Mass Extinction Event (Book 2): Days 9-16 (20 page)

Today

Thomas

Missouri

"Get up!" he screams. "Get the fuck up!"

As I open my eyes, I'm doused by a bucketful of freezing water, which immediately jolts my body into action. I scramble to get back on my feet, but my arms and legs feel tired and heavy; I end up slamming back down against the concrete floor, panting and shivering as the cold water soaks through my clothes and reaches my skin.

"Get up!" he shouts, kicking me hard in the belly.

Rolling onto my back, I stare up at the ceiling and watch as the old man leans over me.

"Fucking Christ," he mutters, with a shocked look on his face. "What's wrong with you?" He kicks me again, not quite as hard this time, and then he leans closer. "Are you in there, boy? Can you hear me?"

I try to open my mouth, to say something, but I can't really control my body properly. All I can do is wait as I hear the old man walking away, and moments later the door to the basement slams shut. Shivering violently, I try to work out what the hell is happening, but finally I realize the most shocking and surprising thing of all.

I'm alive.

Somehow, I'm alive.

Thomas

Missouri

After three days without food, the bread tastes good. I wolf it down, curled up in the corner of the basement like an animal. Hunger has become more than just a feeling in my body; it has become the only thought in my mind, pushing my normal thoughts to one side; even though I know I should probably slow down, I end up barely even chewing the bread, swallowing it in large, thick chunks instead, and then washing it down with big gulps of water.

A few minutes later, the pain kicks in. My gut feels as if it's burning, and I roll onto my side, clutching my belly and letting out a gasp of agony. I guess I ate too much, too fast; my stomach has been empty for three days, probably consuming itself, and now I've over-filled it with bread and water. For a while, curled up in a ball and wracked with pain, I start to wonder if the whole stomach might just burst. Finally, however, with sweat pouring down my face, I realize that the pain is slowly starting to ease.

I wait.

The basement is cold, dark and quiet. It's been about half an hour since the old man came down here with a plate of bread and a cup of water. I've barely had time to think about what this all means, but I know one thing for sure: I thought I was going to die. I spent a few days down here, completely alone and with no indication that the old man was still alive, and I finally gave up. I don't think I woke once yesterday. Instead, I was just passed out here on the floor, wasting away. So why did the old man suddenly come and give me food? Was he just testing me and teasing me, or has something changed?

Once the pain has completely left my stomach, I sit up. I've removed my soaking wet clothes, and the old man left some kind of old, stained set of overalls for me to wear. They stink of oil and body odor, and they're too big for me, but they're warm and dry so I put them on. Something about this whole situation feels very wrong, and I can't work out why the old man would suddenly give a damn about me. I guess maybe he was trying to break me, in which case he did a pretty good job. I feel completely exhausted and strangely blank, as if the top layer of my mind has been permanently ripped away to expose a tender, raw new layer below. Looking down at my hands, I start to wonder if maybe I'm imagining the whole thing. Is it possible that somehow I actually died, and this is what comes next?

Getting to my feet, with the manacles still attached to my ankles, I limp over to the narrow window at the far end of the room. Rain is falling outside, spattering the glass and creating a faint, distant tapping sound. In a way, it's a comforting feeling to know that the weather, at least, is continuing as normal. This might be the first rain in two weeks, and I like the idea that it might be washing away all the bad things that have happened. Still, I know that's not what's really happening. It's just rain, and those creatures - whatever they are, and whether they're near or far - aren't going to be washed away in a flood. As I watch the rain hitting the truck, I can't help but think about Joe's grave in the forest. I guess the rain should help to flatten down the soil on top of him.

Above me, the floorboards creak.

The old man is moving about.

This is no dream. I must have been at the brink of death when he chose to revive me. I can't help but wonder what he wants.

