A Rose by Any Other Name Page 8

  The door to the cabin creaked open, and he sucked in a breath. From the dimmed lighting, he couldn’t tell if anyone was standing there. Then a gnarled hand leaned against the screen door.

  “Who’s there?” asked a female voice.

  “Mrs. Wiggs?” Em replied. She peeked around him, and he let go of his breath as her hand clasped his arm with the same good faith he’d offered her.

  “Yes, who is it?”

  “It’s Emmaline Fay and Jason Prince from Charming. We’ve come to see you about Rose Briar.”

  A croaking laugh from the old woman quickly turned into three small coughs. “Well, then you’d better come in and make sure you lock the door behind you. Never know what’s wandering around in these woods.”

  Jason eyed Emma with a look of caution, but she shrugged her shoulders in return. True, they didn’t have a choice. This lady remained their best shot at answers. Of course, needing someone still didn’t require him to like them. He never had, especially since she’d predicted Rose’s demise. If only they’d taken it seriously.

  “I’ll go first,” he said, and, thankfully, she gave in, stepping sideways to let him pass.

  The screen door cringed at the pressure of being opened, making more noise than any bit of conversation had thus far. His entrance into the house was anticlimactic, and the sound of Em’s steps following closely behind, coupled with the screen door slamming shut, provided additional relief. As he took a minute to allow his eyes to adjust, Emma shut and locked the door. The air smelled of mothballs, cedar, and that distinct scent he’d always attributed to old ladies. Mrs. Wiggs shuffled slowly across the wood floors into the living room at his left, her white hair a beacon in the dim light, so he followed.

  She’d just taken a seat as they both finally got into the room. In truth, she still looked the same, except she wore a long black, crocheted sweater and carried a few more wrinkles and liver spots on her hands and face. None the worse for wear and hopefully ready to talk.

  “Ma’am, ten years ago you gave Rose a prediction at the Senior Carnival. Do you remember?” Em asked.

  “You’re the genius. Should I remember?” The old woman asked on wheeze. She reached for a glass of water next to her and took a small sip. “Yes, I remember, and Mr. Football Star remembers, too. Let’s get to the meat of it. Something’s happened?”

  Jason cleared his throat. “Yes, ma’am. Rose is sick like you predicted.”

  “Not just sick, young man with the manners. She’s passing a sickness along, isn’t she?”

  Now it was Emma’s turn to step forward, and she fell to her knees before the old woman.

  Jason simply stared into the janitor’s gray, clouded eyes. Her head swayed from side to side as if searching for someone. She’d gone blind, and his girl obviously figured as much because she took the old woman’s aged hands in her own, providing a sense a direction, of focus.

  “Please. Tell us what we can do. You predicted she’d get sick and make others sick, but how do we save her, save everyone?”

  A smile appeared on the old woman’s face. “You can call me Trudy, dear, and, truth be told, there’s no reversal for our poor Beauty. I never saw a cure for the girl, only suffering and something far darker.”

  “What do you mean?” Em asked, voice laced with pleading.

  “The football star knows. He sees the truth of the nasty thing that has consumed your friend.” Trudy coughed again, removing one of her hands from Emma’s hold.

  Jason couldn’t meet either of the sets of eyes on him, nor did he want to look for the truth, for the tale. Fear had locked his shoulders in place and made his stomach hard like dried cement, no appetite to speak of. A theory was one thing; to have it be the truth inspired true horror.

  “She’s a zombie.” The words choked in his throat like a death sentence.

  Emma gasped. “You mean like a ‘BRAINS’ zombie?” The disbelief in her voice, loud and apparent, hit him hard, the first salvo she’d fired at his heart without even being aware. Yet lying never did anyone any good.

  “Yes. That kind of zombie.”

  “I don’t believe you. You’re making this up. A sick joke.” The words sliced through him, emotionally worse than any pain he’d experienced with his broken leg. Drugs had numbed the agony then. Here he received no protection, no way to shield himself from the narrowed, accusatory stare she leveled at him.

