Glory (Book 1) (5 page)

Chapter 6

Jane couldn't see anything anymore. It was too dark. She could feel her daughter in her arms, but she couldn't see the little girl's face. She ran her finger along Becky's cheek. Then she decided to leave the closet.

She didn't really want to, but she knew that it would do no good staying in there. She couldn't keep hiding. Plus, she wanted to know what happened to everyone, to her husband.

She pulled back the closet door and slid it open.

She stuck her head out and looked around.

Jane expected someone to attack her
.
Or maybe she hoped that they would
.
That thought lingered for a moment before she pushed it away. She didn't want to allow herself to think like that.

No one was there.

She took the little girl in her arms and stepped out of the closet. Her legs were sore from being cramped up for such a long time.

In the room, she could see a little bit better. There was light coming in from the outside. Not the normal light from the street lamp, though. It was moonlight.

Jane saw her daughter's crib. She walked over and placed the little girl back into it. It was difficult for her to let her go.

"I'm sorry," Jane said.

She looked down at her daughter and was overcome with feelings of regret. Maybe she should have tried to save her daughter. Maybe she should have fought off her husband.

No, they had both changed. There was nothing that she could have done.

Jane reached over and pulled her daughter's blanket over her lifeless body, just like she would have if the little girl had been asleep.

Except she wasn't asleep. She was dead.

Jane felt herself starting to choke up. Tears built in her eyes.

Her silly little goos
e
.

She bent over and kissed her dead child.

She hadn't saved her. Sh
e
couldn'
t
have saved her.

"I'm so sorry," she said again.

Jane stood up and looked at the window - the one her husband had jumped out of after he had changed; after he had killed their daughter. He had been about to kill Jane too.

She wondered where he was. If he was still out there.

She walked over to the window. Her feet stepped on the broken glass and cracked underneath her. She had forgotten about the rock that had come through the window. It had distracted her husband and had saved her life.

She went closer to the window.

Before she looked out, she listened. She hadn't heard anything for a while, but she needed to be sure. She didn't want to look out the window and find one of those
…
what
?…
crazy people?…changed
?
She didn't know what to think of them
.
She knew enough that she didn't want to see one of them out there. She didn't think that she'd be able to handle another attack. If one of them saw her, that's what would happen.

She listened for a little bit longer and couldn't hear anything. At least, not anything that sounded like a person. She could hear a crackling sound, but that sounded more like a fire.

She decided to look.

As she peered out the window, she made sure not to cut her hand on the broken glass. She placed her palms on the bottom of the frame and leaned forward.

She had been right about the fire. A car was burning brightly a little way down the road. She didn't spend much time looking at it. Instead she focused on all of the damage that had been done to the street, all of the dead bodies. Her neighbours.

Jane could see people lying out on the road. From her daughter's window, she couldn't tell who they were. Sh
e
coul
d
see that there were men, women, and even children. There were also big pools of liquid underneath them. She knew that it had to be blood.

She continued to look.

Houses had been destroyed. Windows smashed in. Gardens torn up.

There were a few more car crashes further down the road.

What could have caused this
?
she wondered.

Jane took a deep breath, but didn't turn away from the window no matter how much she wanted to. She had come to the window for a reason: to look for her husband. She needed to find him.

Jane took another deep breath, then looked down underneath her window. She was on the second story of her house and expected to see her husband lying on the ground. With the way he had charged out of the window, she didn't think that he would have survived the fall.

To her surprise, there was no one there. That part of the lawn was clear.

Phil was nowhere to be seen.

Chapter 7

Adam stayed with his back against the wall far into the evening. The knife was still in his hands, clutched to his chest. His eyes had gone back to the door. He kept wondering if the man
…
creature
?
…was out there.

But he had heard the man run off.

No
,
he decided
,
that thing isn't out there anymore.

Adam got up off of the floor. It didn't make any sense for him to stay there doing nothing. He needed to at least see what was happening outside. To see if help had come. To see if people were still killing each other.

