The Meadows

By Pamela Forest

The enigmatic dictator, John Burrows, forces the recently reunited group to become unwilling citizens of The Meadows. Kate, Thomas, Collins, and Milo struggle with new jobs while trying to find a way to escape. Autumn takes on her own quest to find Ali who has been missing since they arrived. Meanwhile, Morgan carves out her own resistance by reverting to old habits and doing what she does best, all the while trying to hold her sharp tongue in the face of their new overlord.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Lulu.com
• Release date: Mar 11, 2017
• ISBN: 9781365815102

Book preview

The Meadows

The Meadows

By Pamela Forest

Copyright

Copyright © 2017 by Pamela Forest

All rights reserved. This book or any portion thereof may not be reproduced or used in any manner whatsoever without the express written permission of the publisher except for the use of brief quotations in a book review or scholarly journal.

First Printing: 2017

ISBN 978-1-365-81510-2

Lulu Press, Inc.

3101 Hillsborough St.

Raleigh, North Carolina 27697

www.pamelaforest.com

Dedication

To my family, thanks for continuing to support all my crazy dreams.

To Dorrie, you continue to be the best sounding board and cheerleader that I’ve ever had. You cannot fathom how much I appreciate everything you do from reminding me what words are to the near constant encouragement of my fragile ego.

To Alysoun, the world’s greatest editor. I could never thank you enough for what you do. The hours you’ve dedicated to the creation of both this book and the previous one mean the world to me. I don’t know what I’d do without you. I promise to spell your name right from now on.

Chapter 1

The air she sucked into her lungs burned all the way through her chest. For a moment she hung between consciousness and oblivion, not awake, but not asleep. She lay frozen, horizontal, and completely useless. Her eyes darted around. Nothing looked familiar. Nothing smelled familiar. To her left, a tan wall rose up behind the maroon couch where she lay. To her right, empty air.

She could smell lemon something—lemon... cleaner?

It took two more heartbeats for her body to respond. She pushed herself upright. Pain ripped through the bullet hole in her shoulder. When she stood, her feet landed on a soft surface. Looking down, she found her bare feet on a bare queen-sized mattress in the middle of a living room. A twin mattress was wedged between it and the far wall, blankets and pillows strewn across both. Behind her, the blanket she had been covered with was falling off of the couch.

Her head jerked toward the open door. The sudden movement sloshed around the murky feeling in her head. She wavered, the unstable surface she stood on amplifying the weakness in her knees.

She blinked hard, trying to force away the fog in her head. She’d been living in small flashes. She remembered the face of the man who had kicked her into the Quarantine pool. She remembered bringing Autumn, Collins, Milo, and their friend—she shook her head trying to remember who was with them. Her face slowly came back, then her name—Ali, the girl from the settlement they had been chased into. She remembered Kate looking down at her as her vision faded. There wasn’t much after that.

The sound of empty metal on something hard startled her. She looked away from the door toward the passageway between the living room and the kitchen. The sound must have come from there. Another metallic sound, softer, came from the same place.

Panic bubbled up her throat and burned like bile. She didn’t know where she was. She wasn’t alone. The horror she’d experienced in The District, beyond the safety of the Dekker-Appalachian Line, could only inflame her imagination. Someone—some thing—was making noise deeper in the apartment.

And she wasn’t going to wait to find out what.

She made for the open door with care. Each footfall sent a jolt through her shoulder. Her entire body hurt. All her muscles screamed. She’d been still for... Morgan didn’t know how long.

Her feet hit the clean white tile floor of a corridor. A line of doors stood along one side. The tiles and walls glared under the construction lights drilled into the wall at even intervals and connected by orange extension cords. The lights and cords made the hallway seem infinite.

In the opposite direction, the corridor turned at a ninety-degree angle, and Morgan decided that was her escape. She started walking, her joints gritty with disuse. Apartment doors ticked by to her right, all closed and consecutively numbered. To the left, sheets of plywood covered windows at least half the height of the wall, with short and oddly-shaped pieces of lumber filling in any holes.

An open door came into view just past the corner. It was dark inside, but she could see the metal railing curving from from the ascending stairs to the descending ones. There was no question about her destination. She needed to get to the ground floor, then she needed to get out of the building.

The concrete was cold and grimy under her feet, each step down was a risky decision on shaky legs. She held onto the railing with two hands, moving down the stairs as quickly as possible. She wondered where Kate and Thomas were. They must have abandoned her. They must have found their kids and escaped while she was unconscious.

