A Whisper in the Flame (The Ragers Series Book 1) Page 3

  As I stare at my mom, I can see all of the emotions she's been stealing away come seeping into her eyes. It’s worse now. She was hurt and confused as to why they stopped writing to us. Now she’s pissed, she’s grieving, and she’s questioning everything.

  I feel it too. Everything she’s feeling, but different.

  "Emma, my gut is telling me that something has changed. Something is off,” she misinterprets my stares. “I've felt it for a while now. I'm worried that something has happened to your dad and they just haven't told us.” She sucks in the air, attempting to gain her composure once more. Her eyes sweep the room, shaking her head and then coming back to settle on me. “I’ve come to learn, over my career, that governments do strange things to protect their secrets."

  Secrets? I direct my attention back to the letter, reading this time to see if I can decipher hidden clues or messages. Could there be a code hidden in this black, Times New Roman font? My eyes sweep across each line, hoping against all hope that I’ll find something, anything.

  When I get to the bottom, angry tears come spilling out of my eyes. There’s nothing. Nothing other than cold, empty words. My hands work at a ferocious speed, tearing the letter to shreds. The little scraps of paper fall across my lap. They burn my leg like fire, disgusted that it's touching me still.

  Mom grabs my hands before I can completely destroy it, pushing what is left of the letter to the side. She pulls me into a tight hug, bringing me close to her lap. It reminds me of when I was little when I could be scooped up into her arms and everything could be made right just by her holding me near to her.

  "Please, we need to hurry."

  I wipe the tears out of my eyes, nodding in an effort to pull myself together.

  "Empty your backpack and add an extra pair of clothes, grab whatever you think you might need. I want you ready to go in ten minutes," Mom kisses my forehead, rising from the bed. She gazes around my room a final time, a sad expression on her face. Our only home, the place where I’ve grown up, we’re leaving it behind.

  After she leaves, I still feel glued to my bed. I meander around my room, trying to drink in all of the memories plastered on these four walls. The memory board full of photos, the knicks on the door frame with my growth over the years.

  Right beside my dresser is an indent in the lilac paint where Lauren smashed into my wall when she tumbled over after trying to do a headstand.

  My bed: the spot where I had my first kiss with a boy while we studied for our American History exam. It's where Lauren and I would lie awake all night during our sleepovers, talking about boys and laughing about random, stupid things. It's where I cried myself to sleep the first night Will was away at college two hundred miles away.

  I lift myself off my bed, empty my bookbag of school items and replace them with a set of clean clothes. I walk to my memory board and take down a family picture of us all on our trip to Universal Studios and a picture of Lauren and me after her team won the state volleyball championship, placing both photos in the front pocket of my bag.

  In my bathroom, I grab my toothbrush and toothpaste and a few hair ties. Hanging on the edge of my mirror is the gold cross necklace my mom bought me for my 13th birthday. I pull it over my neck and tuck the long chain under my shirt.

  Lifting my backpack over my shoulders, I begin heading down the hall to the living room. My heart tugs in my chest, and before I know what I am doing, I find myself standing in front of Will's bedroom door. I put my head up to it, hands on either side, listening as if I expect to hear his voice on the other side.

  Of course, there’s nothing, but I still feel disappointed when no sound greets my ears. And though I know I won’t, my heart quickens as I move my hands to the doorknob, hoping to see him lying on his bed, reading a script for whatever theatre production he’ll be staring in next.

  His room is dark from the curtains drawn closed on his windows. His bed is pushed against a wall. An old record player sits next to it, and a dresser and mirror sit in the corner. His walls are covered in band posters, concert tickets, old skateboards, and street signs reflecting his life and personality to a tee.

  He's not here. My heart plummets with an unexpected feeling of emptiness.

  After Will first left for college, I used to come in here and spray his cologne to pretend he was still here. We fought all the time, but he was my big brother, my protector, and one of my best friends.

  This time I go to his dresser, open the top drawer where he stores his aftershave, and spray it over my shoulder. As I put the spray back, I notice a glossed over wooden box with "William" carved into the top.

