3 Days

  Kara Laquin wanted nothing more than to forget. Forget the past, live in the present, and ignore the future. When a massive solar flare destroys all electronics and throws the country into chaos, Kara is nearly a whole state away from her lost love, Blaine. He can wait only three days before moving on. With access to fuel limited, she must do anything necessary to get to him before he is forced to move on, but society is crumbling around her. Looters and murderers prowl the cities during the day, and something even worse roams at night.

  3Days

  By Krista Madden

  3 Days

  ISBN:

  Text Copyright © 2012 Krista Madden

  All Rights Reserved

  Contact: madden3days@gmail.com

  DEDICATIONS

  My warmest thanks go out to all the people involved in making 3 Days a reality. To the Beards, for their encouragement and help. To my patient husband, Justin, for pretending like he knew what I was talking about, even when it sounded absurd. To Jandyn, for all of her helpful guidance and creative input. And to my Uncle Terry, for listening to every animated story I had to offer as a teen while cleverly adding, “That will make a great chapter in your book someday.”

  “I will never regret you, or say that I wish I'd never met you, because once upon a time, you were exactly what I needed.”

  -Unknown

  CHAPTER 1

  CHAPTER 2

  CHAPTER 3

  CHAPTER 4

  CHAPTER 5

  CHAPTER 6

  CHAPTER 7

  CHAPTER 8

  CHAPTER 9

  CHAPTER 10

  CHAPTER 11

  CHAPTER 12

  CHAPTER 13

  CHAPTER 14

  CHAPTER 15

  CHAPTER 16

  CHAPTER 17

  CHAPTER 18

  CHAPTER 19

  CHAPTER 20

  CHAPTER 21

  CHAPTER 22

  CHAPTER 23

  CHAPTER 24

  CHAPTER 25

  CHAPTER 26

  CHAPTER 27

  CHAPTER 28

  CHAPTER 29

  CHAPTER 30

  CHAPTER 31

  CHAPTER 32

  CHAPTER 33

  CHAPTER 34

  CHAPTER 35

  CHAPTER 36

  CHAPTER 37

  CHAPTER 38

  CHAPTER 39

  Chapter 1

  Blaine and I are just friends.

  I told myself this every day, but it just wouldn’t stick. He was my first friend here in Nixa. A far cry from New York, but a job's a job, and my dad needed one, so we all got dragged along. I was about to start my freshman year of high school in New York, my home, but instead, there I was in podunk Missouri, so my dad could teach music. You'd think New York would be the best place to be a music teacher, but all the budget cuts and slashing of arts programs kind of ruined that. So, anyways, after I was ripped from my home and away from good friends, legal child abuse, I was forced to join my parents as they got to know the neighborhood. Luckily for me, Blaine only lived three houses down from mine, and he saved me from my mental parents. As our parents got to know each other, Blaine and I just thrashed the hell out of a bunch of ugly aliens that were attacking the Pentagon. I don't generally like video games, but Blaine had a way of getting me into it and making it all seem much more bearable. I enjoyed the simplicity of sitting with him, no prying questions from either side. Just good old-fashioned distraction with death gurgles of enemy space creatures coming from the television. We became friends almost instantly.

  So there I was, nearly two years later. Still alive and making a new name for myself. Sitting in U.S. History class, my mind a fog of Civil War while Mr. Grant ranted on and on, not noticing three students had completely dozed off, I felt a finger digging into my shoulder blade. Blaine. I swatted his hand in protest. Not because I was paying any attention to what was being said at the front of the room, but because I could roughly predict what he’d ask, and I was not in the mood.

  “Kara,” he hissed, poking even harder.

  “No,” I hissed back, “I'm not getting involved in this.”

  Blaine had noticed Craig Stock was one of the students who had fallen asleep during the lecture. At the moment, he was drooling on his notebook in such quantity that the students around him, including Blaine, had been dipping the ends of strips of paper in it and sticking them to his face.

  “Aw, come on. You're no fun.” He was pouting now.

