The Well's End (8 page)

“Mia?” Jo whispers. “What's happening?”

I stroke her hair. “I don't know. That might not be him. It can't be.” I feel stupid saying this—everything makes sense, even if it doesn't. Whatever's going on is making people age and die. Fast and furious. And Jo's dad is now dead. And my dad seemed to know something was coming. He tried to warn me. I feel her body shuddering against mine and try to ignore the fact that Dad didn't try to warn anybody else.

“It might be.” We both turn toward Brayden, Jo snorting cry-snot, trying to control herself. He's been back down, digging through the old man's pockets, and has found his keys and cell phone. He hands them both over to Jo and steps back.

“What're you doing?” I ask, disgusted both by his rooting around in a dead man's pocket and by his touching an infected body.

“She has to know for sure. She has to
believe.
Otherwise she'll never let him go.” He pauses, looks at me, and for the first time, I see that he's scared too. He just knows how to hide it better. But I can see it in his eyes; they're large, his thick brows higher, his forehead creased. He's just a better actor than me.

Jo's staring at the keys to her house. She flips open the phone, and it's clearly her dad's. I see something, but she flips it back down again.

“What's that? A message?”

She sniffs. “So what?”

But I swore I saw something, a name I'm incredibly familiar with. “Open the phone. Look at it. Whose message is that?”

Jo does, and we both look. There's a message icon—two, actually. They're from my dad, clearly downloaded before the service outage. He
did
try to warn someone.

Jo's eyes catch mine, and for a second, we just stare at each other. Yesterday we woke up and fought over who would shower first. Now this, this insanity. Jo retrieves the voice mail and presses the speaker phone, and after a delay, we hear my dad's voice, saved on the phone's message service.

Brett, it's Greg Kish. I know this might sound weird, but I'm worried that something bad's about to happen. I'm not sure what, but I wanted to call you to warn you. Mia is there alone. I can't help her. I need someone, an adult, to keep an eye on her, and I hope that for the next few days, you can do that for me. If you see anything suspicious, call me, okay?

The phone goes silent, and we all look over at the body lying facedown. Brayden's eyes shift from body to phone to me, puzzlement written all over his face.

“How did he call after the phones went down?” he asks.

I shake my head, looking at the time stamp on the phone. “He didn't. He called yesterday.”
Yesterday, right after I met with the reporter.

“Why did he call then?” Jo asks.

I consider telling them more, but instead find myself shrugging in confusion. Dad called Mr. Banner after we met with that fake reporter. He
did
know something was going on. I should have listened to him and run when I could. Jo pushes for the next message, which was left about fifteen minutes after the first, and I stare so hard at the phone that I think I see him, my dad, driving in the car from campus to the Cave, phone to his ear, speaking softly but earnestly, pleading with Mr. Banner to save our lives.

Brett, it's me again. I know that last message was strange, and I'm sorry. Please, please, don't say anything to Mia to alarm her. Just . . . listen. If something happens
—anything
you think that might be strange—take Jo and Mia and go straight to the aqueduct. The caretaker, Wilkins, he'll get you into the back door of the Cave. If you can't find him, if he's gone into town or something, try my phone number.

The message ends, and I blink away tears, both at his voice and in relief to know that he wasn't such a monster. That at least he tried to warn someone else. Dad told Mr. Banner about the aqueduct, about Wilkins. Suddenly I'm hit with a wash of frustration, of anger. It didn't matter; Mr. Banner is still dead, and my father still knew something was coming. He
knew.
If he had acted on it, instead of just sending these cryptic messages, everyone might be alive now. Or at least Mr. Banner would be. Where is my dad, anyway? Why wasn't he here before this all began, pulling me away?

“Listen, I know things are insane right now,” Brayden says, taking the phone from Jo, as if that will make things better. “But clearly there's some sort of outbreak going on. Something moving quickly and killing everyone. We're quarantined for a reason, and we shouldn't be
here.
We could get sick. Your father, Jo—even yours, Mia, judging by the call . . . they wouldn't want you to stay here. We have to go tell the others. We have to put Devin in an isolated room. Try to keep healthy.”

I let Jo stare for another moment, then say, “He's right.” And he
is
right. He's so collected and calm, even while being scared. I wish I had his poise and felt confident helping my best friend through this. I want to close Mr. Banner's eyes. I bet the eyelids are soft.