  Rising to her feet, she crossed the room and backed up to an unused brick fireplace in the far wall. “Let me guess. Rose put you up to some extended scare tactics deal to freak me out so much I won’t ever leave here again. Or maybe you….” She pointed a finger at him, the painful, contorted expression on her face breaking his heart, making his chest physically ache. “You didn’t do this, but what’s happening?”

  He stepped in her direction, arms outstretched as if attempting to cage a wild animal. “Its bad luck, pure and simple, and we’re stuck in the middle of it.” He shook his head. “It’s crazy, I know. I wouldn’t wish something like this on anyone ever, but if we’re right, which I’m about ninety-nine percent sure we are, then Rose is beyond saving.”

  Defeat entered her eyes, and her shoulders slumped as the truth set in. He remembered the feeling of hopelessness, too. As the tears began to fall, he let her collapse against him for support. She sobbed. He wanted to bring her happiness, but, once again, he had brought pain. “Ah, I see feelings blossom in other corners. The world is not completely dark yet. Still time to save the day,” Mrs. Wiggs said.

  “How?” Emma’s question was muffled, her breath shifting through his shirt. The intimate action gave him hope and faith that they would survive this and have a chance at forming the future he wanted. One with his Em in it. “How do we stop her? Stop this?”

  The old woman gave them a yellow-toothed grin. “Just like the movies, dear.”

  “I’ve never seen any movies.” She made the statement with no shame. Now Jason’s jaw dropped. Emma, his gotta-have-a-chemistry-set, I-cut-up-animals-in-the-name-of-science girl hadn’t watched a zombie movie?

  “You mean no Day of the Dead, 28 Days Later, Zombie?” He stopped as each name gave way to a quick toss of her head. No horror movies. She abhorred horror— he remembered now— and she rarely watched movies anyway. “Then I’ll enlighten you. Fire or bullets to the brain are the only surefire ways.”

  She bit her lip and whispered. “But these are our friends, family.”

  Those very words gave finality to the task before them. In order to survive, sacrifices would become a common theme. Could they retain a shred of human feeling after shooting the people they’d grown up with as if they didn’t matter?

  “Sometimes great sacrifices are needed to serve the survival of the world.” Mrs. Wiggs’ voice cut through the tension, the prolonged sadness, in the room. “Imagine if this spreads beyond Charming. Our world, a horror movie in the making with so many innocent lives lost. Lucky for all of us, the Beauty was so dedicated to the town.”

  “Such compassion,” he said with the full force of his sarcasm and hatred for the whole ordeal behind it.

  “You’re right. I don’t have much. I warned all three of you about this ten years ago. Now you’re in a mess, quibbling over having to clean it up.” Trudy’s voice dripped with cynicism. “And I can’t help. This body is ready to fall to bits. I’d say you got a little bit more luck since I was still alive to answer questions. It’s time to fish or cut bait. Either way, whatever you do, I’m bound for death sooner or later.”

  She sounded angry with them, but he’d be damned if he was going to let her blame him for something out of his control. “You didn’t do much to prevent this sickness from happening either. Only gave some half-baked psychic reading, which none of us believed to be true.” Once he was done, he immediately regretted the venom that had spewed from his mouth, but looking at the situation from all sides, the old woman looked a bit guiltier.

  “It’s too late to
assess blame.” Emma rolled her shoulders back and stood straight. “I’m in this for the fight. If I can’t save Rose, I’m willing to find a way to make sure we save everyone we can or at least stop this from spreading beyond the town.”

  Jason shook off his anger and grabbed Em’s hand, giving it a gentle squeeze. “Then I’m with you. Whatever you need, I’m your guy.”

  Mrs. Wiggs chuckled. “I always thought the principal’s daughter was one of the smartest folks in town. She proved me right. Now I know she’s one of the bravest, too. I’ve got a shotgun behind the front door and a handgun tucked next to me in this chair. Take them with you. Bullets are in the drawer of the stand in the hallway.”