The next door she came across was sandwiched between a stairwell going up and a stairwell going down. A pair of men walked side by side away from her. One of them had an assault rifle on a strap, dangling behind his back.

She quickly continued down the stairs. So she wasn’t alone. It didn’t mean she wasn’t on her own. The last flight of stairs funneled her toward a large metal door propped open with a sandbag. She could hear people talking downstairs. She crept to the door and pressed herself next to it, listening.

Loud footsteps moved toward the stairs. She held her breath as they came near. A vaguely familiar voice tickled the back of her brain. I’ll be in my apartment. I don’t want to be disturbed.

Yes, sir. The heavy footsteps moved past the stairs, turning down the adjoining hallway.

She counted to five before stepping out of the stairwell. She poked her head around the corner, looking both ways. She started moving in the direction they had come from. What the fuck? she rasped to herself. Where am I?

Before she found anyone else, she came upon a door that led outside, between two boarded-up windows. Familiarity hit her like a burlap sack full of bricks. There were the gates that had once shut her out and once let her back in. There was the worn dirt path that led from the gates to the pool. And there was the pool that once had been her prison.

The Quarantine pool stood empty, the door wide open. She wondered what had happened to her friends. She truly hoped that they had gotten away, but it didn’t stop the pang of loneliness in her stomach.

More men with guns milled around near the gate. One climbed an aluminum ladder so that he could see the world outside the slapped-together fence. He shook his head and climbed back down.

Morgan moved on before anyone could spot her in the open doorway. She didn’t know where she was or where she was going, but she did know that she didn’t want anyone to find her before she decided what to do.

As she moved through the corridor, a seductive smell beckoned to her. Hunger pervaded her body, concentrated just behind her navel. Her organs were surely caving in on each other. She smelled food, and her stomach growled rather loudly in response.

A few doors away, she crossed the hall and found the source of the smell. The door was mostly closed, but she pressed her shaking hand against it and pushed it open. The chance at something to eat was worth the risk. The room was the size of the apartment she had been in, but without the walls or kitchen. It must have once been the leasing office. But the office had been turned into a mess hall, the wall of windows on the front of the building boarded up and barricaded with desks.

She moved past the long tables surrounded by mismatched chairs to the desks lining the boarded-up windows. On one of the desks sat a large pot on an unlit burner. Long tubes connected the burner to a propane tank tucked under the desk.

Hunger drove her to the food, but fear checked her. She looked around the corner where the built-in reception desk stood in front of an open closet door. Finding the room truly empty, she made a dash for the pot.

She hovered over the pot for a moment, just breathing the air. Morgan grabbed one of the bowls from the stack a few desks down. She reached with trembling hands for the ladle hooked to the lip of the pot. It looked to be some kind of vegetable soup, but it had far fewer vegetables than normal soup would have. She moved the ladle around, breaking the thin film of congealed soup at the top. With the last energy she had, she pulled the soup from the pot and poured it into her bowl.

Once she had filled her bowl, she checked the door. It was still ajar, but no one was standing in it. She set the ladle back where it had been as quietly as possible, then made her way to the reception desk. She pushed back against the wall and let herself slide down. No one would see her unless they walked all the way into the room and checked around the corner.

She brought the bowl to her lips with both hands and tipped the soup into her mouth. When the soup touched her tongue, relief flooded her entire body.

The carrots in the soup weren’t cooked all the way and were hard to chew, but at that point she didn’t care. She was starving, and she would have eaten anything.

She swallowed and was about to bring the bowl to her mouth again when hurried footsteps passed the door. She’s gone! someone yelled.

Morgan’s eyes widened. They must have been looking for her. She made herself as small as possible, sliding into the small square where the receptionist’s legs would have gone. With one last effort to conceal herself, she pulled a potted ficus to the space between her and the corner. The plant smelled terrible and she could see why when she looked around the base of the thin stalks. Someone had been dumping celery into the plant and sloppily covering it with fake moss.

It didn’t deter Morgan from eating. She needed to eat to have the strength to fight or run. As she gulped down the rest of her soup, she caught a whiff of something even worse than the old celery. After sniffing around, she realized the smell was coming from her wounded shoulder. When she lifted her shirt, the smell of her wound overpowered the celery and the soup and the lemon cleaner. It smelled putrid.

