Mass Extinction Event (Book 2): Days 9-16 (15 page)

Thomas

Missouri

"Please," I whisper, sitting by the door, hoping against hope that maybe the old man is on the other side, listening to me. "Let me out. I just want to get out of here. I'll do anything you want, but you have to let me out."

Silence.

"Please," I say again, with tears in my eyes. "You can't leave me down here. You can't just leave me to die. Why would you do that? I can help you. I can do things. Anything you need, just tell me and I'll get it done. All you have to do is feed me and give me water."

I wait.

"Just let me know that you're alive," I continue, trying to keep my voice from trembling. It's crazy, but as much as I hate the old man, I desperately need him to come back for me. "You don't have to tell me about the girl down here. I really don't care, and it's not like I'm gonna tell anyone. Just let me out of here, and I won't give you any trouble. I promise."

No reply.

"What did I do?" I ask, hoping against hope that God might be able to hear me. "I tried to do everything right. I tried to make Joe do the right thing. It's not my fault that everyone died, so why are you punishing me?" Pausing fora moment, I realize that although I keep waiting for an answer, there might be another explanation. Maybe God doesn't exist after all. Why would he punish so many innocent people? Why would he leave this man alive, and let him lock me down in his basement? I want to keep believing, but at the moment it's too hard. The whole world just seems cruel and empty.

As tears pour down my face, I try to keep from sobbing. The truth is, I'm starting to think that there's no way I'll ever get out of this basement. Either by accident or on purpose, the old man has left me to die down here, just like he left that girl to die, and no-one's ever going to come and find me. I'm going to starve, or I'll die from lack of water. It's going to be slow, and it's going to be painful, and eventually all that'll be left of me will be a withered corpse, just like the girl.

Elizabeth

Pennsylvania

"Hey," Toad says later that day, as I enter his room back at the farm. He's laid out on his bed, and although he seems weak, at least he's conscious. "I guess I owe you."

"How are you feeling?" I ask, wandering over and looking down at the blood-stained bandages on his shoulder.

"I've been better," he replies. "Never actually been shot before, so that's a first. I always wondered what it'd feel like, and now I know. It feels like crap."

Smiling, I sit on the old wooden chair next to his bed.

"It's definitely a story to tell people," he continues. "The day I was shot by a zombie. I don't suppose you saved the bullet, did you?"

"Sorry," I reply. "I left it in the cave."

"Damn," he says, "that would have been a hell of a trophy." He pauses. "So Dr. Connors tells me that you basically performed some minor surgery on my shoulder. Without that, I probably would have died out there."

"You'd have been fine," I tell him.

"I don't think so. I'd probably have bled to death, and even if I hadn't, I'd have ended up with an infection." Sitting up, he grimaces with pain for a moment. "We've got painkillers," he continues, "but I don't want to use them up. I can handle this."

I smile politely, but I'm not really sure what to say. The whole experience out there in the forest has left me feeling kind of stunned, and even though I haven't slept for the best part of a couple of days, I'm totally wired and wide awake.

"So what's wrong?" Toad asks eventually. "You just spent two days in the wilderness, you faced down a goddamn zombie, and you saved a guy's life, but you look like something's bothering you."

"It's just..." I pause, wondering whether or not I should really say this to him. "I keep thinking about how I saved you," I continue after a moment, "and I can't stop thinking about my brother. If I'd done the same thing back then, maybe he'd still be alive. Maybe I'd have been able to save his life."

"You can't think like that," Toad replies.

"But it's true! What if he didn't need to die! What if someone smarter, someone better at this kind of thing, could have kept him alive?" I wait for him to say something, but I can see in his eyes that he knows I'm right. "Ever since Henry's death," I continue, "I've been telling myself that there's nothing I could have done to help him, but now I've realized that I
could
have done something. Do you think that's what he was thinking when he died? Was he wondering why I didn't help?"