  I run my fingers over Will's name before opening the heavy lid. For his sixteenth birthday, Granddad bought him a custom-made hunting knife. It was not that Will was into it, but he appreciated the heart felt gift from a grandfather who had only recently started to show interest in us.

  The knife is still there, resting on the dark, velvet green fabric within. I pull it out, weighing it in my hands. The lacquer wood handle feels smooth and cool while the blade is sharp to the touch.

  Pulling up the leg of my jeans, I wrap the knife in one of Will's socks and stick it into the side of my shoe.

  "Emma." My mom calls from down the hall, letting me know that I am out of time. I put the lid back on and head to the living room where Mom is waiting for me. She has a small duffle bag thrown over her shoulder and has changed into jeans, a button-down shirt, and a black jacket.

  "Mom, you said something about the cellar earlier; what is it?" I ask as she opens the front door gingerly. Slowly sticking her head out to take a look down the road, her jacket rises, and I notice the rigid handle of a gun sticking out of her jeans. Apparently satisfied with what she sees, she motions for me to follow her outside.

  "We're going to the Wells' house. The cellar is in their basement. Steven and your father thought it would be an innovative idea to have a room where our families could be safe if there ever was a reason for it. This certainly feels like it," she adds the last sentence with a mumble. We move at a brisk, steady pace watching for signs of trouble as we go.

  "And you have a gun," I say as a statement rather than a question.

  "Yes, it's your dad's."

  "How come I never knew he had one?"

  "We didn't want you to. It was and is strictly for protection. Now stay close and be quiet," she says, waving her hand back at me.

  It’s strange how much I’ve learned about my parents in such a short amount of time. While he never came outright and said it, I always assumed he was against owning a gun.

  As we turn onto Lauren's street, the air comes alive with noise. An alarm blares in the distance. The loud deafening noise freezes me, yanking my spine straight up, curving my head to listen. It freezes us on the spot for a second, unsure of what it means.

  "Hurry inside!" Mom says, running the short distance past two other houses before getting to Lauren's place. She pulls out our spare key, letting us in.

  The house is bright and airy as usual, but Mom leads me down the hall to the basement before I have time to take it all in. She runs down the stairs two at a time with me right on her heels.

  Their basement consists of a large spacious room for both entertainment and storage. Most of the room is consumed by the pool table, vintage arcade games, and gigantic flat-screen TV with several different video game systems connected to it. We rush to the other end of the room toward the storage and laundry corner.

  Beside the washer and dryer stands a tall bookshelf with laundry detergent, fabric softener, blankets, and sheets filling most of the shelves. The bottom bracket is consumed by two stacks of board games and some old owner's manuals.

  Mom bends down to the bottom shelf and pulls a few of the manuals off, revealing a keypad. She enters in a code, puts the manuals back in their spot, and then steps back. The whole bookshelf staggers to the side on a mechanical tread exposing a thick metal door. She pulls the door open and gestures for me to go inside.
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  My eyes widen, and my mouth hangs open in utter surprise. I've heard my parents mention the cellar before, but I never knew what they were talking about. The room is well-lit with a mini-fridge, sink, and some food stored on shelves. There is a large sectional couch with blankets tossed on it and a TV screen on the back wall.

  "Mom, what the..." I start but trail off, still taking in the room.

  "Turn on the TV," she tells me impatiently. While I scramble to find the remote control, I hear the loud click of the door and what sounds like a locking mechanism, keeping us safe inside.

  Flipping the television on, I turn to one of the local news channels. Urgent Breaking News is scrolling along the top and the bottom of the screen. Channel 10's logo is plastered across the middle. Five seconds pass before the screen cuts to the newsroom. Amber Stein, the afternoon and early evening news anchor, is sitting at the desk, with an air of sophistication and importance.

  "Good afternoon, my name is Amber Stein. We are interrupting your regular programming for an important breaking news announcement. A large number of people in downtown South River have become infected, leading to a mass evacuation.

