Unraptured Read online

  "What are you doing?" Her words came out in a hiss. She wanted to yell, but that might attract Ellen’s attention.

  "Do you live here?" the boy asked.

  "Why?" Anger stoked the coal in her belly, banishing fear. Adrenaline burned along her arms and legs, ready to fight or take flight.

  "I'm looking for Jeff Lyman," he said. "They told me he comes here a lot."

  Kellianne crossed her arms and shook her head. "He does, but he's not here now. He's on a supply run."

  The boy's expression melted into disappointment. "Do you know when he'll be back?"

  "No." Her voice threatened to crack on the word, but she held it steady. "Look, I've got to get inside."

  "Sure, sure," he said, all the animation gone from his face.

  Geez. He looked completely bereft. "Look, tell me your name. Maybe when he comes back—"

  Her words died as Ellen burst from the house and rushed at them.

  "Shit!" the boy yelped, but to his credit, he didn't run away. He leapt toward Kellianne, grabbed her hand, and pulled her toward Ellen's car. In a fluid motion he yanked open the back door, shoved her inside and slammed it. Without pausing, he opened the driver's door and leapt in. He pulled the door shut and pressed the lock button as Ellen reached them. Her face had twisted into a horrible grimace, but her eyes were frighteningly vacant. Fingers curled into rigid claws. She scrabbled at the door handle, but it didn't budge under her frantic assault.

  Kellianne's heart stuttered painfully in her chest, the harsh thrumming of her pulse hurting her ears. She realized she was gasping for breath and pulled a long inhale deep into her lungs. She blew it out slowly, the way she and Ellen used to do in their yoga class.

  "Don't look," the boy said. He twisted around in the driver's seat and caught Kellianne's eye. Outside, Ellen pounded on the glass next to Kellianne. Spittle hit the window like errant drops of rain.

  Kellianne forced her tearing eyes away from Ellen to look at the boy. "I wish I'd grabbed the car keys when I left the house earlier."

  He nodded ruefully. "I know, we're stuck here now until she loses interest. Sorry. She was coming so fast—"

  "It's okay. Lucky it wasn’t locked. We wouldn’t have made it anywhere else." Kellianne shuddered and moved into the center of the back seat. Ellen lurched around the car, clutching at the handles and swiping battered hands across the windows. Occasionally she stumbled against the car, her gait erratic and shaky, but she'd left most of the phase one clumsiness behind.

  "I'm Kellianne."

  "Brighton," he said. He stuck his hand over the seat back. It was an oddly adult gesture, a faraway echo of normal in the midst of chaos. Kellianne took his hand, warm and a bit sticky with the residual sweat from Ellen's surprise appearance.

  Kellianne kept her eyes fixed on the boy’s face, trying to block out Ellen’s assault on the car. "Why are you looking for Uncle Jeff?"

  Ellen braced her palms on the hood of the Civic and pushed, rocking the car back slightly. It bounced forward and she pushed it again. Kellianne’s stomach lurched. She almost wished Ellen would scream or yell or even whimper. The silence and the vacant eyes made her shudder.

  "The emergency brake is on," Brighton assured her. "I was hoping your uncle could help me with my grandfather."

  "Oh. He's raptured?" There wasn't really any easy or polite way to say it.

  Brighton shook his head. "No, he's disappeared. I woke up at midnight last night and he was gone." He looked down at his hands, where they rested on the seat back. "He might be raptured, I guess, but I don't know. I feel like—"

  He broke off, as if embarrassed to go on. Kellianne nodded and looked at him in what she hoped was an encouraging way. The conversation was the only thing distracting her from Ellen’s mindless frenzy.

  He sighed. "I feel like something else happened to him. Like he went looking for something."

  "Something like what? Supplies?"

  He shrugged. "I don't think so. We were pretty well set." He glanced at the passenger side window, where Ellen now pummelled the glass with dull thuds. Smears of blood streaked the pane. The raptured didn't seem to feel pain. He looked away, back to his own hands. "I think maybe he was scared of getting raptured, and he left so I wouldn't have to deal with it."

  "That's terrible," Kellianne said, but a little internal voice said I wish Ellen had done that.

  "You know how, in some cultures, the elderly leave if they think they're becoming a burden to their families?" he asked. "We talked about it in school. Maybe it's like that."

