Family Secret by Adrian Vladimir | Part 3 | Read It For Free Today

In a world ravaged by a deadly supervirus, survival relies upon one thing: isolation. For the Walsh family, quarantine isn't just a precaution – it's a way of life. Trapped within the confines of their home, they grapple with the mental toll of isolation while navigating the ever-present threat of infection lurking beyond their walls.

But as the weeks blur into months, temptation beckons. Forbidden freedoms whisper promises of normalcy as the strain on their family grows heavier. Amidst the chaos, a secret lurks within the heart of the Walsh family – a secret that could unravel everything they hold dear. Will they succumb to the irresistible call of freedom and discover what awaits beyond their quarantine walls? Can they survive?

In Family Secret, a gripping science fiction short story, author Adrian Vladimir delves into what we'll go through to protect our loved ones.

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FAMILY SECRET

Copyright 2024 by Adrian Vladimir

This book is a work of fiction. Names, places, events, and incidents are either the products of the author's imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.

All Rights Reserved. Except as permitted under the U.S. Copyright Act of 1976, no part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed or transmitted in any form or by any means, or stored in a database or retrieval system of any kind, without prior written permission of the author.

ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

I'd like to thank my wife, Jordana, who never complains no matter how many times she has to go over a manuscript with her savage red pen.

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THREE​

“Stop!” the stranger barked. He loomed behind Becca at the riverbank’s edge; his hand latched onto the top of her shoulder, bony fingers pressing into her flesh. He shook a clear plastic sandwich bag at them, fat with crumpled paper. “These are tissues, my used tissues.”

John froze, poised to charge. “Get your goddamn hands off of my daughter!”

“Or what?” The stranger grinned. He was tall and gaunt, with shaggy blond hair framing a deeply weathered face. Life had not been kind to him. “Look, I’m sorry, okay?”

“Daddy!”

Becca, his precious little girl, stared back at him through huge, innocent eyes. At that moment, she was small again, maybe two, terrified of the coffin slab of the open closet door in her dark bedroom.

“Where’s Billy?” Janice hissed, just loud enough that only John could hear.

Yes. Where was Billy? John’s heart was pumping hard, fear slowing his thoughts.

The stranger’s fingers bit into Becca’s shoulder, and her mouth pinched tight from the pain.

“What do you want?” Janice asked. Somehow, she kept her voice level. “We have rations. We’ll give you what we have.”

“And we can give you more after the next pickup. We can help you with whatever you need. Just let her go, okay? Let’s talk, okay?” John held his hands out, showing his palms in a gesture of submission.

“What exactly do you think I need?” The stranger laughed again, shaking the sandwich bag at them. His laughter was coarse and grating, and his eyes roamed over the forest, never settling. He wore a hunted look.

“I think it’s open,” John hissed. Janice whimpered.

The bag was open just enough that the stranger had slipped a finger into the soft tissues within–a viral grenade. Was he contagious? How long had he been near Becca? Had she breathed in any of the stranger’s air?

Exposure, John thought. He had to get closer, separate them, and return Becca to the family.

And where the hell is Billy? The thought panicked, threatening to spin John into an abyss. He had to think straight.

Becca and the stranger stood next to a steep, sandy drop of about forty feet or so leading down to the water. The stranger was close to the edge. A solid push would send him over. John took a few steps forward, testing.

“Stop!” the stranger commanded, shaking the bag.

John obeyed. The man didn’t have much on him. His ripped jeans had been cut off at the knees to make shorts, his black t-shirt was threadbare, and John didn’t see a backpack, bag, or anything that might carry supplies. The stranger was unprepared, which meant Becca had crossed his path by chance; the predator was taking advantage of an opportune moment.

It’s how he’s survived, John thought.

“Becca? Honey? Look at me,” John said. She met her father’s gaze, her brown eyes wide with fear.

“Y-yes, D-daddy?”

“Shut up, kid.” The stranger squeezed tighter, and Becca squirmed, her knees buckling but not giving completely.

“Does he have anything behind his back? Any weapons?”

The stranger clenched harder, and the girl screamed, twisting under his grip, dropping to the ground but managing to shake her head ‘no.’

Or was it just the pain?

The parents surged forward in an involuntary rush of parental ferocity, but the stranger shoved the bag in Becca’s face, holding it just inches from her nose. The little girl’s eyes widened, locked onto it, like she couldn’t look away. John and Janice had to stop.