Toad sighs. "I don't know what kind of injury your brother had. I don't know where he was shot, or what kind of gun was used. You said it was a rifle, so I figure there was more damage than I ended up with. Either way, you can't go back over every little detail and look for things you might have done differently. The past is the past, and I'm sure you would have saved your brother if there was any chance." He pauses. "I was right about you, though. I could tell you were smart, and you definitely proved it."

"I don't feel smart," I reply, unable to stop thinking about Henry. After a moment, I realize that there are tears in my eyes, and although I want to keep talking to Toad, I can feel my bottom lip starting to tremble. Putting my hands over my face, I try to hold back from crying, but it's no use. I just keep thinking, over and over, of his face as he died. He must have been waiting for me to do something. After all, I was his big sister, so he relied on me to keep him safe. He was probably hoping that I'd find some way to save him. Hell, I
should
have found a way. Why was I able to keep my head clear and look after Toad, but not my own brother?

"You did a good job," Toad says, reaching out and putting a hand on my knee. "What I told you out in the forest still stands. If you want to stick around after Erikson and Shauna leave, you're more than welcome."

I try to reply, but instead I just get to my feet and hurry out of the room. As soon as I'm in the corridor, I stop and take a moment to regather my composure, but instead I just end up sobbing more than ever. I know it's not my fault that Henry was killed, but I still feel as if there might have been some way that I could have saved him. I'll never forgive myself for not doing more. If I'd maybe tried to pull the bullet out, the same way I did with Toad, and then I could have disinfected the wound and tried to seal it up. In some parallel universe, maybe I'm still in our apartment in Manhattan, looking after him while he recovers. It's not fair that I survived and he died. I was supposed to protect him, and I didn't. I failed.

It takes me a while to calm down, but eventually I head through to Patricia's room, and I find her sitting at her desk, using a microscope to examine the slice of tissue she took from the creature's dead body.

"How's the patient?" she asks after a moment.

"He's fine," I reply. "He's talking." I stand in the doorway for a moment, watching as she works. "So if someone was shot in the chest," I continue eventually, "like, right in the middle of the chest, just below the collarbone, would there be any way they could survive?"

She turns to me. "Where exactly was this person shot?"

I touch my chest to show her where Henry was hit.

"What kind of weapon?" she asks.

"A rifle."

She sighs. "That kind of injury would almost certainly be fatal. Even in the unlikely event that the heart wasn't damaged, you've got the windpipe, the lungs... With proper facilities, there might be a chance, but it'd be touch and go. Why do you ask?"

"No reason," I reply. "But technically, it might have been possible?"

"Possible," she says, "but highly improbable." She pauses. "I don't have a problem with guns, but I've had to clean up two bullet wounds in the past couple of days. I don't like it."

"
You're
the one who shot
me
," I point out.

"Exactly," she replies, "and I don't like it."

Walking across the room, I look down at the sliver of discolored skin on the microscope plate.

"If you're wondering what I've found so far," she continues, "I'm afraid I don't really have anything to tell you. There's no real difference between this specimen and the kind of skin you'd find on a dead body after a few days' worth of decomposition. Basically, these creatures are just dead people who have somehow been reanimated." She smiles. "Fuck, can you believe what I'm saying? Dead people walking about. It's fucking insane, and yet..." Reaching into her pocket, she takes out her last cigarette and sniffs the end.

"You going to smoke that?" I ask.

"Not yet," she replies. "Still saving it." After taking another sniff, she puts it back in her pocket. "So Erikson and his girlfriend are talking about getting out of here in a couple of days," she continues. "Are you going to go with them?"

I pause for a moment. "I guess so," I say eventually.

"Really?"

"I came with them," I reply, "so it makes sense if I leave with them. I don't know where they're going, but, I mean, maybe..." My voice trails off as I realize that I don't really have much of a plan. Sure, I keep saying that I'm going to Lake Ontario, but I feel as if that's just some kind of pipe-dream that's never going to happen.