  "Military units that were stationed around the gate's perimeter have been ordered downtown to help contain the outbreak. Mayor John Phillip is telling all citizens who do not live downtown to go to their homes or find shelter as quickly as possible and stay inside until further news is given. Again, if you do not live downtown, find shelter, go home as soon as possible and wait for additional information.

  "The substantial number of outbreaks have stemmed from a 'miracle drug' created more than five years ago by Doctor Henry Townsend. The prescription pill, Proprevilation, was released to the public in 2016. This medication grew steadily in popularity with its ability to stabilize moods, build new cognitive connections, and access areas of the brain typically not used.

  "In early 2017, Channel 10 was the first to bring you news of trouble after patients' long-term use caused irreversible side effects. Horror stories arose of violence and death caused by a chemical imbalance induced from the medication eating at the brain synapses it intended to create. We brought you the gruesome photos of deformities growing on those affected and video of chaos left in their wake. The drug then mutated, beyond scientist expectations. It became a contagious virus spread by an Infected biting another..."

  Amber Stein stops talking abruptly, wincing, with her hand to her earpiece, as if someone is yelling into it.

  "No, sir," she exclaims, looking taken aback. "But... wait, no!"

  Two soldiers come from behind the set, snatching Amber from the desk. The camera shakes and turns to the side as the cameraman leaps into action, trying to help Amber. One of the soldiers strikes the man in his face, knocking him flat on his back.

  "Stop! Get your hands off of me! STOP!" she yells as they yank her, kicking and screaming, off-screen.

  The screen cuts out, displaying the Channel 10 News logo once again.

  "What the hell was that!?" I scream, turning to my mother.

  Mom is staring intensely at the TV, furrowing her eyebrows. I can see her mind turning, trying to piece together everything we witnessed.

  "Earth to Mom!" I say impatiently, wanting to know what in the world is going on.

  Mom turns to me and opens her mouth to speak but stops as the screen comes back to life. Amber Stein is once again sitting at the news desk.

  "Good afternoon, my name is Amber Stein. We are interrupting your regular programming for an important breaking news announcement. A large number of people in downtown South River have become infected, leading to a mass evacuation.

  "Military units that were stationed around the gate's perimeter have been ordered downtown to help contain the outbreak. Mayor John Phillip is telling all citizens who do not live downtown to go to their homes or find shelter as quickly as possible and stay inside until further news is given. Again, if you do not live downtown, find shelter, go home as soon as possible and wait for additional information."

  The screen cuts out again, back to the Channel 10 logo. Seconds pass as the logo tilts back and forth on the television.

  But then it comes back. The same breaking news banner dances across the screen, the same news alert music opening up to Amber Stein. The same message- the exact same message. Repeating over and over.

  “What is going on? MOM!?"

  "Baby, I don't know," she says, voice soft but layered. I feel my chest tightening, struggling to breathe. Mom takes my hands and pulls me down into her lap, stroking my hair. "I knew something was up, but to keep her from telling the public how others are infected..." she trails off, lost deep in her thoughts.

  “You think that’s what they were doing? Preventing her from telling us?”

  “Yes. They’re hiding information from us. I bet they aren’t happy Amber was able to get that information out the first time.”

  “Maybe they just don’t want to start a panic?”

  A dry laugh passes through her lips, bitter and disbelieving. “I think they care less about starting a panic and more about keeping us corralled and under control.”

  I don’t know what to say. I don’t even know how to feel about any of this. I’ve believed for so long that everything was fine. Living in a perfect bubble of protection and my own teenage angst. But now, it's like every one of my core beliefs and values have been stripped away. They took my dad and brother, and now they’re lying to us again. Why?

  We listen to the same loop of breaking news so often that we end up muting the television altogether. Every time I glance up at the clock on the wall, I have the impression that it is playing games with me as it's barely moving at all.

  As we wait, Mom begins humming little lullabies to herself, eyes closed, thinking. I try to hide my annoyance with the lack of news by locking my arms across my chest, resisting the urge to jump up and run laps around the room.