Not wanting to look at it anymore, she dropped her shirt back in place. The tan henley wasn’t hers. Someone had changed her clothes. Her pants were different, too. Ill-fitting track pants barely clung to her hips.

Morgan!

Her head snapped up at the sound of her name, at the familiar voice.

Morgan!

Morgan put her bowl down and pushed the plant away. Placing a plant in the middle of the floor to hide was a very silly mistake.

She stayed on her hands and knees, inching toward the corner. She pushed herself a bit past the wall so that she could see the door. Someone rushed past the door, and a second later, someone stepped into the room.

Morgan froze, sure for a second she’d been seen. But the backlit person scanned the room once and turned away, starting back down the corridor.

But half a step away, the person in the doorway jumped and whirled around. Morgan’s heart started hammering when familiar eyes met hers.

Autumn slowly crept into the room, like if she moved too swiftly, Morgan would scamper off like a woodland creature. She called over her shoulder, loud enough for her voice to leave the room, but soft, in an attempt not to startle Morgan. Mom! I found her!

It took Morgan a second longer to identify Autumn. Her hair was pulled back into a bun that looked a few days old. Her eyes were bloodshot, and her lips were chapped. She offered her hand to Morgan. Hey. Are you okay? You’ve been asleep for a while. Autumn’s baggy long sleeve hung limply from her arm like the tattered flag of a defeated army.

Asleep? Morgan asked not loud enough to be heard. She asked again, louder.

Relief blossomed on Autumn’s face. Morgan could speak. The worst hadn’t come to pass. With a quick glance over her shoulder, Autumn moved more quickly toward Morgan.

Morgan scrambled backwards until she hit the wall.

Autumn put her hands up. I’m sorry. She stopped cold. It’s okay, though. You’re safe. We’re safe. Everyone... everyone is safe.

Morgan blinked hard and rubbed her eyes. Where are we?

The Meadows, Autumn barely explained. Her shoulder sunk and she leaned to the side as footsteps approached.

Three people rounded the corner, the first one, Kate, falling to her knees in front of Morgan. She gathered Morgan into her arms and breathed out a quivering sigh of relief. You’re okay, she whispered against Morgan’s ear. You’re okay.

Morgan tensed at being touched, but then she melted into Kate. She dropped her head onto Kate’s shoulder and closed her eyes. I’m sorry. I got scared.

It’s okay, Kate smiled, pulling back to look at Morgan’s face. Tears welled up, but didn’t fall. It’s okay. You’re okay, and that’s what matters. She blinked away the tears and crouched next to Morgan. She put Morgan’s good arm around her shoulders and helped her to her feet. C’mon. We’ll go to the clinic and get you checked out.

The other two that had rushed in with Kate were men with guns. Only the guns distinguished them from anyone else. Their clothes didn’t match. One looked like he had military experience, and the other looked much more suited to an art studio with his long hair and his soft face. They both stepped out of the way as Kate steered her toward the door.

Morgan leaned heavily on Kate as they entered the corridor. A few people had gathered to see what the commotion was about, but they dispersed when they saw it was just a crazy girl eating soup under a desk. Autumn stepped out of the room after them, intending to help Morgan on her other side but stutter-stepped, remembering her wound. Instead, she scuffled ahead of them to see how she could set up the clinic before they got there. Morgan wrinkled her nose as she passed. She wasn’t the only one that had strange smells coming from them.

Morgan had only been three doors away from the clinic. The room was just a big open space with a small kitchen right next to the door. Maybe a kind of common room for what used to be a nice apartment complex. A couch had been pushed against the wall to make way for five exam tables—just regular tables covered in sheets—their ends pushed against the wall to give the illusion of a medical facility. A lone man sat on the second exam table from the door, his arm in front of him, gauze dangling from his it like the sad end of a toilet paper roll.

The whole room seemed to Morgan like a cheap trick meant to fool simple minds. It wasn’t a clinic. It was a room with tables in it. What? was all she could manage.

Kate guided her to an exam table two tables away from the man. He must have been abandoned in the middle of being bandaged. Kate helped Morgan onto the end of the table and called, Autumn, get a pillow out from under the counter in the kitchen. Uh, middle cabinet.

Autumn jumped into motion, opening the cabinet and pulling out a pillow. It was small and almost flat, so she switched it out with a fluffy one and joined her mom at the table. She placed the pillow behind Morgan, who didn’t seem to have any intention of lying down.