"What's the point of traveling," Patricia says after a moment, "if you're not trying to get anywhere? Especially when things are so bad."

"What's the point of staying anywhere?" I reply.

"Because it's marginally easier to stay alive," she points out. "Only marginally, but still..." She waits for me to say something. "We could use you around here. You're smart. You learn fast, and you've got initiative. I'm not saying you should settle here forever, but would it be so bad? What can Erikson and Shauna offer that you can't get here?"

"I don't want to stay still," I tell her. "I want to keep moving."

"Take a look," she replies, standing up and indicating the microscope. "Tell me what you see."

I lean closer and look into the eyepiece. Magnified several hundred times, the creature's skin is beautiful, and for a moment I just stare mindlessly at the folds of yellow and purple. It's as if there's a whole different world down at that level, and it's hard to believe that something could be so hideous when seen with the naked eye, but so gorgeous when examined more closely.

"Those things are out there," Patricia says after a moment. "Lots of them. More than we can imagine. If they're still decomposing, they should pretty much fall apart within the next couple of weeks, but until then, we need to stay safe. Toad has ammunition here. Not a limitless supply, but hopefully enough to keep this place defended if we get attacked. I don't really know much about Erikson and Shauna, but they don't seem particularly smart. If I had to choose between going with them or staying here, I know what I'd do."

"It's not that easy," I reply, stepping back from the microscope.

"You're scared to stand still?" she asks.

I nod.

"Toad wants you to stay."

"That's nice," I reply, even though I can't deny that I'm pleased to hear that he likes me. Still, it's not enough of a reason for me to stick around.

"I can even make sure that Thor backs off," she continues. "The guy's an oaf."

"I feel as if I have to get somewhere," I reply. "I don't even know where, but staying here at the farm would just be wrong."

"Don't make the mistake of assuming that you have a better chance of staying alive if you're on the move," she says. "Sooner or later, you'll run into more and more of the creatures, and as far as I can tell, you don't really have any supplies. I mean, what have Erikson and Shauna got in their van? Enough to keep the three of you going for the next few weeks? Have they got weapons? If you ask me, they're woefully under-prepared for any kind of journey, especially since she's almost full-term."

I pause for a moment. I know she's right, and I know that staying here at the farm would be the smartest move. At the same time, I have this insatiable urge to keep moving, as if I'm scared that I'll die if I stay still. Maybe I'm being irrational, but I feel physically sick every time I think about sticking around. I guess I'm secretly hoping that if I keep moving, eventually I'll find a place where things have started to get back to normal.

"I'm going with them," I say eventually. "I've made my decision."

"I guess so," she replies, sitting back down and turning her attention to the microscope.

As I leave the room, I can't shake the feeling that I'm making a mistake. Then again, I guess any choice right now is a mistake. Whether I stay here or leave, those creatures are coming, and I don't see that the world is going to set itself right any time soon. There's nothing I can do to fix things, but staying at the farm would feel like accepting the inevitable. I can't face the idea of staring at the horizon every day, waiting for those things to appear. I'd rather keep moving, and hoping that maybe around the next corner, there might be something that makes everything okay again.

Thomas

Missouri

"Let me out of here!" I scream, staring up at the ceiling.

No reply.

"I'll do anything you want!" I shout. "I'll be your slave for life, but you have to let me out of here!"

Silence.

"Please!" I scream, before dropping to my knees. I can't take this any longer. My body feels weak, and I think I've seriously damaged my shoulder after all those attempts to break the door down. After a moment, I roll onto my side and stare at the nearby wall. I have to work out how to get out of here. I can't die in this hellhole. Not now. Not like this.

"Fuck you!" I scream, filled with anger. "What's wrong with you, you fucking pervert? Why did you leave her down here to die? Why are you doing this to me?" I wait. "Why won't you fucking answer me!"

No reply.

