The Doomsday Kids #3, Amaranth's Return

The Doomsday Kids

Book 3

Amaranth’s Return

By

KARYN LANGHORNE FOLAN

The Doomsday Kids: Book 2—Nester’s Mistake

Copyright © 2014 by Karyn Langhorne Folan

Cover Image by Skinny Designs, www.fiverr.com/iam5kinny

Editing services provided by Judy Danish

E-Book Distribution: XinXii

http://www.xinxii.com

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced by any means, graphic, electronic, or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, taping or by any information storage retrieval system without the written permission of the publisher except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews. Inquiries should be addressed to kaynfolan@doomsdaykids.com.

This is a work of fiction. All of the characters, names, incidents, organizations, and dialogue in this novel are either the products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously.

Published in the United States of America by K Squared Books.

Have You Read…

the other books in the Doomsday Kids series?

Book 1: Liam’s Promise.

Book 2: Nester’s Mistake.

Table of Contents

Have You Read…

1 Kinder

2 Survival Skills

3 Ramped

4 A Family in the Forest

5 Leap of Faith

6 Amaranth Takes a Dip

7 Wallet on a Stick

8 Man Down

9 Lights

10 Jax

11 The Laughing Buck

12 Let’s Make A Deal

13 Work Detail

14 UNCivil Lessons

15 To the Barricade

16 Fuel to Fire

17 Potomac Mountain

18 The Promise

19 Unexpected Discoveries

20 Good News, Bad News

21 Plagued

22 The Power of Poison

Letter to You, the Reader

Doomsday Kids ###Book 4

Amy’s GIFT

1

Kinder

We trudged through the snow like the couple of drunkards we were: me the regular hung over kind and Rod, the woozy, sick kind. He careened from dead tree to dead tree before stopping to gulp air like a dying fish.

I can make it, he snapped when I reached out to help him. I just need a minute, Amaranth. Stop hovering over me, okay?

Whatever, I muttered, pretending to turn my back. When he wasn’t looking, I watched him, synching his symptoms with what Nester Bartlett had said.

How long?

Nester still had the survival medical book out on the table. Amy Yamamoto, Rod’s trigger-happy girlfriend was out of the room, but I lowered my voice anyway. Rod himself had lurched to the outhouse where lunch was coming up… or out.

Nester blinked at me, his light brown eyes huge behind his broken glasses. Without a word, he turned the book’s pages to a dog-eared section and stepped aside so I could read it.

It was a lot of information: all about the way radiation is measured and the various levels of exposure. Someone—Nester, I guessed—had made a light circle in pencil around an entry for exposure over 500 RADS.

Spontaneous bleeding, fever, weight loss, stomach and intestinal ulcers, bloody diarrhea, dehydration, low blood pressure, infections, hair loss.

And in the next paragraph:

Symptoms are not immediate but develop over time. Hair loss will appear at 10-14 days. Deaths may occur weeks after exposure…

And there’s nothing we can do. It wasn’t really a question and Nester didn’t take it as one. He pulled the book away from me and put it back on the shelf.

We’ve all already been exposed, he said quietly. You read it: it might take weeks, months, maybe even years. Rod got burned in the heatwave, so he was already weaker, more vulnerable. He doesn’t have long. He shook his head and squinted his glasses up his nose, punctuating his seriousness. It’s going to get all of us eventually.

We’d barely left Doc Watson’s junkyard behind us, and we were already in trouble. Rod was leaning against a tree with his eyes closed and his chest heaving. And I was sweating like a fat lady in her first spin class. The two five-gallon containers of gas I was dragging behind me cut a swath through the snow, pushing aside every obstacle like some rich bitch lugging her over-packed suitcase through a crowded airport. My little golden retriever puppy was like the miniature pets girls like that used to carry in their handbags.

What are you laughing at? Rod demanded.

Nothing. How stupid we are, I said, letting go of the containers. These ten gallons won’t get us even halfway—

The puppy jumped out of the home I’d made for it in my coat and cavorted in the snow like we were headed to doggy daycare, not into the great unknown. She put her paws on Rod’s leg and barked at him, wagging her tail. He ignored her, so she came back to me, licking my fingers.

This dog is a really, really bad idea. You know that, don’t you, Amaranth? Rod’s voice sounded like a rusty nail raking rat’s carcass. She’s going to bark at the wrong time and get us killed.

Or she might bark at the right time and save our lives.

Rod considered that possibility for a moment. Maybe, he said, pulling himself to his feet. But my money’s on the first one.