  Moving beside Mrs. Wiggs’s chair, Jason reached for the automatic handgun she’d hidden beside her. He’d shot a gun before, but only during hunting season. Killing animals rode low on the list of hobbies he enjoyed pursuing, and shooting people hit the top of the list aptly called things-I-never-want-to-do. To protect Emma, he’d toss those scruples aside.

  “What about you, Trudy?”

  “I’ll be fine. Honestly, I’m more bones and skin than meat. If they really want a bite, let them have at me.” Her voice held a playful tone, but she leaned to the side in her chair, reaching for a pill bottle. “I’ve got a simpler plan for going out before it gets to that, though. And I’d rather go out on my own terms.” Hands shaking, she set the rattling bottle in her lap and looked down at it. No one wanted to die, and knowing the possibilities didn’t make the options any easier. He started to move away from her, unable to offer any sound words of wisdom. Even if he’d possessed some, he doubted she’d want them.

  Then her hand snaked around his arm with a firm grip. “Football Star, remember…. Once this illness has taken hold, they cease to be those you care about. They are mindless to anything but the feed, the urge. What I’ve seen has told me this. The spirit within has passed. Only the ravaging shell remains.”

  A small bit of comfort coursed through him, and he looked at Emma, hoping she’d take the old woman’s words the same way. He couldn’t tell, though; her focus was on Mrs. Wiggs, and, for a second, he could see the trait that made her and Rose kindred spirits. The inherent ability to care about others and sympathize with them in ways he never could.

  “Enough of this standing here. Go, you two, and may luck continue to follow you. Though I’m afraid you’ll need more than that.”

  With those words, Jason went to the hallway, gathered the additional ammunition and the shotgun. When he turned around, the principal’s daughter was running her hands along the wooden stair railing leading upstairs, gaze trailing the pictures lining the walls.

  “Ready to go?” He opened the front door.

  She didn’t speak, merely nodded her head and moved in closer.

  They got in the car without preamble, Em taking a few more moments to stare at the cabin, no doubt thinking of its occupant, while he settled the guns in the back seat and made sure the safety mechanisms were on.

  Driving away put a bit of perspective on things. They were alone, their potential to find help limited to Emma’s father and mother and, hopefully, his own. The few hours spent away from town had given way to late afternoon sunshine, which became more visible once they reached the bottom of the mountain and emerged onto the blacktop. Then her tears fell in earnest, her shoulders quaking.

  He immediately pulled the car to the side of the road, his gaze darting around the interior to make sure the doors were locked and the mirrors showed nothing behind them. “Come here,” he said, reaching for her.

  She came without fighting, falling into his arms like it was the most natural thing in the world to do. He believed the same and wanted to act as her buffer amidst all the craziness. “It’ll be all right. You’ll see.”

  Pulling back a bit, she tilted her head, green eyes honing in on his. “How can you say that?”

  “Because we have to try and because Mrs. Wiggs never predicted failure.” He leaned in and inhaled. Her distinct smell flooded his nose, and he looked back at her face. Her eyes were moist, ready to unleash a new torrent of tears any second, her lips plump and rosy, her cheeks red from crying. She looked so innocent, untainted by horrible times, and each new tragedy kept changing her outlook. He couldn’t help wanting to wipe the pain from her eyes just for a moment, so he did the only thing possible. He lowered his lips to hers.

  ***

  The first touch of Jason’s lips could be compared to a feather on her skin, but it turned into soft warmth cocooning her. Before she thought to pull away, a hot tongue tentatively touched her flesh and a deafening desire to taste it overtook her. Parting her lips, she allowed that warm heat to sweep into her mouth with a vengeance. All her nerve endings lit up, moisture pooling between her legs. This rivaled the fantasies, all the make-believe thoughts she’d kept hidden away since high school.

  His palm slid over her breast, and she moaned into his mouth. He pulled her against him sharply. She wanted more, but the center console, gear stick, and other objects impeded their progress. Their tongue-play made their previous kisses seem like innocent moments. Dozens of dirty thoughts invaded her mind as Jason’s fingers found her hard nipple through the bra cup and squeezed. Ooh. The pleasure proved so much better when it was his hand and not her own.