Walking over to the steps, I glance back at the pile of cloth sacking and bones in one of the corners. It's weird to think that someone else was down here before me, and that whoever she was, she died in this room. The old Thomas would have been scared, and would probably have worried about ghosts, but the new Thomas is strangely comforted by the presence of those tattered, broken old bones. Whoever that girl was, she probably went through the same things that I've been through, except she didn't make it; at least I know that I'm not the only person who ended up down here, although I'm damn sure I'm going to be the last. I don't know how I'll do it yet, but I'll get the hell out of here and I'll break the old man's skull. Maybe I'll have to wait and be patient, but I'll make him suffer. Not for me, but for the girl who died down here. Whoever she is, or was, she deserves justice.

Limping up the steps, I reach the door and pause for a moment.

"Hello?" I call out, my voice sounding harsh and weathered.

I hear the sound of someone shuffling about upstairs, and finally footsteps come closer to the door. There's another sound, as if someone's jangling a set of keys, and finally I hear the door being unlocked. I take a step back, as the door finally swings open and I find myself face to face with the old man. He's holding a rifle in one hand, and as he steps aside, it's clear that he wants me to go upstairs.

"You try anything," he mutters, "and I'll blow your fucking brain clean out of your skull with one shot."

Figuring that I need to pick a moment when he's less cautious, I take a step past him and head up into the kitchen. The place is a mess, and with rain and dark clouds outside, there's not much light in here. Shivering a little at the cold, I walk over to the window and stare out at what appears to be a proper rainstorm. It's almost as if the heavens are trying to wash everything away, to scrub the planet clean and start again. To be honest, I can't say that it sounds like a bad idea.

"You've got a job to do," the old man says, walking over to the sideboard and grabbing a large knife, which he sets on the table between us.

Staring at the knife, I try to work out what he means.

"If you're thinking you can use that thing on me," he continues, "I should advise you of the following. I served five years in Korea. I fought bastards who were twice as tall and twice as wide as you, and I brought 'em down. Maybe you could get a lucky move in and stab me. Maybe. Probably not, but I guess it's a possibility. Still, I'd take you with me, boy, and I know just where to stick the blade and how to twist it, you understand? You're not getting out of here alive until I tell you it's time to go. You got that?"

I stare at him.

"You got that?"

I nod.

He sighs, before grabbing one end of a long chain and tossing it across toward me.

"Attach that to the chain between your legs," he says, "and close the lock. Don't worry, I've got a key. I'm not risking you running off."

Realizing that I don't have any option other than to obey for now, I crouch down and do as I'm told: the end of the chain is easily looped through the linking chain between my ankles, and I close the lock with a firm snap. I've spent so many days chained up now, I can barely even remember what it's like to be free.

"Now I don't know what you brought here with you," he continues, keeping the rifle pointed at me, "and I don't particularly
want
to know, but it's time to get rid of it. You understand? It ain't staying. I want it gone. I'd shoot it myself, but..." He pauses. "Well, never you mind why I figure this is a better way. I'm sick of people asking dumb questions and expecting me to explain myself, you hear? I won't have it, so what you need to do, and I'm only gonna explain this once, is you need to go out there and slice its fucking head off."

I stare at him for a moment. "What?" I ask eventually. "I don't know what you're talking about."

"That thing," he continues, adjusting his grip on the rifle before raising it and aiming straight at my head. "I swear to God, boy, you're gonna go out there and kill it."

"What is it?" I ask, even though I'm fairly sure it must be one of those creatures.

"You know," he sneers.

I stare at him.

"I don't give a damn what it is, okay?" he continues. "All I care about is that it's gone. I don't like the thought of it lurking out there, like it's hungry."

Turning and looking out the window, I see nothing out there but trees and rain.

"This isn't a debate," the old man continues. "I've got the other end of this chain, so don't think you're gonna just run off. I've also got this rifle trained on your, so again, don't go getting any ideas. Just get out there and do a nice, clean job. Finish that fucking thing, you understand?"

"I don't -"

"Don't bullshit me!" he shouts, stepping closer. "Don't you fucking bullshit me, you little ass-wipe! Get out there and cut its goddamn throat!"

"I don't -"

Before I can finish, he swings the butt of the rifle at me, catching me on the side of the face and sending me slamming into the fridge. I take a moment to steady myself before reaching up and feeling blood on my cheek.

