Read What Blood Leaves Behind (The Poison Rose) for Free Online Page B

white box tipped on its side about half a mile up the road. But it was what we needed.
    As we drew nearer and from the outside, the motel was like most every place we’ve come across—windows shattered, the black charring of fire damage blighting one end, the parking lot littered with mattresses, abandoned cars and the gray glass and electronic innards of smashed television sets.
    But on the top floor we’ve found the best room I’ve seen since leaving Oxbow Ferry. Two large beds with sheets and blankets, all of it clean and dry. A sofa, two chairs and a table, all intact. The windows on either side of the room are unbroken, not even cracked. Every other room in the motel has been damaged, most badly, but this one is strangely preserved, like someone makes it up and keeps it waiting on the offhand chance a weary traveler might find it.
    Despite the unbelievable luck of finding this place, no one is happy. CJ and Terry are fighting. CJ is only eight years old. Terry is eleven and they’re brothers. Larkin and I found them hiding in a house a few months after we found each other. Their older sister had succumbed to the fever a week before, had disappeared. The brothers were small and helpless and terrified. It took weeks before it felt like they trusted us. They told us almost nothing about their sister. She got sick. She changed. She wouldn’t let us go near her and then she was gone.
    With our family intact—with Larkin—they were happy. If we ran low on food for a few days, they waited. They walked for hours without complaint. Now they complain, they whine. I hear their constant bickering all day long and it’s wearing me down. I wonder how long I’ll be able to stay calm, to keep the tone of my voice even, reassuring.
    At times I just want to run away, leave them all behind. Disappear in the middle of the night, like Larkin. It’s too much. We’re not a family anymore and I’m no one’s mother.
    Stace follows me like a zombie, saying little, keeping herself walled off from the rest of us. She’s small and fragile, her greasy hair in pigtails, although she’s not much younger than Emily. I have the feeling that she would drift off from us like an untethered balloon if I didn’t watch her closely. I’m turning around constantly, looking over my shoulder, just to see if she’s still there.
    What’s happened to Emily is the worst. Although even she must know it’s not true, she blames me for Larkin’s disappearance. I’m sure she knows I had no control over what happened but she’s scared, both by the fact that he’s gone and by the thought that what happened to him could happen to me. It could happen to her in another year or two.
    She argues with me about everything.
    I’m standing in the bathroom trying to brush my teeth with a few sips of our bottled water when she barges in. My teeth feel filmy and look gray. I brush and brush but can’t get them feeling smooth and clean like they used to, before the disease started to spread.
    I would give my left arm for some running water. I fantasize about turning on the taps, letting clean water fill the sink. Hot, steaming water. Splashing it against my face again and again. Letting the dirt that cakes my hands wash away. The thought of a hot bath for each of us makes my head spin.
    We’re filthy but we’ve had to get used to it, how each of us smells, the way the dirt pulls our skin tight. It flakes off when we sleep, tossing and turning, leaving a residue of soil behind on the cushions and mattresses in the shape of our sleeping bodies.
    I have the bathroom door almost completely shut and flinch when Emily slams it open, causing me to jam the toothbrush against the roof of my mouth. I glance at my rifle, propped against the empty bathtub and wonder if it’s an emergency or if she’s just being pissy with me again.
    Emily’s changed so much. She looks older now. I can’t be sure if it’s mostly the dirt or if her face really is becoming deeply lined,