He stood up.

His legs were weak and almost crumbled underneath his weight. He swayed back and forth a few times until he caught his balance. He placed his hand against the wall to help.

Adam felt slightly drunk. Though it wasn't because of alcohol. It was from shock. And fear.

Once he steadied himself, he walked toward the window.

None of the lights were on in his apartment. He didn't think that they were working out on the street, either. There was a dull glow coming from somewhere, but it wasn't the usual bright light of the street lamps. It helped him make his way toward the window. Adam kept his hands out in front of him
,
just in cas
e
.

He walked slowly.

As he passed the lamp in his living room, he reached out to try it. His fingers fumbled along the base of the lamp until he found the switch. When he clicked it on, nothing happened.

He tried again.

Nothing.

The power was out.

He sighed, though wasn't all that surprised.

He let go of the lamp and made his way to the window to look outside.

Strangely enough, the first thing he noticed were the stars and the moon. They were so bright and covered the whole of the sky.

Guess that's what happens when all of the power in the city goes out
,
he thought. He chuckled at his joke, his laughter coming out more nervous than anything else. But, as he finally looked at the street underneath, even those tiny chuckles came to a stop.

The bodies were still out there. Large dark pools of blood underneath them.

There was no sign of any help. No flashing lights from fire engines or police cars. He couldn't hear any sirens, either. He figured that that meant there was no rescue going on, that he was on his own.

There was also no clean up.

He had seen enough movies and watched enough television to know that disease would soon follow all of these dead people. He could only imagine what the smell would be like in a couple of days. It would be horrible. Unbearable. And that was only out on the street.

There were people in all of the apartments as well. Bodies lying torn, decomposing.

He started to think of his apartment building as nothing other than an enormous tomb. He quickly pushed that image aside.

He'd have to leave
.
He knew that much. There was no other choice
.
But not tonight.

He turned away from the window and, with his knife, walked to the kitchen. There wasn't much that he could do abou
t
anythin
g
tonight. He wasn't about to leave his apartment in the dark. He'd leave in the morning, in the light. It might not be any safer then, but it would make him feel a lot more comfortable about it. Now, the least he could do was get himself a drink. He hadn't had anything since this whole thing started. That was…he didn't know how long it had been. It felt like it had been a while.

Adam made his way to the kitchen and opened the refrigerator door. He couldn't see anything inside.

The light was off. No powe
r
.

He reached his hand in and felt around for a bottle of juice. He grabbed a few things to eat, too, and placed them all on the kitchen counter.

He grabbed the bottle again and opened it. He drank the whole of it in a few gulps. He gasped for air once he had finished. It had felt and tasted good. He hadn't known how thirsty he had really been.

He grabbed at the food and took a bite, though this just wasn't the same. He couldn't get any of it down. He wasn't hungry. He placed the food back onto the counter.

Adam turned back to face the living room. There was something eerie about the dark, the silence. Although he knew that he was somewhat safe in here, he couldn't help but feeling worried - as though something was going to reach out and grab him.

He wished he had a light.

At that, he remembered the flashlight he kept in the hallway. The one he kept for emergencies. Which this was. He went to get it, wondering why he hadn't thought about it before.

He came upon the small table that it was kept in. Quickly, he pulled at the drawer.

As he did so, he rattled the set of keys that had been on top of it and they fell to the floor.

Adam stopped in place. The sound had been loud. If anyone had been on the other side of the door they would have heard it. He didn't want to have to go through that again.

He waited.

Nothing.

Adam felt around in the drawer until he found the flashlight. He pulled it out and turned it on. The light flashed into his eyes and blinded him for a moment. He squeezed his eyes shut and turned it off.

He knew that it worke
d
.

Adam shut the drawer and opened his eyes. He looked back at the door and his curiosity started to get the better of him. He had the flashlight, he could look outside and see if tha
t
thin
g
was still out there.

He took a step toward the door and placed his hand on the knob.

