more than the situation warranted. I shook my head, banishing the sudden memory of two staggering pillars of flame.

  “Seriously?” she said. “Do you intend to draw a weapon every time we drive past a couple of parked cars? Paranoid much?”

  Paranoid? I waited until we were well past the cars before turning back to Sunny and holstering the Glock. Before the pandemic, she would have been the absolute last person I’d expect to carry a handgun. But now—in a lawless world full of desperate people—even she had to see the necessity of being ready to defend herself. “Please tell me that you’re not driving around town without a weapon.”

  “I’m not stupid,” she said indignantly. “Dr. Russo—she’s in charge of the Haven—she sends us out scavenging in teams of two, and one of us always carries a gun.”

  “How about now?” I pointed at the small pack she’d dropped on the floor between our seats. “Are you carrying a gun?”

  She shifted in the car seat. “Not exactly.” At my raised brows, she continued. “I carry pepper spray when I’m on my own, just in case I run into trouble.”

  “Pepper spray?” Before the flu laid waste to the world, that had been Kenzie’s first line of defense, too. Pepper spray hadn’t done Kenz a darned bit of good the first time she confronted Ripper, and it wouldn’t stop a determined assailant from attacking Sunny. Pepper spray. Jesus. “Okay.” I deliberately maintained a reasonable tone. “We’ll ask Dr. Russo for a handgun, and I’ll show you how to use it.”

  She shot me an irritated look. “Listen, I know that there are scary people out there, but let’s not over react. Most of the folks I come across are good people just trying to get by. Nobody’s pulled a gun on me. Nobody’s threatened me.”

  “Then you’re damned lucky.” I scrubbed my hands over my face and sucked in a breath, calming myself. I’d always admired Sunny’s idealism and her desire to help others, but the new world wouldn’t cosset a bleeding-heart do-gooder. A beautiful young woman like Sunny was bound to attract the attention of some predatory asshole. The need to protect her, to keep her safe, hit me hard. “How about I teach you to shoot—just in case a situation gets out of hand—and you start to carry a real weapon. Humor me, will you?”

  “What happened to make you so cynical?” she demanded, ignoring my suggestion.

  “What happened to me?” My temper slipped its reins. It was past time for Sunny to face some stark realities. “Let’s see. I got shot by a trigger-happy security guard. Dealt with an arsonist and a bomber. Faced down a crazy religious cult and fought a group of white supremacists.” I clamped my jaw shut, biting back the rest of the story. No need to tell Sunny that I’d shot and killed three men, one of them a friend.

  “Kyle!” Sunny braked, bringing Daisy to a hard stop. She whirled to face me and laid a hand on my shoulder, compassion stamped across her pretty features. “Are you all right?”

  I blinked. I was anything but all right, my nights still haunted by the gruesome memories of the men I’d killed. At the sight of her kindhearted concern, my irritation evaporated. I couldn’t be angry at Sunny. Until a few months ago, my life had been as sheltered as hers. Thank God she hadn’t had to face the horrors I’d wit
nessed, but that good fortune couldn’t last. If she kept tooling round town essentially unarmed, the realities of the new world would smack her upside the head soon enough.

  “I’m all right, Sunny,” I said. “Everybody has had a hard time during the past four months. I’m dealing.”

  Her amber eyes brimmed with tears. “If you ever want to talk about it, I’m here.”

  Tell Sunny—Jake’s little sister—about all the nightmarish events I’d witnessed? No way. I stopped myself from shaking my head to reject her offer. Instead, I clasped her hand and gently squeezed her fingers. “Thanks. I’ll keep that in mind.”

  This was why I came to Boise, I realized with a sudden clarity. To reconnect with Sunny. To bring her to safety. She was too tenderhearted and too reckless to survive on her own. The faster I could get her back to Valhalla, the better. Finding my parents alive had been the longest of long shots. I’d known that before I started the journey, yet I’d felt compelled to make the trip. Maybe divine providence guided my hand and set the wheels in motion. I hadn’t been able to save Jake, but fate handed me another chance to do right by my best friend by watching out for his sister.

  Sunny took her foot off the brake and drove downtown. She parked next to a side entrance to a hospital, and we hopped out of the van. When she stepped onto the sidewalk, the car keys slipped from her fingers. She bent over to pick them up, putting on display a perfect, upside-down-heart-shaped ass.

  An ass I had no business noticing. What the hell was I doing? I jerked my gaze away from the enticing sight and looked at the door to the hospital. A middle-aged woman perched on a stool outside the entry, a shotgun cradled in her arms.