He didn’t answer her.
“You do this for me and you live. The payment is handsome,” she continued.
“Darla the Great, peddling her magical elixirs, preying on fear and a sense of urgency. And of course you need the girl, but wait, if I don’t give you the other things you need you’ll let me die. A sham. I don’t believe you, so I will call your bluff. No girl, no antibiotics, no doctor. Let’s wait and see what happens. Do you need me to show you the door?”
“Are you done?” Darla asked, unmoving, and when Spencer failed to answer immediately, Darla nodded once. “Good.” She grabbed the digital camera and turned it on, its tiny ding indicating it was ready. She passed it to Spencer, who regarded the first picture with confusion and then disgust.
Lucy stood up and walked over so she could see the screen. Quickly, Spencer clicked through pictures. At first it was just pictures of dead rats in various stages of decay. In front of the rats, someone had labeled them: Day1, hour 2. And then as the rats disintegrated into fur and bone, Day 5, hour 10. But at some point the subjects changed and what Lucy saw—despite the horror of the past six days—made her gasp. She clasped a hand over her mouth and her eyes began to water. She hated what she was seeing, but she couldn’t look away.
Bodies. Real people. Dressed in paper-thin white robes. Men and women. Girls and boys. All ages, shapes, colors, nationalities. Dead. With signs. Day 2, hour 5. And on and on. Some subjects were shown alive. Day 1. Alive. Day 2. Alive. Some people held their signs in front of them without emotion, staring forward. Some of them had a hint of a smile on their lips. Lucy wondered if they knew what was happening to them; if they knew that they were going to die.
Sure enough, Darla’s clear assessment of the paper’s report rang true in pictures. Out of the people who lasted through the first phase, none of them survived Day 6.
Spencer finished the last photo, compelled to press the forward key until the first picture flashed back into view, and then he set the camera down at the table. His brusque manner had diminished and now he appeared pensive and, Lucy thought, afraid.
He opened his hand.
“Take the girl,” he stated and open and closed his palm.
“Wise choice,” Darla answered. “And—”
“I need two days for your other requirements.”
“Everyone will be dead in two days,” she replied.
“I understand,” Spencer said between his teeth. “Two days and all those vaccines. If you expect me to deliver you a doctor, I’m going to need a way to keep him or her alive and the people who assist me.”
“Deal. The vials are yours. Work fast. I’ll be back.”
Spencer turned his head to the side. “How do you know I won’t just take the vaccines and run?”
Darla smiled. “Because I’m giving you a chance at life. Even when you get me what I ask for, you will still owe me. I’m trusting that has to count for something.”
Then without waiting for a reply, she dropped the vials into Spencer’s outstretched hand. And as they rolled from her hand to his, Lucy noticed they were marked with long strips of masking tape. Each one was clearly labeled with a name: Galen, Malcolm, Monroe. And Harper.
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
The clean air hurt Lucy’s lungs at first. She breathed it in too deeply, too quickly, and her chest ached. She gulped for another breath of air and then another and soon she felt light-headed. With a hand placed firmly against her lower back, Darla led Lucy to a red bench outside the school and sat her down.
“Put your head between your knees. You’re hyperventilating.”
“Don’t…tell…me…what…I…am…doing…” Lucy replied between heavy breathing, her ribcage rising and falling.
“Fine,” she replied, nonplussed. “We don’t have long. It’s not wise to stay out in the open like this. Come on, stand up. You’re fine. “
“Give me a second.” Then Lucy raised her head and examined the woman standing before her. In the sunlight, Lucy could see that her skin was flawless and she was tan. Not the orange glow of Oregonian girls, but the deep golden browns of someone who developed a bronzed body over time. After a deep breath, Lucy looked straight at Darla and steeled herself up to ask the question she needed to ask.
“Those vials in there…with vaccine.”
“Let’s be careful here, Lucy,” Darla answered and she looked past her, into the parking lot, her eyes scanning the rows of cars with diligence.
“I need to know. Where did they come from? Why were my brothers’ and sister’s name on them…you have to tell me.”
“Sorry,” was the curt reply. “Those are questions you’ll have to ask later. I don’t have answers.”
“Liar,” Lucy muttered under her breath. She was seething. One night enduring Spencer’s craziness, handcuffed to a table, and the woman didn’t have the decency to give her a straight answer.
“Excuse me?”
“You know. You just told Spencer all of that stuff in there.”
“Come on, Lucy Larkspur King.” Darla said the name with a mix of kindness and amusement. “Let’s get going.” She put her hands on her hips. Then she took her thick black hair and tied it up into a spiky ponytail.
“Who are you?” Lucy asked. She tucked her hands up under her thighs and bounced her legs; the cement in the parking lot, still full of cars, was wet from the showers, but the clouds temporarily parted revealing blue sky surrounded by threatening, ominous dark gray rain clouds on the horizon.
“I already answered that. I’m Darla,” she replied, annoyed.
“You know what I’m asking.”
“Yes, I do. Well, a week ago I was a resident of Los Angeles, working as a wealth manager for a small capital management firm. But seeing as how all my clients are dead and there’s no more stock market and I’m pretty sure currency is pretty much invalid, I found myself unemployed. So, now I’m a Raider. Among other things.” Darla smirked. She wiped a stray hair out of her eyes and then put her hand back on her hips, standing with a wide stance above Lucy, her presence large and assuming, invading Lucy’s personal space.
“I heard you use that word in the office. What’s a Raider?”
“It’s a term I made up.”
“That’s not what I asked.” Lucy looked around.
“Professional looter. Raiding people’s houses for items of perceived value to trade for other items of perceived value. In less than one week after the annihilation of mankind, it didn’t take much longer than twelve hours to set up a pretty intricate web of black market trading. Although, I suppose it’s not a black market if it’s the only market. Principal Spencer here…he knew he had it made.”
“Which is why he didn’t want anyone near the school.”
“You did the right thing by staying at the school. It’s not pleasant out here,” Darla added and she looked down on Lucy with mothering warmth, her affirmation the vocal equivalent of a pat on the back. “The first three days were the worst. Killing people who came on your property without so much as a pause to see if they were armed or hurting. Violence, disaster. You know the basics.”
“My brother sent you?” Lucy asked.
“He did.”
“He’s alive.” Lucy sighed and smiled.
“He is.”
“Is he the one who needs a doctor?”
“I don’t think I need to answer any more questions right now.”
“Am I going to die?”
Darla paused and cocked her head to the side. She looked genuinely perplexed and then a wave of realization passed over her face. “You’re fine sweetie. You’re not in danger.”
Lucy let out a small hum. “Yeah, people keep saying that to me. So far I’m not convinced.”