Maybe this isn't a good ide
a
, he thought. But he didn't pull his hand away.

He turned on the light and tried to calm himself. One deep breath. Then another.

He grabbed a stronger hold on the door knob.

Just a quick look.

In the end, he simply placed his ear against it. He couldn't even bring himself to glance through the peephole. He held his breath and listened for any sounds coming from the other side.

A few seconds passed.

Again, there was nothing.

*

Adam walked into his bedroom and sat onto his bed. It bounced underneath his weight.

He placed the flashlight and knife on his night-stand in case he needed to use them. He hoped that he wouldn't need to. He didn't want to see anything more tonight. He didn't want to have to worry about defending himself. But the truth was that he needed to be prepared.

He laid down.

Thoughts drifted through his head. He couldn't make sense of anything that had happened. So much had taken place in such a short time
.
People had changed, had killed one another
.
All of the power had gone out. None of the phones worked. Nobody had come to help
.
It all felt so surreal.

He closed his eyes, worried that he wasn't going to be able to get any sleep.

But, before he knew it, Adam drifted off and his day had come to an end.

Day 2

Chapter 1

When Jane turned away from the window, the sun had already started to come up. She hadn't seen her husband. And she hadn't been able to make any sense of what had happened.

She felt nervous. Scared
.
Alone.

Jane looked over at her daughter. The little girl was still lying in her crib. Dead.

None of it made any sense.

One thing Jan
e
di
d
know was that she had to bury her daughter. She didn't want to wait much longer to do it, either. Becky's face was already badly bruised and swollen. Jane didn't want to see what would happen if she left the little girl out for much longer.

She would decompose, bloat, stiffen…

Jane shook her head and rushed to the crib. She leaned over and picked up her daughter. Becky was much heavier than she had expected, than she had ever known the girl to be.

She didn't spend much time thinking about it. This was her daughter, someone she had loved with all of her being. It didn't matter how heavy she felt. All that mattered was that she was dead
-
had been kille
d
- by Jane's husband.

Jane pushed those thoughts out of her head too.

She held the little girl in her arms and pressed her tightly against herself.

"I'm so sorry," she muttered.

She walked downstairs and headed straight to the back door.

As she came upon it, Jane stopped herself from going outside right away. She wasn't sure if any of thos
e
peopl
e
were still around; if they were waiting to attack her.

Then again, she didn't know if there were any more of them still alive. She hadn't heard any of them this morning. There was no more screaming, fighting, killing. For all Jane knew, she was the only one left.

That thought startled her. But it was another one that she forced herself not to think of. At least, not yet. She could worry about thi
s
afte
r
she buried her daughter.

She opened the back door and stepped out onto the deck.

The sunlight shone brightly into her eyes. She had to squeeze them shut before she could adjust to it. When she did, she could see that it was a beautiful morning. It wasn't one that she was going to enjoy, though. Not with her dead daughter in her arms and her husband missing, probably killed.

She walked into the backyard and headed over to the work shed to get a shovel.

  Jane had decided to bury her daughter underneath their maple tree. She used to sit out there and read to her little girl. Her husband would come and sing or play peek-a-boo. It felt like the right place for her to be put.

She paused at the work shed door.

No, there won't be anyone in there
,
she told herself
.
Who was going to hang-out in a work shed?

Jane opened the door. It creaked as she did and caused her to stop. There wasn't much noise around and it sounded strange in the silence.

"I'm being ridiculous," she said. Even her voice sounded weird to her at the moment.

She pulled the door open the rest of the way, not wanting to worry any more about these things. It creaked again, but no one came out to attack her.

She made her way into the work shed and grabbed the shovel. Then she headed over to the maple tree.

When she got there, she placed Becky on the grass. She didn't want to let go of her daughter, but she had no choice. She needed to dig. And, for that, she needed two hands.

She grabbed hold of the shovel and started.