  “No,” I forced in a whisper. “Not cool.” I knew what he wanted. In the immediate area, I was the one with a cell phone that had picture messaging. And he wanted a photo of his work.

  “PLEASE…” Blaine hissed, now with both hands on my shoulders rubbing my neck. Oh, God, I wanted to melt. “I will owe you big.”

  No fair! He knows back rubs are my weakness. That was his trick. He knew he could get my attention, and generally any favor, by rubbing my shoulders. I'm an anxious person and a neck rub was like instant Valium. With the impending Trig test after lunch, it was just what the doctor ordered. This is crazy. Why does he have this effect on me?

  Unrelenting, he began to play with my strawberry blonde hair, twirling it and twisting it into a pony, then fluffing it back down to my shoulders. I felt myself giving in. “Fine!” I hissed back and reached into my bag. Flipping open my phone, I snapped a quick picture. “There,” I feigned anger, “happy?”

  “Ms. Laquin!” Of course Mr. Grant would turn around right as I was snapping a photo. He charged back to my desk, eyes flashing with anger. Cell phones weren’t permitted on school grounds, but I was an exception. My parents raised a huge fuss and managed to convince the administrators that I needed to have my phone in case of emergencies where they needed to get in immediate contact with me. I was permitted to have it in my bag if I kept it on silent and did not use it at any point during school hours unless warranted by an emergency. The terms were agreed, and I had one on me ever since.

  Mr. Grant stopped abruptly to the left side of my desk, hand out, palm up. “Give it here, Kara. You can get it back at the end of the day when you stay after for detention.” My face burned with embarrassment. Squeezing my eyes shut tight, and swallowing hard, I handed the phone in his direction. I only opened my eyes long enough to give Blaine a murderous glare, then faced the front of the room and sank down into my seat.

  After the bell rang, I stood up to leave class. There was no need to say goodbye to any of my friends because the school was so small we had the same classes together throughout the day. As I was rounding the corner outside of the history classroom, I felt a pulling sensation, like I had snagged my backpack on a nail. It was no nail. I knew it was Blaine. Stopping in mid-stride, I tensed my body. Before spinning around, I prepared to lay into him with such forceful words he would wish he was having a cavity drilled. But, mid spin, my eyes caught his, and I lost my nerve. He was usually a good foot taller than me, but you couldn’t tell right now because he was slumping. His bushy eyebrows were furrowed deep with remorse. I stared into his eyes, those huge brown eyes, hoping he couldn’t read my mind. We were locked in a gaze for what felt like a year, but was most likely three seconds, before he broke eye contact and began raking his hands through his scruffy brown hair. How do you do this to me?! I wanted to scream.

  Almost as in response to my thought, he said, “I’m sorry.” He continued on with his apology for at least thirty seconds before I realized what he was talking about. For a short moment before his apology, I had forgotten about what he had convinced me to do in history class. This was a regular occurrence with Blaine. He had a way of causing trouble and making people forgive him a
lmost instantly. He had no enemies because of it and was fast friends with just about everyone he met.

  I let him finish his piece while putting on a show of impatience. One thing I knew about Blaine was that it irritated him to no end if someone stayed mad at him. He would go to great lengths to try and lighten the mood. One time I got him to cluck like a chicken after stuffing seven large marshmallows in his mouth when he asked me if there was anything he could do to make up for the prank that was pulled on me the previous day. I gotta say, it definitely helped.

  “Kara?” He had his hand on my shoulder now.

  “Sorry, what?” I must have been daydreaming for a second. Seven marshmallows.

  “Are we straight?” He searched for forgiveness in my expression.

  Even if I wanted to, I couldn’t stay mad at Blaine for long. Might as well forgive him now and save face, while sulking about it in my private time. “Yeah, we’re good.”

  A look of complete relief washed over him, and he gave me a pat on the side of my arm before saying, “Okay then, see you next period.” He proceeded to give me a stage smack on the side of my face.

  “Ugh!” I retaliated with a punch to his shoulder and shoved him in the rear with my foot before heading to my locker. Boys!

