Willow, p.2
Willow, page 2
part #1 of Defy the Ravaged Series
“She wasn’t fucking him,” my mother had spat and turned away, dropping down onto the pure white couch in the lounge area. She’d picked up her phone and completely ignored the massive pissed-off man. She’d completely turned her back on him.
“You’re a gold-digging whore, woman,” Jay had snarled and then turned to me. I’d backed away as he stomped over, towering over me. He’d looked me up and down in the designer church clothes my mother made me wear. My college education was on the line. If I had to primp and make nice with her new friends for it, so be it. But Jason had seen a carbon copy of my mother and sneered at me, his face twisted into something ugly. “He has kids,” he’d shouted and shoved that thick finger in my face. I had flinched and backed away, not a stranger to large men taking a hand to me. My mother had had plenty of boyfriends that had seen her negligence of me and taken advantage. “You enjoy taking their father from them, bitch?”
I had shaken my head, shocked into silence.
“You enjoy robbing those girls of their father?” I hadn’t known that Rick had kids. He had never talked about them to me. I had hated the sliver of hurt that speared me. He had told me I was his girl. I had no right to feel that hurt. But Rick was everything I could have ever wanted in a father, and he wasn’t mine. He belonged to someone else.
“He doesn’t give those girls a dime, and look at you,” Jay had sneered. “Fancy-as-shit princess sittin’ in their daddy’s castle.” He had looked around the apartment and twisted his mouth. “Disgusting, the both of you.” Then he had left. And I was forever dubbed Princess in his eyes.
I was forced to go to their family gatherings, enduring three years of nasty looks and hurtful words that they never tried to hide from me. I was nothing like what they thought of me. I wore the clothes my mother bought me to those parties because she wanted to keep up appearances, and I knew she would do everything in her power to snatch my college tuition from me. Rick wrote the checks, and he always told me not to worry about her, but years of conditioning was hard to break. Because of that, I looked like a princess out to get my mother’s boyfriend’s money, but nothing could have been further from the truth. I worked every night after classes at a book store, determined to pay Rick back every cent.
I was an outcast in his family–something dirty and tainted. His daughters were all older than me and hated my guts. It didn’t take long to realize they were spoiled and entitled, but their family was blind to it. Jason was rarely there, always off serving his country somewhere or traveling with his motorcycle club—The Matron’s Watchmen—but when he was home, he made me feel the dirtiest of all.
He was so beautiful and handsome and was so sweet with his family. But with my mother and me? He was an asshole. I tried to remember that he and his family saw my mother and me as homewreckers and that they had their reasons for their hatred toward us. But it was hard, and it only got harder every year. Resentment took hold of me over the years. I resented my mother for putting us in that position. I resented Rick for putting me in that position–for bringing me to every family gathering, and for trying so hard to force a place for me in his family. And I resented Jay and his family for judging me based on my mother’s and Rick’s actions.
Never in a million years would I have expected Jason on the other end of that phone. Never would I have expected him to coach me through something so traumatizing. In the past, he would have bitten off his own hand before lending it to me.
But now, he was coming. I didn’t have many people in the world. My mom was dead. Rick was a psychopath. But I had Bil-
My phone rang, startling a scream out of me. I scrambled for it, wheezing as the snarls picked up in volume. “Jay?” I asked low.
“Hey, I’m here,” he whispered. “It’s going to take me a little bit to get to you, and you might hear me coming, but don’t come out, okay? Not until I tell you to.”
“What’s happening, Jason?” I asked. My voice was scratchy and hoarse.
“I’ll tell you when I see you, okay?”
“He killed her,” I moaned. “He was covered in her blood,” I whimpered.
“Rick?” he asked, his voice hoarse.
“Yeah,” I choked.
He cursed. “Just hang tight. I’m coming, Low. Don’t move, okay?”
I whispered my agreement and cried silent tears when he hung up again. Now that my shock was wearing off and I could process a little more, I could picture Rick’s dead eyes as he looked at me. I didn’t know who that man was, but he wasn’t Rick.