I scooped the puppy up, settling her in the hollow just below my neck like a scarf. She licked my chin, not like love, but like she hoped there was some food to be had there. There wasn’t. Her heart beat against my chest, its warmth and comfort reminding me of how it felt back in The Hole when Elise or Lilly would lean against me and fall asleep. But that was long ago when I thought I could be someone different, someone better. I grabbed the gas tank by its handle and tugged.

Come on, Rod. It’s not much further.

How are we both going to fit on this thing?

The tractor wasn’t big: not more than a single seat with its cabin protected by thick plastic flaps where doors might have been to keep out the worst of the weather. Add four huge wheels, a scooper-thingy on the front of it—like the cowcatcher on the bug-out bus we’d ridden in on our way to the Mountain Place— and some kind of digger on the back, and you’re done. Not exactly built for a journey of a couple hundred miles… but better than walking.

You’ll sit in my lap. Rod wiggled his singed brows beneath his black hat like he was sexy or something. Beneath it, there was very little hair left—cut off in surrender after the radiation poisoning started leaving clumps of it on his shoulders. Like it had done to Lilly. Like it would probably do to us all…

Be serious, I sighed.

"I am serious." Rod grabbed the cab’s frame and pulled himself inside with difficulty, settling himself on the seat with a wince. He crooked his finger at me, patting the space between his knees.

No way. I shook my head. The stupid thing’s going to flip over—

"It’s the only way, Amaranth. Unless…"

You want to go back.

The words vibrated in the air between us.

You don’t have to go. I told you that. You don’t have to go.

I closed my eyes and imagined us driving the tractor right back up to the Place. Amy would hug Rod with relief and Elise would smile like I was a champion or something. Nester would say something that wouldn’t make me feel stupid and Liam would run to me and wrap me in his arms like he did when he realized I wasn’t dead—

But none of that would happen. None of it could. Amy would probably send Rod to bed like he was a child. Elise wouldn’t even look at me. There was a gulf between me and Nester now—my fault—that I didn’t see how I could ever repair. And Liam…

Forget about running into my arms: Liam couldn’t even walk again yet. He would. I believed that: more than I believed that Rod and I would make it to Washington, DC. Liam would walk—and run—again.

Just not to me.

Your knees are like spikes, I said, climbing onto the tractor and settling myself on Rod’s lap.

Quit whining and start her up, Rod replied, nodding to the keys still dangling in the ignition.

Neither of us knew how to drive it. When we finally figured out how to use the clutch and lift and lower the scooper thingy on the front, I set off slowly across the dead fields toward the road, rumbling along the very edge of the clearing where the Mountain Place and its out-buildings sat.

I hadn’t planned to look—what possible good could come of that now? But of course, the engine stalled and the tractor rolled to a stop in sight of the little homestead. We both turned for the last time.

Even with the smell of smoke and the ugly smears of blood spoiling the snow, I couldn’t help remembering what it was like to be inside: the warmth of the coal stove, the old but totally comfy furniture, Amy and Nester acting like everyone’s parents. Marty and Katie, the two country kids who knew everything about how to live off the land complaining about how useless the rest of us were. The pantry full of staples and supplies that Liam’s father had been stockpiling there since forever. Lilly’s grave on the edge of the orchard.

And Liam.

All of the sudden Liam materialized, standing there, with that apprehensive new kid look on his face that he’d worn the first day I’d ever laid eyes on him. He looked nervous, and curious and something else. Something… I don’t know. Dependable. Faithful. Good. He was the hero in one of those sticky-sweet romance novels a lot of the girls read. The kind where the love interest is super good-looking and even though he’s got some kind of issue to deal with, you know—you know from the very first sentence that, in the end, he’ll do the right thing. I had desperate need of a guy like that, so I took one look at him and thought:

That’s him. That’s my mark.

A couple of days. A week tops, Rod said quietly. I just want to see, you know? I just want to be sure… he didn’t finish the sentence. A week, then we’ll come back.

Yeah, I agreed. A week. Tops—

You don’t have to go. Rod repeated. I can manage on my own.

"Like hell. You wouldn’t make it down to the road and back. And even if you make it all the way to D.C. and back, I’m fairly confident you’ll get me killed."

Rod’s chuckle was as dry as dust.

Then you’ve signed on to a suicide mission.

Yep. That’s why I’m here.

Rod’s laughter evaporated. He looked at me—really looked at me—until I had to look away. Amaranth—

Shut up and worry about yourself.