Jane didn't look at her daughter as she dug the burial plot. She couldn't. It took everything she had to simply dig the hole. She couldn't think about her husband, either
.
She just couldn't
.
She focused on digging the shovel into the ground. She watched as she piled the dirt onto the grass. That was all that she could manage. She stopped only when she thought that she had dug a big enough hole.

Jane turned and looked at the little girl lying there. Her daughter hadn't moved.

Of course, she hadn't moved.

Some part of Jane had wished that she would have, that this had all been some sort of dream
.
A nightmare
.
She wished the the little girl would be smiling up at her, making her cute little baby sounds. Becky would reach up and try to grab her mother's finger. She'd giggle when she caught it. But that wasn't going to happen. Her daughter hadn't moved. She was there. Dead.

Jane placed the shovel onto the ground and knelt beside her daughter. She pushed the little girl's hair back from her face. She could see the blood that had dried on her cheeks, the bruises underneath her eyes. And, though she wasn't sure, she thought that the little girl's nose had been broken.

Jane ran her finger along Becky's face.

"I'm so sorry," she said again. "I should have protected you. I should have tried."

Jane's voice drifted off. Sh
e
hadn'
t
stopped her husband from killing their child. Sh
e
hadn'
t
protected her. That was the truth.

But what could she have done
?
Her daughter had changed too. Becky had attacked her. If she had been bigger, Jane knew that her daughter would have tried to kill her as well
.
But…

Jane felt tears come to her eyes. They ran down her cheeks and fell onto the little girl's face. The dried blood darkened underneath them.

"I'm sorry."

Jane lifted her little girl and placed her into the grave. She tried to pat down Becky's shirt to make her look more presentable, more comfortable. She also fixed the little girl's hair.

Then she bent over and kissed her daughter's forehead. She stayed that way for a long time, her lips pressed against and young girl.

"I love you," she whispered.

Jane stood up. Her daughter looked so small in the hole that she had dug. So defenceless. So innocent.

What had happened?

Jane spent a few more minutes staring down at the little girl before she grabbed the shovel once more. Her heart was racing. Her breaths came erratically. She pushed the shovel into the pile of dirt and heard a soft swishing sound as it gathered up some of the Earth. Then she pulled it back and held it over the hole. Some of the dirt fell onto her daughter, sounding like rain.

"I'm sorry…I'm sorry…I'm sorry…"

Jane let the first shovelful drop onto her child. Most of it covered the little girl's face. Though she could still see Becky's eyes, staring up at the sky.

She placed more dirt into the hole. And some more.

Then she heard something behind her.

Jane quickly turned to see what it was
-
wh
o
it was. Standing there was her neighbour's son, Harold. He was a teenager, maybe fourteen years old. He stood there looking at Jane as though he was trying to figure out what was happening.

Jane didn't know what to make of him, either. Until now, she had thought that she might be the only person alive.

"Harold?" Jane finally managed to say. "Is that you?"

Harold didn't reply. At least, not in the way she had expected. Not the way that she ha
d
hope
d
. He screamed. Then he charged toward her, fists held out in front of him.

As he approached, Jane's mind continued to race until it came upon a very simple solution. She raised the shovel and waited for the teenager to get closer.

She couldn't panic. She knew that she wouldn't survive if she didn't concentrate.

She watched as he ran toward her, his feet pounding against the lawn.

When he got close enough, Jane closed her eyes and swung the shovel at him with all of her power. She didn't see it connect, but she heard the dull whack as it connected with his skull.

She opened her eyes and saw that she had knocked him to the ground. He hadn't given up. He was growling and trying to get to his knees.

Jane lifted the shovel and smashed it back down against his head. There was another dull thud. And another. She kept hitting him until he was no longer trying to get up. Until he stopped moving. Until he was dead.

When she finally stopped, Jane looked at the young man. His face was unrecognizable. Nothing more than battered flesh and blood.

And she had done that.

She took a few deep breaths. More out of exhaustion than anything else.

Then, without a word, she turned back to the grave and finished burying her daughter.