Noises from outside filtered through the walls, and I could hear the chaos outside. But I couldn’t believe some of the things going through my mind–the possibilities behind the chaos both outside and in my own home. Sirens blared, and the screams were never-ending. Something bad was happening. Something really, really bad. Something you only saw on television or read in books.
I jumped when gunshots went off beside me. I had heard them in the distance while I waited for him, but these were much closer. I covered my face and held in my sobs as they got louder and louder, closer and closer.
A loud bang went off past my feet, and several gunshots boomed through the vent. Then they stopped, and it was silent–not a single snarl. I held my breath and listened.
“Low?” a voice called. I whimpered and started to twist around in the vent, shimmying down. “Low, come here, baby.”
I grunted and scooted, screaming when a hand wrapped around my ankle. “It’s me, Princess. Just Jason.” I sobbed and went limp as he tugged me through the hole. Then I was in his arms, and he squeezed me to his chest, chanting, “thank fuck, thank fuck,” over and over.
I wrapped my arms around his neck and squeezed him tight as he carried me out of the room. He sat me on the bed and crouched down in front of me, his eyes roaming my face wildly. “You’re okay, Low. Look at me. I’m gonna grab a bag, and I want you to stuff some clothes inside. I’m gonna be at your back. Do not turn around, okay? Don’t turn around.” I nodded and let him pull me up. He wrapped his arm around my waist and walked me to my desk. He grabbed my backpack, dumped the books out of it, side-stepped, and yanked open my drawers. I grabbed anything my hands touched and tossed it inside the backpack, stuffing it full. Jason zipped it up, slinging it over his shoulder.
He spun me around and shoved my face into his chest. I could feel a gun in the center of my back as he walked me backward out of the bedroom. “Don’t you dare look, Princess.” I nodded and grabbed a fistful of his T-shirt. His hand turned on my back and bent around the corner of the apartment door. “We’re gonna go nice and slow. Don’t make a sound.” Then he spun me around to face the hallway. “Eyes ahead,” he growled and walked forward, his gun aimed ahead of me over my shoulder, his other arm wrapped around my stomach.
I saw the bodies. Four. Five of them. It was impossible not to see them, but with Jason at my back, I managed to block them out. I managed to breathe through the sickness roiling in my gut from seeing all the blood on the floor and walls.
We stopped at the stairwell door, smoke billowed out from the bottom. “Fuck,” he cursed and laid his palm an inch from the door, hovering. We walked farther down the hallway, stopping at the next door, as Jason put my back to the wall beside it. He tested the door’s warmth again, sucked in a breath, and wrenched it open, aiming his gun. “Hands on my waist, Low. Don’t let go.”
I did as he said, gripping a gun holster hanging from his shoulders, and followed him down the stairs. He stepped down at an angle, wedging my body between him and the wall protectively. We made it down to the bottom level, and he pressed my back to the wall. “Go slow, Low. Don’t run from me.” His blue eyes bore into mine, and I nodded fast.
He wrenched the door open and aimed the gun down either side of the hallway, then pulled me back in front of him as he had upstairs, the gun aimed ahead of us. We walked through the lobby, slow and quiet. We were at the front doors, and I was gaping at the disaster outside when a loud screech echoed through the hallway. Jason whirled around and threw me up against the wall behind him and just―shot a woman.
She had been running at us in a full sprint, her face and clothes bloodied. And then a bullet blew through her brain, and she flew backward. I gaped at her, fresh tears welling up. Jason shook me and shouted in my face. He squeezed my jaw in his fist tightly, and I watched his mouth move, but I couldn’t make out the words. My world had gone muffled. Shock paralyzed me. He squeezed his fist around my jaw until I winced in pain and shook me violently. I blinked.
Slowly, his words filtered in. “We have to run for my bike,” he snarled. I nodded, and he heaved a relieved breath.
He yanked me in front of him, shoving through the glass doors out into chaos. Screams pierced the air and explosions boomed, shaking the ground. “Run!” He shouted and shoved me ahead. He pointed to his bike a few feet away, and I sprinted as fast as I could.