The engine roared to life. I refused to look back again, even when I felt the tears rolling down my face. I slapped them away and turned the huge steering wheel toward the rutted road between the trees. Rod pulled the map from his coat pocket and pointed. I turned our vehicle to the east.

Two hundred thirty miles, he said. You said you made a siphon?

I nodded. I just hope we can find a car with gas when we need it.

Rod shrugged. If not, we’ll be doing the two-legged shuffle.

If not, in this cold we’ll be dead. I kept the words in my head and yelled over the engine’s noise, Do you think it’s safe to go through the town?

Rod patted his revolver, like that was the only answer he needed to give.

The town rose out of nowhere. We’d gone about ten miles along the narrow, winding mountain road when we rounded a curve and slalomed into a valley. Instead of trees, buildings dotted the sides of the road. As we drew closer, I saw ruts worn into snow like the steps of many feet. The tractor growled like a jet engine in the silence.

The first building we passed was an automobile repair shop, but its windows were dark and it was pretty clear it had been abandoned for some time. In the lot behind it, I could make out the snow-topped remains of all kinds of vehicles, most of which looked like they had been sitting there since sometime near the middle of the last century. The feeling of being watched tickled the back of my neck but I’m paranoid. I didn’t see anyone.

After a few blocks of open space, we reached the next strip of buildings formed the downtown. An icy sign read Kinder, population 243 in faded gray letters that had seen better days.

So this is Kinder, Rod shouted over the engine. Liam wasn’t kidding: if this is it, why bother to call it a ‘town’ at all?

A sign on an old clapboard building read Municipal Seat. There was a huge pickup truck parked haphazardly in the street outside, a newer model with wheels almost as tall as I was, but the mounds of snow on its hood and cab said it had been there since the bomb’s electromagnetic pulse disabled all the electronics and computer components inside. Still, it looked almost like its owner might return any minute, clear off the snow and go for a ride.

We sputtered past the next row of buildings: a little diner with Mom’s Place painted in red letters on what remained of its frosted front windows. Once the little restaurant had been charming in a quaint, old-fashioned way— but now its door hung off its hinges, writing the story of the desperate search for food. The shuttered law office next to Mom’s Place, looked clientless and abandoned. Beyond it, a looted dollar store waited for a restocking truck that would never come.

There was one more block, but all of the buildings in it looked like they’d died back when women wore hats and gloves. The only sign I could still read Five & Dime but the others were faded past deciphering. The rest had given up trying to sell themselves to anyone a long time ago. And then that was that, except for a stop sign at a cross roads leading nowhere.

I don’t know why—the habits ingrained in me by a dead society, I guess—but I slowed down at the stop sign and looked both ways.

Like a magician’s trick, a man materialized in front of us. He stood there, his hand thrust out like a panhandler walking the median at a stoplight, begging for spare change. He was skin and bones, his clothing hanging loose off his body. He had a full dark beard and the planes of his cheeks rose high and hard over the scraggly hair. At first I thought he stood completely still, but as the tractor rumbled closer, I saw that his uplifted hand shook.

Rod pulled out his pistol.

Keep going.

What do you want me to do, mow him down—?

Just steer around him if you can, Rod said quietly, leaning out of the tractor’s cab. He pointed the gun at the man like a warning, while I turned the tractor to avoid the silent stranger.

But the man moved with me, stepping into our path again, and turning as I spun the steering wheel. I couldn’t see his face, but his whole body said he’d keep moving, staying in front of us until we either hit him or stopped. He didn’t raise a weapon or make a sound, but he didn’t get out of the way either.

It’s a game of chicken, Rod said in my ear. Speed up, Amaranth and keep going. He’ll move—

Rod—

He’ll move! Rod insisted, nearly dumping me off his lap. My foot slipped off the gas pedal. The tractor slowed just a little more.

The man raced toward us. As I accelerated again, he caught hold of the cab’s plastic sheeting and swung his feet up on the running board. Then he leaned inside, grabbed me and wrapped his hands around my throat.

He looked weak and thin, but his hands were strong. I struggled but his fingers tightened like clamps around my neck, blocking my breath, relentless even when I raked my nails into the gaunt flesh of his cheeks.