Was the man sick, or were the tissues benign? They couldn’t know.

They were closer now, though, maybe twenty feet separating them.

“Who are you?” Janice asked.

“Get back!”

“You’re alone, aren’t you? I can tell. You poor thing.” Janice was talking, trying to connect and find a way through this. Janice was thinking.

“Back!” The man snarled, baring brown and dirty teeth, spit flying from his mouth.

“Please don’t yell. When you yell, your breath can expel–”

“A viral load? You think I don’t know that?”

“Calm down. Everyone, calm down,” John said, straining to keep his voice, in fact, calm. He held his hands out again, palms visible in a placating gesture. The stranger was a firecracker, prone to explode, and the ten-minute exposure window was closing. If the man was contagious, that moment could be much smaller. A moment. A breath.

And where the hell was Billy? Hiding? Hurt? Trapped? It was the one thing stopping John from rushing the stranger, tackling him, hurling him down the riverbank. Billy could be tied up somewhere, and the stranger might have friends nearby.

“We don’t understand what’s going on here. If this is your territory or something–”

“Or if we offended you–” Janice added.

“And we’re trespassing because you’re living out here or something, well, we just didn’t know. This is the first time we’ve been out in six months.”

“More,” Janice said.

“Last time we were here was last fall? Right, honey?”

“Yes. Early fall.”

“This was public land. If that’s changed, well, we’re sorry.” John shrugged. “We just didn’t know.”

“Please, let Becca go,” Janice said. “She hasn’t done anything. She’s just a kid.”

“Take me,” John said.

The stranger’s icy blue eyes had been darting from one parent to the other, but now he focused on John, squinting inquisitively. “What the hell would I want with you?”

“What do you want with my daughter?” Janice replied. Her voice was soft yet firm, with no hint of malice. The crazy man was in control, and she knew it.

“What do you have for rations? I see crackers. What else?” The stranger nodded to the picnic blanket behind them.

“Yes! Take whatever you want.” John retreated to the blanket, picking up the box of crackers and holding it up. He smiled encouragingly. “It’s still half full. I think we’ve got another can of smoked oysters, too.”

“I hate oysters.”

“Do you want them?”

“Of course, I want them, you idiot!”

“Okay, okay. Just take it easy.”

“What else have you got? Put all the food in your backpack.”

We’re being robbed by a blond scarecrow armed with dirty tissues in a plastic bag, John thought wildly. In ordinary times, the prospect would’ve been absurd.

“Have you been alone all this time? Since the first wave?” Janice asked. The stranger stiffened, and John knew his wife had touched a nerve.

“Look, we have some marmalade, too.” John dropped it into his backpack.

“I was left behind. Do you know what that’s like?” he said defensively.

“I don’t, but I can imagine.” Janice’s voice was soft and compassionate like she was talking one of the kids out of the fading halo of a nightmare. “It’s a very isolating time–”

“An isolating time? That’s the understatement of the century, lady.” The stranger laughed, a sound like breaking glass.

Left behind, John thought. Those words teased his memory and seemed to hint at something important. His thoughts raced, grasping for some information that might make sense of all this. The river. A meandering stretch of conservation land. A rolling trail that followed the riverbank for nearly two miles, devoid of houses or buildings. A verdant green peace that ended abruptly at the field behind …

“You’re from Riverside Commons, aren’t you?” John said.

“Yeah? So what?” The stranger flinched and scowled.

An icy chill swept through John. Riverside Commons was a three-building condominium complex housing four or five hundred people. Had housed four or five hundred people. The virus took advantage of all those people living right next door to one another, of sneezes and coughs ejected into shared spaces, droplets lingering unseen in the air, floating into condo units whenever an open door created a draft, whenever the heating and air conditioning system cycled on. It had settled gleefully on doorknobs, railings, and elevator buttons for people to touch. Invaded game nights in the function room.

Some people had been vigilant, but others … not so much. All it took was one carrier, and then the virus ripped through the place and was forcibly evacuated by government soldiers. It was a story on the news for a day or two until a larger hotspot stole the stage, and their little suburban town was forgotten. As far as John knew, the whereabouts of the residents of Riverside Commons were an open question. The media was censored. How else could the people be protected against the downfall?

“I’m Janice, and this is my husband, John. Who are you?”

“Nice to meet you, sir,” John managed. His hands worked, filling the backpack.