Dozens and dozens of crazed and bloodied people sprinted toward us. Jason shoved me onto the front of the bike and climbed on behind me. He jammed his foot down, and the bike roared to life. The wheels squealed, and he peeled out onto the street, dodging people and crashed cars. Debris of all kinds forced him to swerve all over the road. I felt hands claw at my arms and legs, but we were flying too fast for them to grab hold.
My hands were wrapped under his arms, gripping his forearms, and his thighs were pressed tight to me. He was hunched over me, curling his big body protectively around mine. The wind whipped the tears from my face as they came, and my eyes burned, but I couldn’t look away from the road. It was too horrific.
It wasn’t long before I realized we were moving deeper into the city, not away from it. “Where are we going?” I shouted over the roar of the bike.
“Ma’s,” he shouted back. I blinked my dry eyes. Of course, he would want to go to his mother’s. His mother, his other uncle—Paulie, and Rick’s ex-wife were the only family he had in the city other than Rick. His other aunts and uncles lived farther south, and Rick’s daughters were already out of college and lived in Virginia. But why wouldn’t he go to his mom’s first? I knew he and Rick were close. They’d had a tight bond when he was a kid. But lately, that bond had been very strained. Why go for Rick first? Me first? Why come at all?
We drove through the streets, and the things we saw would ensure I never slept again. The deeper into the city we got, the more chaotic it was. People were screaming from rooftops and dying in the streets. Hordes of people driven to the same craziness as Rick and the woman Jason shot ran through the streets pouncing on people without any rhyme or reason.
Jason had to drive onto the sidewalk more than once just to get around the pandemonium. People tried to grab for us, but we were moving too fast. My muscles were locked so tight from terror I could barely feel my toes or fingers. Jason came up on the townhouse and skidded to a stop, angling so hard my legs nearly scraped the street.
He kicked down the stand and fired his gun over my shoulder as a man screeched and ran toward us. I let out a shocked sob as his head exploded on the pavement. “Why did you do that?” I screamed as Jason yanked me from the bike and shoved me up the stairs. A woman screamed from behind for help, and I turned back. Jason grabbed my arm harshly and threw me up against the door, fumbling with the doorknob.
“Not now,” he growled at me as he shoved the door open.
“You killed him!” I shouted back and fell to my knees as we tumbled into the house.
“He would have done worse to us,” he growled and pulled me up. He aimed his gun through the front room and at each doorway in turn. “Ma!”
“What’s happening?” I sobbed and hugged my stomach, backing away from him. My back hit the wall, and I jumped.
Jason ignored me and shouted for his mother again. He waited a beat, listening carefully, and then grabbed my arm, pulling me deeper into the house. We searched the bottom floor but found nothing but a broken glass and a few upturned chairs. Jason seemed to grow more agitated at the sight and pulled me quickly up the stairs to the second floor.
The first few rooms were empty, but a banging sound at the end of the hall startled me, and I watched, terrified, as Jason stiffened and aimed his gun at the door at the end of the hall. “Ma?” he called again. Another bang and a grunt and Jason heaved a breath, looking back at me. I blinked tears away as he wavered. “Stay behind me,” he said gruffly. I nodded quickly and followed him down the hall.
I tiptoed behind him a few feet and held my elbows as he stopped at the door, listening. He took a deep breath and gently turned the doorknob. He looked back at me again before slowly pushing open the door with the barrel of his gun. “Fuck!” he suddenly exploded, and the door slammed against his arm, pinning him. An enraged howl echoed through the hall, and I gasped as Jason kicked against the wall, throwing the door wide. The neighbor, Mr. Waverly, shoved his bloodied face through the door and snapped his teeth at Jason, his hands clawing at Jason’s arms, preventing him from firing. The man looked half dead. Strips of flesh from his face hung down, and his left eye was completely carved from its socket. I jumped forward to help pull Jason free, but I was tackled from behind.
I grunted as I went down and my chin slammed against the hardwood floor. Claws dug into my back, and I screamed, rolling into the wall. Rick’s ex-wife, Mary, crouched above me. Her eyes were wild and so washed out I could barely see the pupils. Her teeth were bloody, and half of her lower jaw was completely missing. I had dislodged her when I rolled, but she quickly pounced on me again and snapped her teeth at my face. My hands dug into her jaw, holding her off, and I screamed as her fingernails broke the skin under my arms.