I swallow my own grief and walk Jo back the way we've come. She moves slowly, being led, and finally I lean her against the wall, where her head bangs back hard and she sucks in her breath.

In the silence there is nothing, only the sound of my heart beating, reverberating in my head so fast I think I'm deaf. But I'm not deaf, because I can hear the front doors open, crashing against the walls with a bang. For the briefest of moments, hope swells in my chest. My father's come to save us! I look around the corner, toward the doors, and see three figures. I see soldiers and guns. Brayden takes a step forward, but I grab his arm and pull him and Jo back around the corner.

“Oh, shit,” I say.

“What?” Brayden asks, confused. “Even if the soldiers are quarantining us, they still want to help.”

“Like they did when they shot at Devin?” Jo whispers, her bitterness fresh and raw, especially standing ten feet from her dead father.

“He was probably being an idiot, not stopping, trying to break the quarantine,” Brayden replies, somewhat callously.

I hear them, but can't really understand. How can I explain it to them, what I saw? There were two soldiers with guns dressed in hazmat suits coming into the school. Between them, walking without a hazmat, was a third figure. Blake Sutton.

“WE HAVE TO GO.”

Jo knows me well enough to hear that there's something different in my voice. “What is it, Mia?”

I stare at her, trying to push out the smallest whisper I can imagine. “I
know
that guy. I met him yesterday. He interviewed me and Dad, but afterward Dad warned me to stay away from him.” I'm feeling guilt bloom in my stomach; we don't have much time, so I blurt out, “Right after the sirens, dad told me to leave campus. Just like he told your dad, Jo. He
knew
something bad was going to happen, and I think this guy's the key.”

Brayden, who's crouching at our feet and peering around the corner, whispers up at us, “He's here in the quarantine with a killer virus and no hazmat suit. He's more than just the key.”

“We have to get off campus.” I stare hard at them, willing them to agree, but it doesn't take much. Jo nods immediately, her face grim, and though Brayden is new, is in an unfamiliar place, doesn't know me or anyone, I can see that he trusts what I have to say. He mulls my words over in his head, checking angles, and I see the moment he agrees, his face almost upticking. I don't know why, but I want to smile. I have to fight the urge. But he's making me feel strong, purposeful. The opposite of the loneliness I feel in the swimming lanes.

“Okay, good,” I continue. “We have to get Rob.”

I expect him to pause again, but he doesn't. He's all in.

“Through the pool!” Jo says, and she's right. It's a way out that will take us far from where Blake Sutton is. I put my finger to my lips and shoo her forward. We go single file, crouched, moving quickly, trying to keep our sneakers flat against the tile to avoid squeaks.

Soon we're at the small glassed corridor that connects to the gym, then to the pool, a sort of indoor/outdoor walkway, the most dangerous part of our trip, as it's where we are most likely to be seen. We peer through the window, fogging up the glass with our breath, but can't see anyone. What we can make out are spotlights, moving across the school, along the walls.

“That makes getting caught easier,” Brayden jokes. I nudge him quiet, and we move on, staying low, into the gym, where the smell of sweat and wood immediately hits me. The pool is connected through the locker rooms, and we're about to go through the girls' locker room when I get an idea. “You guys go through the boys' and see if the equipment room is open. Get some ski-team gear, something warm. Anything we might need for being out in the cold at night.”

“Where are you going?” Jo asks, her pale face almost blue in the dark.

“We shouldn't split up,” Brayden adds. His brown eyes are intent, trying to figure out my plan, but I need to be alone in the girls' locker room, so I shake my head.

“Just trust me,” I say, and then add, “Grab some hand warmers too, while you're there.” Jo looks confused, probably just still in general shock at seeing her dad transformed and dead, but complies, and the two are off to the other side of the gym, their bodies flinching at each occasional squeak along the hardwood floors.

• • •

Good thing I often get dressed alone, so I'm used to it being so quiet. It's weird, though, like my locker combination should be different. But no, 18–31–17 still works.
Click.
I wince, pull open the squeaking door, and then wince again. Naked is not how I'd like to be found by anyone who might come inside. I strip out of my layers—though, after considering the logistics, I leave my underwear on. Against the cold air, my mind screams,
hurry up hurry up hurry up
. Of course I have a swimsuit in my room, but not one like this, and I pull on my full-body suit, two legs, up to my waist. Jo and Brayden are probably digging through the equipment room, finding weapons. I feel like I can almost hear them, whispering.