“Oh, no! Don’t try that nice-as-pie crap on me. I don’t fall for that anymore,” the stranger said.

“It’s not crap. I really mean it.” Janice moved forward a little, experimenting.

John stood, holding out his backpack, palming his little pocketknife and concealing it against the inner fabric, shadowing his wife.

“We’re lucky,” Janice continued. “We live together, so we’re together, but other people aren’t so lucky. I know that. Other people have to live alone. They can’t go out. They can’t interact. I won’t say I know what that’s like, all that time by yourself, trapped in a little apartment or something.”

“I’ve got the whole place to myself now,” the stranger muttered. He dropped his eyes, his gaze skating across the soft bed of pine needles up into the trees.

Billy, where the hell are you? John needed to know his son was all right.

“Okay then, trapped in a huge apartment building.” Janice smiled maternally, and the stranger tried to meet her eyes but didn’t quite seem able to.

“I think … People are still there somewhere, but I can’t see them. I never see them. I hear them from down the hall and run to check, but no one’s ever there. Why won’t they just wait for me? Just to say, ‘Hello?’ That’s all I want.” The stranger was nearly whining, the raw pain of his isolation suddenly displayed. Then his eyes bulged, and he glared at Janice, his voice growing. “Is that too much to ask?”

He’s hearing voices, John thought with a chill.

Somehow, Janice responded, sounding almost genuine. Maybe she’d missed the implication, but no, she’d caught it all right, judging from how she clutched the fabric of her pants in a death grip.

“No, it’s not very nice at all,” Janice said. “We wouldn’t do that to you. Tell me about yourself. Please? If we’re going hang out like this, then we shouldn’t be strangers anymore.”

The man frowned, his gaze drifting a bit, brow furrowing. “When they came … I was in my apartment, sleeping. I’d just gotten off a double shift. I was wiped out. Somehow, they missed me.”

“What did you do for work?” John asked.

“I drove an ambulance up in Newbury.”

“Oh my. I’m so sorry. I’ve heard the stories. You must have been busy.”

“You have no clue, lady.” His gaze drilled into Janice. “We ran triple shifts for … I don’t even know anymore … two years? All of us. Stan, Violeta, Harrison. The chief had a nervous breakdown after Captain Bokowski’s heart popped. He was driving. He slammed into a telephone pole. I think. I went beyond burnout. I went … somewhere else.”

“The virus.”

“What the hell else? We couldn’t keep up. Half the calls were to pick up corpses, and the other half to treat people who’d be dead soon anyway. Not enough supply, too much demand, you know?”

“We’ve heard. On the news.”

“The news. You have no idea. None!” The stranger’s eyes rolled. “Censored like you wouldn’t believe. We had to sign papers. Did they tell you that on the news? If we talked, they’d throw us in jail–no coming back from that. ‘How’s work?’ patients asked me. They wanted to know how it really was out there. ‘Oh, it’s not as bad as they say it is,’ we’d say, because we had to. ‘It’s just the media. We’ll get through this, brave countryman. We always do.’ They’d smile, and I’d see the relief in their faces, and I’d feel like a real fu–” He caught himself, glancing down at Becca. “A real jerk for lying, but I had to follow the script. Everyone did. Or else.”

“Especially when they’re taking people away by the neighborhood. That’s a lot of power.” John stepped before Janice, holding the backpack out, overtly crossing the distance.

“Stay back!” The stranger dragged Becca back up to her feet and pulled her close to his body. “Zip up the backpack and throw it on the ground in front of me.”

John had no choice but to obey and no way to keep the knife without being seen. He dropped his only weapon into the shadows of the pack and then tossed it at the stranger’s feet.

“I’m just going to borrow the girl for a little while, a day or two. Three at the most. What’s today?”

“Tuesday,” John heard himself replying in a faraway voice.

“Then Friday it is. We’ll meet you back here in three days.” The stranger shook Becca affectionately. “It’ll be fun, sweetheart. Trust me.”

“What are you going to do with her?” Janice asked. There was a pleading note in her voice now that scared John, and with the fear came a pulse of inferno anger. His thoughts weren’t slow anymore. They were knives skating over ice. Something tickled his mind about how the guy had said he’d gone somewhere else.

“Please don’t hurt her,” Janice begged. She’d released the death grip on her pants, and her hands were shaking.

“Hurt her? I wouldn’t hurt … I said it’d be fun.”

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