I shoved my legs up above me and kicked at her stomach, but she was so much heavier than me that her weight kept me pinned down. A gunshot blasted from behind, and then Jason was there, ripping her off me. He threw her against the wall and raised his gun.
But he hesitated.
Mary lunged for me again. Her knees landed in my stomach, and my breath left me in a big heave. I gasped and pushed against her chest as she snapped at me. I heard another gunshot, and her head exploded all over my face and chest.
I gagged, bile crawling up my throat. Her body dropped on top of me, and my hands shook as I frantically pushed against her lifeless body. Jason pulled her from me, and I rolled onto my knees, heaving and expunging orange bile from my mouth. Jason picked me up around my waist and pushed me into the nearby bathroom. I dropped to my knees and threw up in the toilet. Mushy Cheeto-colored gore scraped my throat and choked me as I sobbed and trembled.
Jason rubbed my back and held my hair out of my face until I pushed away from the toilet. He grabbed a towel and scraped it against my face, cleaning streams of blood and gore from me. I gagged again and pushed away from him, using the sink to pull myself up. I turned the water on and frantically scrubbed at my face and neck. Jason handed me a cup, and I filled it, rinsed my mouth, and spit, again and again. Afterward, I stood and looked down at my ruined shirt. It was completely coated.
I frantically clawed it off and tossed it away; the tank top underneath was damp but not nearly as bad as the shirt. I turned woodenly and looked at Jason. His back was to me as he looked down the hallway– back to the door that Mr. Waverly had come out of. His body was stiff. The veins in his arms and hands bulged out. “Jason?”
He looked at me over his shoulder. “Time to go.”
“Your mom?” I asked. Hadn’t we come here for her? She could still be here. She could be hiding.
He shook his head and looked back at the door at the end of the hall. “Let’s go.” He stepped into the hallway and marched back down the stairs. I scrambled after him, glancing back at the room. Was she in there? Did he see her?
Jason went into the kitchen with his gun raised. He looked around the room before going to a glass bowl on the counter. “Pack up some food.”
I watched him sift through the contents of the bowl until he found a ring of keys, cold washing over me. “Jay?” I stepped close to him and lightly touched his broad back. He stiffened.
“Now,” he said, low and rough. Shaking my hand off, he walked to a cupboard and pulled out canvas grocery bags, tossing them to me. I rushed over to the cabinets and grabbed cans and boxes of food, acutely aware of him and his palpable anger. I jumped when he slammed the garage door behind him. I breathed a sigh as I was left alone in the kitchen.
Looking down at a can of peas in my hand, I stared at it. I thought I knew why he wanted me to gather the cans, but I couldn’t quite accept the reason. Why were we gathering supplies? How was he able to think so clearly right now? I could barely move from one second to the next without my emotions overwhelming me. Food and clothes were the last things on my mind. I just wanted to leave this city. I wanted to get as far away from the chaos as possible. But while Jason seemed to be preparing for something, I didn’t think I would ever be able to even remotely accept a situation where we would need dozens of cans of peas.
I dropped the bags on the counter and hesitantly walked to the dated television sitting on the opposite counter. My hands lifted without thought, and I switched it on. The screen filled with static for a moment before it cleared on a news station.
Words like infection and outbreak were tossed around by the news anchors.
Martial law.
Emergency evacuations.
I heard the words, but I couldn’t take my eyes off the clips of chaos streaming behind the anchors. City after city, town after town, drifted by. It wasn’t just Maryland. It was Virginia and Pennsylvania. New York and Boston. Florida. Nearly the entire east coast was in a state of panic.
Military trucks, helicopters, and tanks rolled into the infected areas on the screen. Soldiers, Marines, and the Coast Guard ran through the streets, their guns aimed at American citizens.
Civilians.
The anchors were white as sheets as they told people to stay indoors. Not to panic. But even they didn’t believe their own words–there was no conviction behind them.