  "But you want to find him."

  He nodded. "He's a great old guy. He's ninety and still works in the garden. He reads all the time and he's a great cook." Brighton chuckled a little. "He knows jiu jitsu. I’ll bet he could face any phase two and take them down."

  "Sounds like he can take care of himself, then. Is it just you and him?" Kellianne was immediately sorry she'd asked. The smile disappeared from the boy's face as if she'd slapped him.

  "Yeah. My parents got raptured early. Gramps had lived with us the last five or six years, so after that, it was just us."

  Kellianne didn’t ask for more details. Nobody much liked to talk about what happened after someone they knew got raptured. She forced a smile. "I know my uncle will help you when he gets back."

  If he gets back, the horrible little voice in her mind reminded her.

  "If it's not too late," Brighton said.

  Kellianne woke with a disoriented start. The cramped back seat of Ellen's Honda had grown almost unbearably hot in the afternoon sun. Her jeans and t-shirt clung wetly to the vinyl seat. Brighton’s head lolled to the side and he snored softly. Kellianne peered out the windows on all sides, but there was no sign of Ellen beyond the streaks of blood she'd left.

  Tentatively she reached forward and tapped Brighton's shoulder. "Hey," she said softly, "I think she's gone."

  He startled awake and jerked his head around to look at her, then clutched at his neck, grimacing. "Cramp," he muttered, tilting his head to work it out. He checked the windows, as Kellianne had done, craning to look down at the ground. "My god, it's freaking boiling in here."

  "I know, I can hardly breathe. I can’t believe I drifted off like that." It wasn’t that hard to understand, really. She and Brighton had talked for a while, but she’d found herself dozing in the slowly-heating car. She’d closed her eyes so she didn’t have to look at Ellen’s barrage outside. And obviously that was enough. “Think it's safe to get out?"

  "Let's crack a couple of windows while we make sure," he said, pressing the button on the door. "Damn. Guess we can't, without the keys."

  Kellianne stuck her head right up against both side windows and the back, trying to see as much of the ground next to the car as she could. "If she's down there, she's really pushed up against the car," she said, "Or underneath it. Are they smart enough to do something like that?"

  "I don't think so," Brighton said cautiously, "Although I don't think we understand this virus very well."

  Kellianne drew a deep lungful of superheated air and blew it out with a cough. "Well, I'm going to risk it. I can't stand it in here." Her hair felt plastered to her head.

  "Going for the house?" Brighton asked.

  She nodded. "You coming?" She wasn't sure whether she hoped he’d say yes or no, but she was worried about Ellen. If she’d gone back to the house, Kellianne didn't want to get cornered alone.

  "I'll come in while you check it out. Your stepmom probably couldn't have figured out how to get back in, but you never know."

  Kellianne nodded, even though Brighton wasn't looking at her. He stared at the house as if trying to see through the walls.

  "Okay. If she's there, follow me. We'll head for the roof. That's where I went this morning when I found her."

  "On three?"

  Kellianne counted it off and they opened their doors and jumped out, slammed them closed, and sprinted for the house. The front door was closed but not locked, and
Kellianne yanked it open, scanned the foyer and the living room on the right, and went in. Brighton followed and she pushed the door shut. They stood silent, trying not to even breathe loudly, and listened for movement. Nothing.

  "Let's check it out," Brighton said. "Lead the way."

  The living room and the dining room beyond it were empty. Tiptoeing, Kellianne moved along the hallway, to her dad’s home office. Empty. The laundry room beside it, and the spare bedroom were both clear. Kellianne breathed a little easier.

  The deserted kitchen was a mess from Ellen's blind stumbling that morning. Smashed dishes, the toaster, and other small appliances littered the floor; drawers stood open, their contents tumbled every which way. A puddle of orange juice marred the floor in front of the fridge, and sticky footprints traced a drunkard's path along the tile.

  Kellianne shrugged at Brighton's sympathetic look. "I'll worry about it later," she whispered. Maybe this was the kind of thing Allison had been trying to hide at her house.

  "That's it for down here."

  She led him upstairs. The door to Ellen's art studio stood open, but a glance showed it to be empty. The room stank of spilled paint thinner, and an array of brushes and bright paint tubes lay tumbled over the hardwood floor. Some had been stepped on and burst, spewing abstract pigment splatters.

