Elixir (Red Plague #1) (Red Plague Trilogy) Read Free

worried about dying on the road to stop and answer him.
    The work trucks were gone from my driveway when I pulled up.
    “Maya!” Mrs. Kinley came off her front porch with Freckles in a carrier. “Is your dad coming to get you?”
    “He’s in Raleigh,” I said, “but he’s been texting. He’ll be home tonight.”
    “Okay.” She popped the carrier into the backseat of her car. “I’m going to meet my parents in Nashville. You can come with me if you want. I’d love the company and 212R isn’t as bad in the country as it is in the cities.”
    “I have to wait for my dad,” I said. “He’s really close to finding a cure.”
    She smiled wistfully. “Wouldn’t that be wonderful.”
    “Be careful out there,” I said and bolted myself inside my house.
    I did what I’d been doing the last two weeks or so after school, as part of my dad’s safety checklist. I stripped to my underwear in the laundry room and immediately took a hot shower in the hall bathroom. Only then did I change into comfy pants and a tank top and inspected our new panic room.
    The crew had done a good job. It looked solid. Impenetrable, even. Our old pantry was now a metal cell with a heavy swinging door that sealed from the inside with a wheel crank. I crossed the square of extra soft carpeting and decided I could live there for a few days. As long as my dad was with me.
    Speaking of, I texted him again. “Panic room is done. Looks sturdy.”
    While I waited for him to reply I made myself a sandwich and turned on the TV.
    More bad news. Most of New York City was black and offline.
    “The president has declared the entire city of New York a disaster zone,” the reporter said. “The National Guard is on the ground as we speak doing all they can to quarantine plague sufferers and evacuate survivors.” A video flashed on of a giant tank driving down a street choked with cars and people.
    I didn’t feel particularly optimistic about the military response. The threat to the city was a microscopic virus, not anything that could be shot or detained.
    Done with my snack I followed my dad’s directions. He’d been busy the last few weeks, even busier than I realized. Locked in our garage lay cases of drinking water and canned food, a first-aid kit, a tub of survival gear, and two narrow cots. I spent the afternoon sweeping up after the workers and moving and organizing the supplies into the old pantry.
    “If you have a fever,” the news anchor announced, “go immediately to the nearest emergency room.”
    I pressed the back of my hand to my forehead. So far so good.
    “The best hope we have is to contain the virus,” the reporter continued. “Once infected, though, you can spot a ‘Red,’ as some folks are calling them, by the red color of their eyes. We now have Dr. LaVay from the CDC to tell us more about why and how 212R affects the color of our irises. Doctor?”
    I turned off the TV and texted Dad, “Lasagna for dinner? I’ll start at 5.”
    While I waited to hear from him I collected my guitar from my room and strummed a song I had written the year before called “Red Shoelaces.”
    When the tray of frozen vegetable lasagna was hot and ready at six I served myself and ate in front of the television. Every five minutes or so I checked my cell to see if my dad texted anything and I had missed the beep, but nothing came in.
    “Many of the services we take for granted,” the reporter said, “will no longer be available as early as tomorrow morning along the entire eastern seaboard. 212R has spread so quickly, incapacitating so many people, there may not be enough qualified people to run power, water, and sanitation services.”
    I set my dinner in the trash and double-checked that all the doors and windows were locked tight and then turned on my phone. No new messages.
    “We here at the news desk will keep reporting,” she added, “as long as we can to get you the information you need to stay safe. If the power in your area