But suddenly I
do
hear a sound, like plastic on plastic and the gush of heavy breathing. I immediately cover my exposed breasts and try to turn my head, but a muffled voice shouts out, “Stop moving.”

My throat's so tight I can barely breathe, and my body's so cold it's starting to shake. Perfect timing to be as helpless as I've ever felt. Halfway naked, I don't think I can move my hands to defend myself even if I wanted to.

“What are you doing here?” the voice asks. There's a click, and suddenly I'm bathed in light, even more self-conscious.

These men, they're soldiers. Brayden's right: they're supposed to
help
us. I take a deep breath and say, “I'm a student here. I was just getting some things I need for my dorm. I . . . what's happening?”

I peek over my shoulder and see him, this large white suit with a gun trained on me. A flashlight is affixed to the barrel, blinding me from any details.

“Did you see anything?” the soldier asks.

“What do you mean?”

“Did you see anyone sick?” he replies, his voice echoing around the locker room.

It's an odd thing, wallowing in this type of fear. I feel as if my senses sharpen. I notice my dry teeth, the tightness of my skin, the pulse of my heart in my fingertips. I'm all alone. “I saw the teachers, yes, but . . .” I try again. “Just let me put some clothes on.”

“Don't move!” he commands again, moving closer. “You have to come with me.”

“But what is this?” I ask, all my questions bursting forth. “Why is everyone dying? Who are you?”

He doesn't answer, but grabs my arm and pulls me toward the door. His plastic glove bites hard into my skin, and I try to fight down the panic that's growing in me. I don't know if he's helping or hurting. I don't know what to believe.

There's a squeak and then the loud thud of a body and helmet hitting the tile. I turn, see Brayden twirling a baseball bat in his hands, calm as can be. His eyes are so intense they appear to smolder. I'm agog watching him, feeling my body heat up instantly, life returning to my limbs in a jet of boy crush and hero worship.

Brayden kicks at the soldier's foot, then, satisfied, he looks up at me and blushes. “You okay?” he asks, his voice soft and caring.

“You just hit a soldier? What were you thinking?”

He frowns, his lips thin and his forehead wrinkled. “I was thinking he was trying to take you somewhere you didn't want to go while you were naked.”

I turn, deathly embarrassed at my bare chest, and pull the suit into place, trying hard to ignore that he just saw me topless. Fully clothed, I stand up and take the still body in. We're in trouble now.

“I didn't know you'd actually be changing in here, otherwise I'd have n-n-never . . .” He stutters, thinking about what he's saying. “I would never—”

“See me naked?” I offer helpfully.

“No. I mean, not that. I mean, maybe . . . but I'd never—”

“Barge in and knock a soldier unconscious?”

He nods his head thankfully, but I can see him checking me out. It's a weird thing, to be cognizant of his eyes roving my body, making me feel for the first time in a long time like I don't need to hurry out of the pool and to my towel. I find it odd to recognize the difference between Brayden's look and, say, Rob's innocuous gaze. If Brayden hadn't walked in on me naked by accident, would he have ever bothered to do so on purpose?

I look down at the soldier and realize how different his body is from the dead we just saw, how animate and sensible. Limbs angled the right way, the suit rising slowly with each breath.

“He's fine,” Brayden reassures me. “He'll wake up crying, but he deserves it.”

“Yeah, and he'll be happy to come with all his buddies and their guns to find us in the dorms.” I'm scaring myself, growing more terrified by this quarantine by the second, but am somehow equally exhilarated. Maybe it's being in the locker room, but my body is as bouncy and eager as at a swim meet. Brayden laid someone out for me, and it's hard not to stare. I wonder if he has a soccer bod like Jo says Todd has—all six-pack and legs. I take a second, gather myself, trying to think of his face as merely two eyes and a mouth. We have more pressing matters in the world.

“Thank you,” I squeak.

He comes close, picks up my jacket from the ground and slips it over my shoulders. “Not sure why you were in here changing, Mia, but you need to stay warm, okay?”

I nod mutely, the warmth of his breath on me. Is it weird that I'm surprised at how minty it smells? He reaches up slowly with both hands and places them tenderly on the back of my neck, his palms just under my jaw. I close my eyes and lean forward, but instead of his lips brushing mine, they land softly upon my forehead and linger, pressing against me gently. I'm pleased by how good it feels, and as he pulls away, he hovers his lips near my forehead and kisses my eyebrow the same way. I don't know what to do with my hands, so I put them against his coat, but even with the thick padding of his jacket, I can feel his body. He moves his hands to my hips, and they rest there like miniature fires, burning through my suit.