  They passed the stairs leading up to the roof. Just Ellen's bedroom and Kellianne's were left. The door to Ellen's, closer to them, was closed.

  Behind it, something hit the floor with a thud. Brighton grabbed Kellianne’s hand.

  "Pets?" he hissed.

  She shook her head.

  The door to Ellen's bedroom rattled. Kellianne didn't wait to see if it was Ellen inside. She pulled Brighton toward the tiny staircase leading up.

  They burst out onto the roof and Kellianne slammed the door behind them. She shot the bolt her father had installed. The door could be bolted from the inside, too, of course. "We could be safer inside or out, Kell, depending on the situation," he'd said, wiping perspiration from his forehead and sticking the screwdriver in the back pocket of his jeans. "This way it's our choice."

  Kellianne leaned her back against the door, willing her heart back to a normal pace. "I don't know what I'm going to do," she said, and to her utter horror, she burst into tears.

  Brighton stood uncomfortably next to her, his hands shoved deep into the pockets of his jeans. He didn't try to put an arm around her, for which Kellianne was grateful. She'd never get control if he was too nice to her. Sometimes sympathy just made it harder.

  "If you could get her out of the house," he started, but then he sighed. "But it's not really a solution. Some wander off and disappear, but most seem kind of stuck to the places they know."

  Kellianne gulped air and forced herself to answer, fighting down the sobs. "She told me...if it happened...I should get Uncle Jeff or Mr. Carson to—to—" Put a bullet in her. She couldn't say it.

  He nodded. "Mr. Carson was a friend of Gramps. He...isn't around any more."

  "I know. And I don't know when my uncle will be back. He should have been here two days ago."

  Kellianne swept tears from her eyes and crossed the couple of steps to the nearest garden box, kneeling to pull a weed. Too bad it’s not this easy to get rid of people. One quick pluck…

  "You don't have to—" Kellianne started to say, but a metallic rattle took her attention.

  Mrs. Romero's face appeared above the roofline. Kellianne’s stomach dropped. She hadn't shoved the fire escape ladder back up into position. The older woman’s lips dragged back in a snarl, her blank eyes staring and devoid of life, yet malevolent.

  "Oh, no," Kellianne whispered. "Phase three?" She stood and took a step backward, away from the woman, losing her balance as her heel hit the inside wall of the garden box. She windmilled her arms and Brighton caught her as Mrs. Romero clambered with chilling agility over the top of the ladder and onto the roof.

  "We're trapped," Brighton said in a weirdly calm voice.

  "NONNA!" came a scream from below them. Allison had come in search of her wandering grandmother.

  Things happened fast then. Mrs. Romero skittered toward them like a spider, her mouth stretching wide as if she planned to bite them. Brighton scooped up a garden spade leaning against the side of the garden box. Kellianne grabbed a three-pronged weeding fork, but with its short handle, it was useless unless Mrs. Romero got a lot closer than Kellianne wanted her to. But she stopped at the edge of the garden box, as if she couldn't figure out how to step over it. She lifted a foot, but not high enough. Her shoe knocked hollowly against the wood as she kicked mindlessly, trying to move forward.

  "Get to the ladder," Brighton muttered to Kellianne, swinging the spade in a wide arc to keep Mrs. Romero at bay.

  "I can't leave you!" she told him. "Move around the box, and we can both get there. I don't think she can get over the frame."

  Mrs. Romero took a swipe toward Kellianne and Brighton fended her off with the spade.

  "What's she got against me?" Kellianne wondered aloud.

  "Nonna, get back here!" Allison yelled. She'd clambered up the ladder, but she didn't come onto the roof. Her grandmother ignored her, snarling at Brighton, showing age-yellowed teeth.

  "Go back!" Brighton hollered at Allison. "We're coming down the ladder."

  "I can't leave her up here!" Allison said. "I've got to get her back down. She'll hurt herself."

  "You're blocking the ladder, Allison! Either come up or go back down!"

  "Shit," Allison whispered, so low that Kellianne barely heard her. "Nonna, you've got to come down from here!" She put her palms on the asphalt-covered roof, to climb up the last few rungs. The girl’s arms trembled like grass in the wind. Afraid of heights, maybe. But she'd come up after her grandmother.

  Mrs. Romero turned and saw Allison. She gave a shriek of rage and darted crazily toward the girl.