"Fuck you!" I scream again, and even though I'm starting to taste blood in the back of my mouth, I can't stop. "Fuck you!"

Eventually, I go back to the corner and wait. I don't even know what I'm waiting for, but I figure that I've got no other option. Time passes, and finally I notice that it's getting dark again. As I stare at the window, I see that the light is getting low, which means the sun is starting to set. I've spent another day down in this basement, and for most of that time I've simply been watching the window, trying to watch as the light's subtle changes become evident.

Damn it, I think I'm losing my mind.

No, I'm
definitely
losing my mind.

My throat hurts. I've spent the best part of the past two days screaming for help, and eventually I started to taste blood. When I try to speak now, my voice sounds harsh and gravelly. There's no way that old bastard didn't hear me, and I doubt there's anyone else around for miles. Barring some kind of miracle, I'm not getting out of here. There's certainly nothing more I can do to save myself.

There's been no movement upstairs. No sound of the old man doing anything. As far as I can tell, he hasn't done anything at all, and I can't help wondering if maybe he died in his sleep. After all, he explicitly told me that he was going to put me to work, but now he seems to have forgotten about me. He seems so excited at the prospect of having a little slave to push around, and it's hard to believe that he would have changed his mind. I guess there's still a chance that he might suddenly open the door and start giving me orders, I'm becoming more and more certain that he's dead.

And if he's dead, then I guess I'm as good as dead too.

After all, there's no way out of this place. The door is way to strong, and the glass in the window is unbreakable. The walls of the basement are made of concrete, as is the floor, and there's no way to break through the ceiling. I'm starving, and I desperately need water, and as a result I'm starting to feel weaker and weaker. It's as if my body has already started to accept the inevitable. I barely have the energy to move, so all I can do is stay right where I am and stare at the window. As the sun continues to dip, I realize that I might not make it through the night. This might be the last light I ever see.

I can't help thinking about Joe. Given everything that has been happening over the past couple of days, I haven't really had time to process the fact that I killed and then buried my own brother. In the space of a week, I've lost my mother, my father and finally my brother. The only remaining member of my immediate family is my sister Martha, but she lives in California and even in the unlikely event that she's still alive, I don't think I'll ever be able to find her. I just hope that while he's determined to make me die in pain, God can find it in his heart to help Martha. The only hope I have left is that somehow she's still alive out there.

Time passes. How much time, I don't know, but enough for the last of the sunlight to disappear. There's nothing but darkness now, all around me, and while there was moonlight last night, this time I guess there are too many clouds. I'm starting to feel cold, too, and for the first time I feel as if death might actually not be such a bad thing. If it meant that this pain and misery would be over, maybe I'd welcome the end. Anyway, it seems totally inevitable, so why delay things any longer? Death always used to scare me, but now it feels like an all-encompassing nothingness that would soothe away all my fears.

But there's one thing I've got to do first.

Getting to my feet, I stagger unsteadily across the dark basement. I can't see where I'm going, but it's not as if I can get lost. My mind feels weak and vague, as if I can't quite put my thoughts together properly, so this is probably going to be the last thing I do before I drift away. Maybe I'm insane, but I don't care. All that matters, now, is that I'm not alone with I die. I need someone, anyone, to be close to me. If that means I have to lose my mind a little, I don't care.

Slowly, still fumbling in the dark, I manage to find the pile of cloth sacks in the corner of the basement. I lift them aside, and seconds later my hand brushes against the dead girl's withered corpse. Instead of withdrawing, I lie down next to her. I can't see her, of course, but I can feel my feet touching hers, and when I put a hand out into the darkness, I feel one of the cloth sacks that has been left over her torso. Right now, she just feels like another person, albeit one who isn't breathing. It's enough. I guess one day, if someone finds our bodies like this, they might think we were friends. That's fine by me. Closing my eyes, I wait for the inevitable. I just hope that death comes quickly.