  Chapter 2

  Detention was so BORING. I honestly would have preferred hard labor to sitting in a classroom with a teacher across from me grading papers. Of all days, I had absolutely no homework, so I tried passing the time with doodling in my sketchbook. Sitting in Mr. Grant’s classroom after school with no other students around was sort of surreal. At one point I decided to look outside the window for artistic inspiration. The classroom was on the second level of the building, so there was an old oak tree reaching toward the windows. I let myself fall into a daydream where the tree came to life, and its branches reached into the open windows to pluck out Mr. Grant and toss him into the next county. Just as I was about to thank the tree in my daydream, I saw it move. At first I thought it was the wind, but this was more of a jerking motion than a swaying one. And then I saw an arm wrap around the fattest part of the branch and a leg hook over it. I knew those big feet anywhere. Blaine was climbing the tree. Almost as if on cue, Mr. Grant excused himself to the office to make copies. He shut the door to the classroom behind him, and when I was sure he was far enough down the hall, I shot to the window.

  “What are you DOING?!” I hissed with force. “Are you trying to get me into more trouble?”

  “I have come to rescue you,” he said with strain. He hadn’t quite gotten a good enough grip on the branch yet, and it was becoming obvious to him that, in hind sight, this was not the best idea. “It’s my fault you’re in detention, and I want to make it up to you. Come on.” He reached out his hand. “It’s easier than it looks.”

  “Apparently. Because from here it looks like you are gonna give yourself a hernia,” I spat, trying as hard as I could not to snort with laughter.

  “Well, do you wanna get out of there, or not? Make a decision, Laquin. In or out?” It didn’t matter what my reply was going to be because just then we were interrupted by a shout from the ground. “Hey! Who is that up there? Get down from there now before I call security!” It was Mrs. Qualls, the English teacher, which made it even more hilarious because she was generally as blind as a bat and hard of hearing.

  “Aw, hell, of all the times for the old bat to be bird watching and she sees my giant ass in a tree!” Blaine was straining even harder now to keep his grip.

  “Fine, have it your way!” said Mrs. Qualls as she stomped off toward the main entrance of the school.

  “Oh, CRAP!” Blaine chirped as his eyes got wide and met mine. We both looked like a couple of owls at that moment, knowing full well what would happen if he didn’t get out of there before security came. One moment later, there was a sickeningly loud cracking sound as the smaller branch Blaine was clinging to gave way. I watched in horror as he slid down the side of the tree, waiting for another “crack” that might be the breaking of a bone.

  “I’m okay,” he squeaked from the ground, and I watched as he hobbled across the courtyard to his pickup.

  Chapter 3

  That night, I decided to delay my parents’ knowledge of my reprimand at school. It was bad enough being isolated in detention all afternoon, but having to listen to my parents’ lecture about responsibility was even worse. Blaine’s mom didn’t work, so, during most of the week, I would eat dinner over at his house. After all, a fifteen year old can only handle so many nights of pizza and coke. So, after dropping off my backpack in the kitchen, I started down the sidewalk to Blaine’s.

  As I turned up into his driveway, I saw a blue Pinto parked in front of Blaine’s house. Jared’s here. This should be an interesting night.

  Jared had been Blaine’s best friend since elementary school when they both got busted for stopping up the sinks in the boys’ bathroom during recess. What I had witnessed in the last two years of hanging around Jared was that he was somewhat of a quiet type, except when he was with Blaine. The two of them together was like unleashing the guys from Jackass along with the guys from MythBusters into the suburbs of the Midwest. Every task was turned into a theatrical affair, completed by a comedic injury of some sorts. But when Jared and Blaine were separated, he was very reserved and considerate of others. I knew this because we were partnered up for a project last year in biology, and when Blaine didn’t stop by my house to distract him, he took the project very seriously.

  Bracing myself for an evening of bodily function jokes and simultaneous drooling over Meagan Fox, I rang the doorbell. Luckily, Blaine’s mom, Dianne, answered the door.