Morgan was overwhelmed by something she certainly never expected. What’s going on?

This is the clinic. Kate put her hand on Morgan’s forearm, taking a second to let it soak in that Morgan was awake and moving around. Kate’s eyes drifted down to the baggy shirt that exposed more of Morgan’s shoulders than it was meant to. She caught a glimpse of the edge of Morgan’s bandage. The doctor in her kicked in, and she patted Morgan’s arm. I’ll be right back.

Morgan struggled to take in everything, her mind taxed by the flood of new information. She looked around the room, while Autumn stood awkwardly to the side, nervously pulling at her shirt.

Kate gathered what she needed from the cabinets—gauze, tape, and a mostly-empty bottle of tequila. She had taken a full two days to organize their supplies from the chaotic mess she had inherited. She scurried back to the table and set the bottle of tequila down behind Morgan.

Please tell me that’s for me. Morgan picked up the tequila without waiting for an answer.

Kate started to stop Morgan, but decided that Morgan deserved a drink, especially for what she was about to do. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw the man still sitting on his exam table, gauze dangling. Oh, sorry. She had forgotten about him the second she had gotten word that Morgan was gone. She took a few seconds to finish taping him up and kindly gestured him to the door.

Once he was gone, she resumed her post at Morgan’s side. Morgan had just finished a deep chug of tequila and her face contorted from the taste. She shallowly coughed. Tastes like old socks.

Kate put her hand on Morgan’s knee with a faint smile, just needing to feel her warmth. She could hardly believe that Morgan was alive, that she was alert, that she was not, like so many others, lost.

Although Kate wasn’t too worried about the alcohol in Morgan’s system or the fact that she was drinking so soon after not eating anything substantial for days, she took the bottle away after the second drink and set it on the next table, out of Morgan’s reach.

Hey. Morgan tried to chase the bottle with her hand, but gave up when it was evident Kate wasn’t going to give it back.

Kate started to gather the bottom of Morgan’s shirt, but stopped just short. She looked at Morgan and held her eyes. Can I take off your shirt?

Morgan nodded.

Kate helped Morgan get her uninjured arm and then her head out of her shirt before sliding the shirt over her bandage and down her arm. She tossed the rumpled shirt onto the adjacent table by the tequila and tried to decide if she needed something more substantial than gauze and tape. She looked up to ask Autumn to get the duct tape from under the sink but found that Autumn had disappeared. Her stomach sank, while her heart rate rose. She had lost her daughter again.

Who changed my clothes? Morgan asked, feeling woozy, but warmer and stronger because of the tequila.

Kate swiftly moved to the kitchen and ducked down to get the duct tape under the sink. I did. She stood up with it in her hand and strode back to Morgan. I hope you don’t mind.

Morgan shook her head. As long as it wasn’t some stranger or that dude who kicked me.

Anger flared up inside of Kate. She could barely stand to look at any of the men with guns, much less their arrogant prick of a leader. She handed Morgan the duct tape and refocused on Morgan’s bandage.

Before she started to peel away the putrid bandage, Kate attempted to distract Morgan. How much of the past week do you remember?

We’ve been here a week? Morgan asked. She turned her head away from the stinking wound and briefly used her finger to cover her nostrils. She settled her sights on the open door framed with armed men. One leaned back on the wall next to the door, and the other kicked at the floor with his boot on the other side.

Kate pinched the corner of the bandage between her index finger and thumb. It started to pull it away from Morgan’s skin, offering little resistance because of the oozing fluids underneath. I need a towel, she muttered, maintaining a neutral expression in the face of a worrisome injury. The edges of the bandage were easy to pull away, but the cloth middle held onto the greenish-yellow viscous fluid oozing from the wound itself. She heard Morgan inhale sharply through her teeth when she gave it a final firm tug.

Sorry, Kate whispered. She jogged to the cabinets again, returning with a small white towel. She folded it in half on her jog back and started to wipe away the excess. She watched Morgan’s jaw clench and her eyes squeeze closed, nostrils flared. Sorry.

She poured some tequila on the towel when Morgan wasn’t looking and quickly pressed it to the wound. With a gasp, Morgan’s hands shot out like snakes and grabbed Kate’s wrists. Kate stilled before Morgan realized that Kate hadn’t stabbed her in her shoulder. Kate held onto Morgan’s watering eyes until hers grew glassy with tears as well.