He leans back, leaving me swaying, absolutely dazed. I can hear Jo coming, whispering, “Guys? Where are you?” but I don't move. I can't. I can only stare into his eyes.

“Mia,” he says, almost inaudible.

“Yeah?” I reply, a breath.

“I like you.”

I giggle, I can't help it. “You do?”

He nods seriously, then traces the ridge of the crook in my nose. “I even like this.”

He looks proud, excited, happy. Jo rounds the corner and sees us, standing over a body, our faces smiling, not fifteen minutes after finding her father dead. I feel an immediate, awful guilt wash over me and hurry to get on the rest of my clothes.

“What happened?” Jo asks, her arms full of supplies. She looks steady, purposeful, her face more flushed and her thin brows bent over her eyes. I'm not sure, at this very moment, that she can realistically process what she walked in on.

“We have to go,” I say, searching the floor for my clothes.

Jo bends to hand me my goggles, which had fallen from my locker. She's slow about it, sidestepping Brayden, who is making a show of checking the soldier again. I look at her, her grief-stricken face. She smiles. Not a big one, not an
I'm happy
one. But she glances at Brayden and smiles for me. And that makes her the best friend in the world.

• • •

We have to sneak back across campus. There aren't many soldiers, and we know our way around the school, but they're there, standing near our dorm, guarding the entrance. This is what a quarantine is all about, right? No one in, no one out. I wonder why they waited so long to get on campus in the first place. But now we've no choice. If we're caught, we might be held long enough for the soldier we knocked out to wake up and then we'd be in serious trouble.

Our room is on the third floor, so no climbing in the window, but there are two side entrances and one basement entrance, and there appear to be only three soldiers assigned to guard the entire area, making rounds, wandering the grounds near the doors. We wait until they turn the corner and then we take off; I have my magnetic key-swipe in hand. The snow gives way under our feet, slowing us down, and for a moment, I'm terrified we'll be caught, but we make it to the doorway. I swipe the card, and there's a loud
beep
before the green light flashes, then the
click
of the bolt retracting.
Hurry,
I think, and we pull the heavy door toward us. A soldier appears at the building's edge and starts speed-walking our way. We slam the door shut, hearing his body bang against the door right after.

“We told you!” he shouts, his voice muffled through suit and door. “Stay inside!” Then he kicks the door. I let out a sigh of relief. He must have thought we were trying to get out, not in.

We all share a dazed look.

“And now we have to sneak back out there?” Jo asks.

I shrug. “It's the only way.”

“Okay,” Brayden says, hefting the baseball bat he felled the soldier with. “I'll get to my room and meet you at yours in ten minutes. Ready to go by then?”

“Definitely,” I reply, trying to sound confident. His gaze lingers. His body doesn't want to move, and I see it fighting to stay. It's the cutest thing ever, watching him want me. But finally he turns down a hallway and disappears, and we jump up the stairs to ours.

I'm not surprised to find Rob in our room, standing by the window, biting his nails. He whirls around at our entrance, his usually indifferent face etched with concern. He's in a blue sweatshirt with the hood pulled up, spikes of his black hair peeking out in disarray.

“Where were you?” he asks, angry and jealous and concerned all at once. He takes a look at Jo and his face softens, knowing intuitively what we found. He's always been a sensitive one. “Oh, man. Shoot.” He goes right for her and gives her a hard hug that her arms don't return for a second—and then they do, desperately, and suddenly she's crying. I can't help it; I join them, and for a moment, what might be the only moment in a long while, we mourn her father.

“How'd you know?” she asks, sniffling, pulling back to look at Rob.

“I could see it on your face,” he replies in a whisper.

I'd like to go on hugging my friends for longer, but we don't have time. “Rob,” I say, taking charge, pulling them both back to me, “we have to leave campus . . . now.”

He nods to the bed where a backpack is already waiting. Again, Mr. Astute.

“But we can't leave,” Jo says, her eyes out the window. She's hugging herself and rocking gently on her feet. “It has to be a virus, right? What if we've got it now, by being there? We weren't wearing suits.” She turns back to us. “What if we spread it by leaving?”

“We're not going to see anyone,” I say, shaking my head.

“You don't know that,” she replies. “And what if we infect your dad?”