  “Kara!” she chimed. “Your mom said you would be here for dinner, but I was beginning to think you changed your mind. Come on in, sweetie,” she said, stepping aside to let me pass.

  The Lassers’ house was a split level, and I only had to head down a few steps to get to the family room. Of course, I didn’t have to ask where the guys were, I could hear them cheering at the game on TV.

  “Hey, guys,” I mumbled before plopping onto the couch in the space between both guys. Blaine didn’t take his eyes off the screen, but Jared made an effort to be hospitable. “Hey, Kara,” he replied. He was still avoiding eye contact. A few weeks ago, I had gone to use the bathroom at Blaine’s house, and Jared had forgotten to lock the door behind him. I walked in on him for a brief second and, without going into detail, things had been a little awkward between us since. Who could blame him? I was surprised he was willing to sit in the same room with me at all.

  “What’s the score?” I asked, not really caring, while grabbing a handful of popcorn from the bowl on the table. I had never really been into sports, but Blaine liked to talk trash about other teams, and I found it entertaining.

  “Seven to three, Miami,” he growled, eyes glued to the screen. Blaine hated the Heat with a passion, and with them beating his favorite team, he was on the warpath.

  I watched him tentatively as he glared in the glow of the big screen. His jaw clenched in irrational hatred, the tendons in his neck tensing and popping with each bad call from the ref. The way he shouted through his teeth when his team was so close to getting a rebound. Admiring Blaine any other day sent my heart into a fluttery mess, but when he was angry, it stirred a desire in me that made my skin prickle with goose bumps and my face flush. I had always felt a desire for Blaine, but could never figure out a way to act on it. He was always changing his mood. Hot one minute, cold the next. Sweet and caring one day, to flirtatious “buddy” the next. I could never tell when it would be a good time to act on my feelings, so I retreated to the easiest path of just being friends and not complicating things.

  Blaine and I are just friends. I would tell myself again and again. We can be nothing more.

  “DINNER!” I heard Dianne shout from the kitchen. And that was all it took for the testosterone in the room to roam onward. Man eat. Man eat food.

  After dinner, I cal
led my mom to let her know that I was going to be at Blaine’s a little longer. My friend, Crystal, was going to stop by and hang out with the three of us. It wasn’t uncommon for large groups to spend late nights at Blaine’s house. His parents preferred to have him and his friends at the house for odd hours of the night rather than them being out cruising the main streets of town. I guess it was their subtle way of making sure we weren’t drinking or doing drugs. It was fine with me. Dianne was an amazing cook.

  Crystal arrived just as the three of us had decided what we were going to do when she got there. The guys thought it would be hilarious to play “sardines.” A strange twist on “hide-and-seek” where one person hides and everyone else is the “seeker.” When someone finds the hiding person, they squeeze into the same hiding spot until the last person is left looking for several people smashed into a tiny hiding place. I tried to fight the decision when Crystal showed up and agreed it would be fun. I could see she noticed that Jared was hoping to play and, based on her recently developed crush, it may have swayed her decision.

  We started out easy. Blaine would hide because he knew what spaces in the house and yard were large enough to hold everyone. I was the one to find him almost every single time and, I have to admit, I spent most of the night hoping nobody would find us. This past spot was exceptionally small, and we were pushed up against one another, face to face. His breath smells SO good, I thought.

  It really did. I was a little surprised because when the rest of us were choking down Altoids before the game, he declined the offer. But right now, we were practically touching noses. I turned my head to the side a little, just so he didn’t feel smothered. In hindsight, this wasn’t the best plan for someone trying so hard to stay “just friends” with a guy. I could feel the heat of his breath on my ear, moving my hair at the nape of my neck, back and forth, with every inhale and exhale. My heart was all over the place, and it was so quiet in the tiny closet we were in, I was sure he would hear it going wild. Trying my best to control my breathing, which was about to speed up any moment, I thought it would be best to strike up a conversation. “So,” I whispered near his ear, “who do you think will find us first?”