The tractor listed, threatening to dump us all as Rod turned beneath me. I saw the black of his gun out of the corner of my eye, but not how he could use it without shooting me, too. No one was steering and the tractor circled aimlessly, finally bouncing against something invisible under the snow with a crunch. The man lost his balance and fell off at last— taking me with him as he collapsed in the snow— but the machine kept moving, roaring past with Rod still aboard. I saw him dimly, a black silhouette partially shrouded by the cab’s opaque plastic covering. Then he was gone and the man and I rolled over and over in the wet snow, fighting against those cold iron fingers. My little pup scrambled free as we hit the ground, yipping frantically.

He released me as suddenly as he’d grabbed me. I lay beneath him, gasping for breath and disoriented, the smell of his rank, unwashed flesh filling my nostrils. He stared down at me, his face blank, seeing me and not seeing me at the same time. The little dog yipped and yapped, but the man never even looked at her. He rolled off me and staggered after the tractor, his face focused with desperation.

At first I could only cough, struggling to force air back down my bruised windpipe, feeling the tender spots where his hands had been. Slowly I rose to my knees and squinted down the road.

Rod and the tractor had clipped an abandoned car leaving a good-sized dent in its once smooth rear door panel. But as far as I could tell, the tractor was undamaged. It faced east, idling motionlessly. Rod’s gun poked through the heavy plastic, and then I heard his voice, a shout above the engine.

Don’t come any closer!

The man stopped. He looked toward the doorway of one of the empty shops but his expression betrayed nothing. Then he started walking again, limping unsteadily toward the tractor like he was hurt.

Stop! Rod cried. I don’t want to have to—

The man picked up speed, breaking into a run, closing the distance to the tractor in a few long, loping steps, his hands outstretched to lift the plastic and dive inside.

Rod fired. The sound of the gun made me squeeze my eyes shut tight, fighting with the ugly twist of terror that violence always brought me. The faint echo of another gunshot, deep in my memory reverberated in my brain, freezing me to the spot. I heard my own breath, huffing out of me, all exhales, with nothing fresh or sustaining coming in. When I was finally able to connect myself to the present, the man was bleeding on the ground and Rod was yelling, Come on, Amaranth! Let’s get out of here!

I made myself move; made myself run. But it wasn’t easy and not just because it hurt to breathe and my neck ached at the places where the man had left his fingerprints in my skin.

Poison…from the beginning… I shook the words out of my head and kept running.

Come on, Amaranth! Rod yelled again.

My little pup bounded toward me, struggling in the ruts of deep snow.

Leave the stupid dog! Rod screamed but I bent to grab her anyway.

They appeared on the edges of my vision and terror made me run faster, closing the distance between me and the waiting tractor, ready to put the pedal to the metal and get the hell out of there as fast I could. It wasn’t until Rod grabbed me and pulled me back aboard the vehicle that I looked back.

A woman stood listlessly over the man’s body. She held a child in her arms— a toddler I guessed from the size—but from the way the child’s arms and legs stood stiffly out from her breast I knew the child was dead and had been for some time. While we stared at her, she dropped to her knees and sat in the snow, staring at us in mute appeal.

Go, Amaranth, Rod whispered. There’s nothing we can do for her, okay? Just go.

I tore my face away from the woman the child, fury building inside me. My throat burned and ached but I turned the wheel, aiming us down the road.

Don’t look back. Rod’s voice was a command, rough and deep. Don’t. Look. Back. Amaranth.

I heard the sob more than felt it, but I blinked quickly and released the clutch. The tractor moved, puttering forward again slowly. Rod didn’t say another word to me as I followed the outlines of the road around another curve and up into yet another mountain and the town disappeared behind us.

I wiped my face again and again, but the tears kept rolling down my face. After we’d left the whole thing miles and miles behind us, I hit the brakes.

I—I got to pee. It wasn’t true, but I didn’t want him to know what I’d emptied into my canteen back in the cellar before we’d left. He’d smell it on my breath later, but by then I’d be past caring.

Cover me, I said. I’ll be quick—

Amaranth, Rod swung out of the tractor slowly and came toward me, raising a shaking finger to the bruises on my neck. Are you okay?

Yeah, I managed. My voice was fractured and emotional even in my own ears, but Rod just nodded.

So much for Kinder. Two hundred fifteen miles to go, right? I watched him unfold the map, glancing over his shoulder uneasily as he traced the highway with a trembling finger. Let’s see if we can make to this little town—Vista, it’s called— before we run out of gas.

And then what? I wiped my face with the back of my hand and snuffed up a nose full of snot, but my voice still sounded like someone had taken a baseball bat to it.

He shrugged. We’ll think of something… his single good eye swept over me. Go do your business.

I knew he knew what my business was, but I nodded