  “She’ll push—” Kellianne heard herself yelp.

  Brighton must have seen it too. He leapt over the side of the garden box and swung the spade, obviously hoping to deflect the woman’s trajectory. The head of the shovel hit her squarely between the shoulder blades, and she howled, spinning as if to reverse direction and lunge at Brighton. But her foot stuttered on the roof’s rough shingled surface and she stumbled, her balance still virus-impaired. She flailed her arms and staggered three steps toward the flimsy railing. Allison shot out a hand to catch her but grasped only a handful of the woman's black broomstick skirt. Under her weight, the railing burst with a splintering crack. Mrs. Romero disappeared over the edge of the roof with a final shriek, plunging to the driveway below. She hit the asphalt with a wet thud so heavy and final that Kellianne closed her eyes instinctively. As if from far away, she heard Allison start to scream.

  She felt a hand on her shoulder and opened her eyes to see a white-faced Brighton. He'd dropped the spade.

  Kellianne ran to the ladder. Allison seemed melded to it, one white-knuckled hand clutching the top rung, the other grasping a fluttering scrap of black crepe. Her eyes were locked onto the dark, unmoving puddle of fabric below.

  Kellianne knelt in front of the other girl. "Allison, stop. Look at me."

  Allison ignored her. Kellianne cast a despairing look over her shoulder at Brighton, but he seemed to have gone into his own sort of shock. She turned back to Allison.

  "Allison, you're going to draw others here, and you don't want that," she tried. "You have to come up to the roof so I can haul up the ladder." If she'd only done it earlier. How could she have been so stupid?

  Allison’s screams dwindled to whimpers, like a wounded animal. Her eyes stayed locked on her grandmother’s body. Kellianne caught the girl's free hand. "Allison. Come up here with us, where it's safe."

  She kept one hand on Allison's and reached out with the other to grasp the girl's chin. Slowly she turned her face away from the mess in the driveway. Allison’s eyes were almost as blank as a virus victim’s. "Come on," Kellianne coax
ed. "Just climb up. It’s only a few more steps."

  It was slow. Allison barely seemed to recognize Kellianne or realize what climbing up onto the roof entailed, but with Kellianne's guidance she managed it. Once she was completely off the ladder, Kellianne pulled it up and secured it. She sat back on her heels with a deep sigh. She did not look down at the driveway.

  When she turned around, Brighton sat on the rough board side of the garden frame. Maybe his legs wouldn't hold him any longer. He hugged his knees and rocked slightly. Allison stood over him, although neither spoke. Alarm bells sounded in Kellianne's head.

  "Hey, Allison," she began, but Allison dropped to her knees in the dirt beside the boy and started pummeling him with her fists. He took the blows as if he couldn't feel them, rocked back by the force but not even looking at the enraged girl.

  Kellianne scrambled over to them, trampling greenery. The scents of thyme and lemon balm thickened around them. She grabbed Allison's wrists and wrenched her away.

  "Stop it," she said as sternly as she could without yelling. Allison twisted in her grasp, her face glistening with tears and saliva.

  "He—killed—my Nonna," she panted, barely audible.

  "No. No, he didn't," Kellianne said.

  "He did! He hit her with that shovel and she fell!" Allison's eyes were wide and dark in her pale, frightened face.

  "I know." Kellianne held her wrists tightly. "I know. But that wasn't your grandmother. She was long gone, Allison."

  "No!"

  Kellianne locked eyes with her. "Yes. And she was going for you. Brighton defended you—all of us. She would have killed you, and me, and then him, too."

  Allison stared at Kellianne for a long moment, then burst into fresh tears. Her arms went limp in Kellianne's hands and she released them so Allison could cover her face with her hands. She sobbed roughly into them.

  Kellianne glanced at Brighton. Tears poured silently down his face, as well.

  Oh, Uncle Jeff, Kellianne said silently. Where are you when I need you?

  By the time dusk began to settle, Allison and Brighton had regained their composure. They wouldn't look at each other. They hadn't talked much. Ellen—or someone—had banged on the inside of the rooftop door a few times but apparently got discouraged and retreated downstairs. Kellianne had made them eat some carrots and peas from the garden, and broken up another granola bar between them. Allison had eaten grudgingly, but they’d all been hungry.