"How many times am I gonna have to do that," he says after a moment, "before you get out there and do what I'm telling you to do." He turns the barrel of the rifle back toward me. "Or should I just end your miserable fucking existence right now?"

Figuring that he seems pretty trigger-happy, I look down at the knife for a moment before realizing that I probably don't have much of a choice here. I'm determined to get the jump on this guy, but I need to choose the right moment. One bad move and I could end up with a bullet in the brain. Slowly, and hesitantly, I pick up the knife and start walking toward the door. I'm not certain, but I think my cheekbone might be fractured after that impact with the rifle butt; there's a kind of dull pain radiating up toward my eye, and part of my face is starting to feel numb.

"This ain't no gab-fest," he continues, turning the rifle so that it remains trained on my head. "I don't want you going out there and trying to sweet-talk that thing into leaving. Just get out there, get close to it and fucking kill it. You understand? No fucking about. Just kill it dead."

"Yes."

"What was that?"

"Yes, Sir," I say firmly.

"Go on, then. If you get this right, I'll let you go straight after. You can just in your truck and fuck right off."

"Sure you will," I mutter under my breath, before opening the door and staring out at the pouring rain. The forest looks so cold and uninviting, it's hard to believe that there could be any kind of creature out there, but I guess it's impossible to second-guess these things. To be honest, between this trigger-happy old psycho and one of those creatures, I'm not sure which would be the worst option right now.

"What are you waiting for?" the old man asks.

"How long's the chain?" I ask.

"About ten meters," he replies. "Now move!"

Taking a deep breath, I step out into the rain. Shuffling forward, my feet already soaking wet from the deep puddles of mud, I stare at the forest, waiting for any sign of life. The knife in my hand feels woefully useless, but at the same time I figure I can take down one of these things, so long as it's not armed with a gun. Dragging the chain through the mud, I get close the truck before crouching down and checking underneath, to make sure that there's nothing hiding on the other side. Deciding to steer clear anyway, I shuffle away from the vehicle, constantly turning to check if anything might be coming up behind me.

"There's nothing here!" I shout back at the old man.

"It'll come!" he shouts back. "Don't you worry about that, boy!"

Sighing, with rain already soaking through my overalls, I decide that I need a better strategy. The most important thing is to keep away from anything that might provide cover for an attack. From that point of view, I need to be out in the open and I need to be constantly vigilant in case the creature tries to ambush me. Then again, I guess there's a chance that it'll see the knife and decide to hold back. I don't know how intelligent these things are, but based on everything that happened a few days ago with Clyde, I'm not convinced they're as dumb as they look.

Suddenly I spot movement nearby. Turning, I realize that there's a dark figure lurking about ten meters away, partially hidden by a tree. I immediately feel a shiver pass through my body as I realize that it's watching me. Every other time I've seen one of these things, they've seemed frantic, so it's a surprise to find that this one is apparently biding its time. I can't help wondering if maybe they're getting smarter.

"Come on, then," I whisper, daring the creature to come closer. "Try it."

"You see anything?" the old man shouts.

I pause for a moment. "Yeah!" I shout back eventually. "I see it!"

The creature seems to take a step back for a moment, as if it's not sure what to do next. It seems hesitant, and I'm fairly sure that the chain attached to my legs isn't long enough for me to chase after it.

"Come on," I call out to it. "What are you waiting for?"

"I can't reach it!" I shout back to him.

"What the fuck are you moaning about now?"

"The chain!" I reply. "It's not long enough!"

"Then get it to come to you!"

Again, there's a moment of hesitation, before finally the creature stumbles out from behind the tree and takes a couple of lumbering steps toward me. It still seems nervous and awkward, as if it knows that the knife in my hand might be enough to kill it. There's none of the confidence that the other creatures had; this one seems determined to stay in the shadows, keeping its face hidden. Finally, however, it comes a little closer, and its features emerge from the gloom.

"What's the -" I start to say, before suddenly I realize that this isn't just any creature. My mind races as I try to convince myself that there's been a mistake, but finally I'm forced to admit the truth.