  Her pocket vibrated. She ignored it while Jason settled both hands onto her shoulders. He pulled her over the console into his lap. If she thought she’d been wet before, her body decided to prove her wrong.

  She started her exploration, fast and furious. Desperate to ensure the magic between them didn’t fade, she touched his chest through his shirt. Every muscle trembled beneath her fingertips. Pure power shivered under her. When her hands drifted down to his crotch, his erection strained against his pants, his whole body jolting at her slightest caress.

  “Em….” Her name slipped from his mouth on a groan. “You’re killing me.” He captured her lips again.

  The vibration went off in her pocket again, and the realization that someone was calling her inspired a sense of dread, killing any sensual thoughts she’d possessed. She pulled back. “Stop.”

  Immediately, he froze, and she slid back into the passenger seat, pulling the phone from her pocket. The word ‘Home’ lit up the screen, and she flipped open the cell, afraid to say hello.

  “Emma?” Her father’s voice, quiet and tentative, scared her silly.

  “What’s wrong?”

  “Everything, honey.” He openly let out a sob. “Your mother. She… she’s been bitten by Mrs. Hopkins, and I’m afraid she’s not going to be herself for much longer.”

  Emma’s heart dropped in her chest. She panicked, breath eluding her. Three days ago, she’d been dreading a reunion with her parents, not planning on losing them. Images of Rose flashed in her mind; the blood shot eyes, the ravaging, euphoric expression as she ripped into the deputy’s arm. Her mother would become…. She shook her head. “No, no, no.” The word fell on automatic repeat as the memories began to cascade, one after another. From her mother helping select her first-day-of-school-outfits each year to the time when her gran passed and they had spent all day in a blanket fort coloring and cuddling. The sweet, sometimes-overbearing woman who wanted her to be happy and to be home. She’d lose her.

  Jason leaned over, and she heard his voice asking questions, but the words never made it through the blood pounding in her ears. He blurred as the tears pooled. Fear, adrenaline— something gave her the strength to hand over the phone to him. Two seconds later, the phone fell in her lap, and Jason threw the car into drive. The only things she recognized were the sound of squealing tires and the smell of burnt rubber.

  Chapter Seven

  Then the young prince said, “All this shall not frighten me; I will go and see Briar Rose.”

  Emma walked into the house, fear her close companion. She expected to see her mother rotted away, turning into a monster before her eyes. Instead, Edy Fay s
at in a recliner, sweat on her brow and an afghan blanket wrapped around her.

  Her grief-stricken father greeted her. Seeing this strong man slumped in defeat, undone before her, twisted her up in ways she didn’t want to examine. He’d always been the one in charge, the strong one, leading not only his family, but the school, grades K through twelve.

  “Daddy,” she cried out as he wrapped her in a bear hug.

  “I’m glad you’re here, honey. Glad you’re safe.” His breath pushed against her hair. Safety came from his arms, too. Just like in her childhood. A pained moan came from behind him.

  She broke away from her dad and moved to the chair, resting a hand on her mother’s forehead. Her skin burned with heat, and she was sweating so profusely Emma took a tissue from the side table to wipe the back of her hand.

  Before she could begin to ask questions, Jason pressed the handgun into her palm. “Keep this with you.”

  She stared at the gun, attempting to tame her fear of the weapon. Shooting guns sat firmly outside her skill set. “But I can’t.” Killing the woman who’d brought her into the world fell into the impossible category.

  “I know, but we have no idea how long it takes for the change to occur. We can’t take any chances. What if I’m not in the room?” he asked, trailing a finger down her cheek. He sensed her trepidation, and his quick reaction to comfort her gave her a little reassurance.

  “I wouldn’t recommend going anywhere. People are becoming crazier by the hour. They move fast, too. The mayor, your father…. I’m sorry.” Her dad swiped his eyes with the back of his hand.

  “What about him?” The words stuttered out of Jason’s mouth as his hand dropped to his side. Then he cocked his head, eyes narrowed on her dad. “Is he all right?”