Morgan slowly released Kate’s wrists with a muttered apology. She distracted herself by looking out the door again. The men standing outside the door were peering into the room, watching the doctor work. One of them quickly averted his eyes when she looked at him. He was afraid of her. She made a mental note of that. It’d come in handy later.

Both men looked away when footsteps thundered down the hallway. They both stepped aside when Autumn led a stampede into the room. Thomas quickly passed Autumn with long strides and moved to Morgan’s side. A wide smile overtook his face when he met Morgan’s eyes.

You’re okay. He put his hand on his chest. I was so worried.

It’ll take a lot more than—everything—to get rid of me, Morgan smiled, but felt like no matter how big her smile, she couldn’t convey how much Thomas’ concern meant.

Kate took the duct tape from Morgan and started ripping it into short strips. Autumn slid up next to her mom and opened her hand. Her mom gave her the duct tape and put her arm around her. She hadn’t lost her daughter again. Instead of falling back into the abyss she’d lived in since finding out that her father was dead, Autumn had gone to get their friends. Kate closed her eyes, holding her daughter, and then kissed her forehead. I love you.

Love you too, Autumn cleared her throat. Depression rolled toward her like a storm, and if she didn’t move, it would consume her. She stepped away from her mom and concentrated on tearing small thin strips of duct tape.

Collins and Milo both smiled at Morgan, seeing her up. Collins glanced at her injured shoulder that Kate was closing with duct tape. He could feel bile rising in his throat and turned away. They hardly got fed anything as it was. Throwing up was not an option.

Thomas didn’t seem to mind, though. He placed his hand on Morgan’s uninjured shoulder. How are you feeling?

Morgan wasn’t sure how to describe it. Physically, she felt weak, and her head was swimming from the tequila. Mentally, she felt overrun and overwhelmed. Emotionally, there wasn’t much going on. She was happy her friends were with her, but until her brain could process everything, emotions were going to be low for a while. She took a deep breath. Uh, good I guess. But I mean, I slept for a week so...

I wouldn’t call it sleeping. Collins put his hands in the back pockets of his jeans.

Morgan’s eyebrows furrowed. What do you mean? She looked from face to face for an answer.

Autumn piped up. You were… Well, you were unconscious for a while. Then we were a little scared you were in a coma. That was until you had a night terror about three days into being here. Then it was in and out of sleep for a while.

Holy shit, Morgan breathed out. Her eyes shifted and zoned out. Coma wasn’t a word that she’d ever expected to be thrown her way.

Kate paused her repair of Morgan’s shoulder. Morgan looked shocked and disconnected. The look on her face pushed Kate back into the sea of worry that she’d felt seeing Morgan on that couch, unmoving and unresponsive. She remembered managing to rouse Morgan enough to feed her some soup or water, but obviously Morgan didn’t remember. Kate wasn’t surprised. Morgan may have swallowed the food being poured into her mouth, but Morgan wasn’t there.

She forced a smile and moved her face in front of Morgan’s. Morgan blinked once, and she was back. But you’re okay now. That’s what matters. She wanted to touch Morgan’s shoulder or her face, but she couldn’t with contaminated hands. Instead, she went back to work, crossing the jagged bullet hole with duct tape strips.

Once she finished, Kate cleaned her hands in the sink. Collins poured water from a jug to wash the soap away. Kate walked back over to the table, and Autumn handed her the gauze and tape to cover her handiwork. She made quick work of it, then reached for Morgan’s shirt.

Ah, I’m glad you’re finally awake. John’s voice entered the room before he did. He strode in with his hands folded behind his back. That’s good to hear. He smiled and wagged his finger at Morgan. We were worried about you for a while.

Morgan’s face hardened. There was something about the way John smiled that wasn’t entirely genuine, but was entirely suspicious. Kate knew Morgan was about to say something snarky back, something very Morgan, and she didn’t want to cause problems so soon after Morgan was up. She flattened her palm against Morgan’s bare lower back both calming and warning her.

Kate spoke for her, measuring her words. She’s not back to one hundred percent yet, but she will be soon.

John surveyed Morgan, looking at her from bare feet to mussed hair. I suppose it’ll take some time. His smile faded a bit to something more threatening. We can outfit you with light duty until you’re feeling yourself again.

Kate’s hand on her back tensed and contracted, fingertips digging