  Everything is all wrong. None of this makes sense. The darkness that I felt before stirs in my heart. I don’t know that I’ll ever be the same again. I want to scream at Mom. I want to scream at the television. Why won’t anyone give me answers?

  Mom and I both jump up in surprise when we hear the locks clicking from the metal door. Lauren and Mrs. Wells burst into the room; Lauren, launching towards me, wraps me in a hug.

  Mrs. Wells sits on the sofa and takes my mom's hands into her own, shaking slightly with nerves.

  "Jen, what is going on?" she asks my mother, fear plainly in her eyes now.

  "Honestly, I don't know." Mom starts, "William. He's been executed by the Army."

  "What! Why?" Mrs. Wells asks. As she does so, Lauren looks at me, feeling some of the same sting from the news that I sensed. Even with their constant back and forth teasing and bickering, they were always there for each other. Will was our protector like a big brother should be. We were pestering little girls, as little sisters always were.

  Mom launches into the letter she received earlier today and how she knew in her gut something was not right, although she had no idea why.

  "Did you see the announcement on Channel 10 news?" Mrs. Wells asks my mom.

  "Yes, we saw it from the beginning. The very first one, where the soldiers took Amber away."

  Mrs. Wells nods, apprehension written all over her face. "Why do you think they did that?"

  "Your guess is as good as mine," Mom replies darkly. "Have you called the hospital yet to check in on Steven?"

  "No, I think I've been too afraid of what I might hear..." she trails off, looking at Lauren.

  "Mom, please, let's go call. I just want to see if he is okay," Lauren quietly appeals to her.

  Mrs. Wells nods her head again, rising from the couch. She and Lauren migrate to the dinette, taking seats at the small table. She dials the hospital number, places the phone to her ear, and moves her other hand to partially cover her mouth.

  "Hello? Hi, yes. My name is Michelle Wells. I need to be connected to my husband's room, please. Roo
m 213." She pauses for a moment, listening to the person on the other end of the line.

  "What do you mean- he's not there? Where is he? Is he okay?" she begs, her tone and inflection rising. Lauren reaches out and covers her mom's hand with hers.

  "Yes. Yes!" Silence. Lauren squeezes.

  "Oh, yes, I think we should," her tone softens.

  "Yes, great, thank you very much. Yes, bye." Mrs. Wells pulls her hand from Lauren, hanging up her phone. When she raises her head, she avoids my mother’s eyes, looking into Lauren’s instead as if we aren’t in the room anymore.

  "Your father is fine." Lauren heaves a big sigh of relief. "They are transferring him to a different hospital."

  "Did they tell you where?" Lauren asks, sounding happier by the second.

  "No. But someone will be coming to get us."

  "What?" Mom jumps up, bewildered. Her lips turn down into a micro frown and her eyebrows draw together. She paces the floor with one hand planted on her hip and the other rubbing her neck.

  "It's fine, Jennifer. They asked if we wanted to go with him, and I said yes." Taking in my mother's face, she adds, "I have to be with my husband."

  "Did they tell you where they were taking him? Where will the two of you stay?" Mom presses.

  "She did tell me that if we go, we'd have to stay in quarantine with Steven. Would you be okay with that, baby?" she asks softly, turning back to Lauren.

  Lauren glances at me with a flushed expression, blotches of red manifesting on her chest. She hardens her feelings, telling Mrs. Wells, "Yes, of course. I want to be wherever you and Dad are."

  "Good. The nurse said they would be here in about two hours to pick us up. Go grab a few things and come back when you are ready."

  Rising, Lauren rushes to the door, barely glancing at me as she hurries out of the room and up the stairs. They don’t want our judgment. They know Mom will try to talk them out of it.

  Once Lauren leaves, my mom is no longer able to hold her tongue.

  "Do you genuinely believe this is a good idea? With everything that has already happened today, I can't see them relocating Steven and offering to come to pick you two up on their way to the next hospital." Her words come out with a slight venomous quality.