Mass Extinction Event (Book 2): Days 9-16 (21 page)

The creature in front of me, with its dead eyes staring straight at my face, is my brother. It's Joe. Or at least, it's his body.

Thomas

Missouri

"What are you waiting for?" he asks as he gets a little closer, his voice almost impossible to hear over the pouring rain. "You've got a knife. Use it."

I take a step back, stunned by the sight of Joe as he stares at me. His head is badly damaged, with one side looking as if it's been completely smashed away, while there's also a huge gash on his shoulder that had left his left arm hanging by the bone. Whatever's happened to him, it's clear that he can't have survived my attempt to kill him the other day, which means that there's only one possible explanation: he must have been infected by the same virus that infected all those other people back in town.

"It's me," he continues, still staring at me. "I know that's probably difficult to believe, but it
is
me, Thomas. Look at me. That...
thing
got into my head, but I managed to fight it off. I forced my way out of the grave and then finally I just... I made him leave me alone."

I take another step back.

"What are you waiting for?" the old man shouts from the house. "Finish him off!"

"I can feel him in my head," Joe continues, taking another tentative step toward me. "It's like this second voice, constantly trying to drown me out and take control. Sometimes, just for a few seconds at a time, he's successful, but I always manage to push him back. I always told you I was stubborn, huh? Turns out I'm a regular fucking genius, Tommy boy."

"Keep back," I say, holding the knife out toward him. He might look like Joe, and he might sound like Joe, but there's no way I can trust him. For all I know, this creature has the same mind as all the others, and he's just pretending to be my brother.

"Good," he replies. "That's good, Thomas. You're finally growing up. At least you're not a naive little shit anymore." He glances over at the house. "Who's your friend, though? He let off a couple of rounds at me earlier. Poor old bastard was spitting and cursing, I thought he was gonna drop dead of a heart attack." He pauses. "I don't blame him, though. I caught sight of my reflection in the truck window. I look pretty fucking bad, right? I don't really wanna look too closely, but I'm thinking that, like, one side of my face is all fucked up."

"I'm sorry," I whisper.

"What for?"

I open my mouth to reply, but no words come out. There are tears in my eyes, though, and although I'm holding the knife out toward him, I don't think I could use it. I can't kill my brother. Not again.

"You did the right thing," he continues after a moment. "When I was under the tarpaulin, I was in so much pain, I was begging you to finish me off. You might not have been able to hear me, but I swear to God, I was pleading for death. When it finally happened..." He pauses again. "I only felt it for, like, a fraction of a second. I remember the first strike, smashing the front of my face in, and then another strike, and then it all went black. After that, there was nothing until I was almost out of the grave. This thing is inside me, Tommy. It's swarming through my brain and it's trying to -"

Before he can finish, he drops to his knees, and it's as if he's in pain.

"Your brother's pretty strong," he says suddenly, his voice sounding much calmer as the other part of his mind asserts its dominance. "They don't normally fight back quite so hard. They usually fade away and become nothing more than an annoying scream. This one, though... he's angry about something. So much rage and fury. It's not my fault, either. His anger is old and it has become the foundation of his soul. I almost admire him. Almost."

"Leave him alone!" I shout.

"Or what?" he asks with a smile. "You gonna use that little blade on me? I promise you, if you do, I'll make sure your brother feels every second of it. As soon as the pain hits, I'll abandon his body and let him enjoy those final moments."

"What do you want?" I ask.

"What do you think I want?"

"To kill me."

He shakes his head. "Don't take it so personally. I want to kill all the old humans. There must be nothing left but my kind, my mind. Then, perhaps, we can complete our search in peace."

"What are you searching for?" I ask.

"The progenitor," he replies. "That's all I care about, and I'm damn certain you don't have a clue where I can find him."

"The what?" I reply, poised to defend myself in case he attacks.

"The progenitor," he says again, slowly getting to his feet. "There are billions of us, boy. All over the planet, swarming like ants, and our minds are all linked, except..." He pauses. "There's one missing. The most important one. The progenitor isn't part of the network. We need to find him. You haven't seen a six-foot guy with a receding hairline and a dirty little beard, cowering in a corner anywhere, have you? It's almost as if he's hiding from us." With that, he lurches toward me, although he stops as soon as I hold the blade up toward his face. "I thought not," he says with a smile. "You know what? This body is a complete waste of time. I'll let your brother have it back until it falls apart. But if you happen to run into a guy named Joseph Aldred, tell him we're looking for him. Tell him we want our god back."

"You -" I start to say, but suddenly he drops to the ground again. I step back, my heart racing as I try to work out what to do next. Watching as he tries to crawl toward me, I realize that the two minds in Joe's body are pushing at one another, trying to gain permanent control.

"Kill the fucker!" the old man shouts. "Jesus Christ, kid, what's wrong with you? I'll let you go, but first you have to kill that bastard!"

I watch as Joe slowly raises his head and stares at me.

"Joe?" I say, hoping against hope that it might be him again.

He opens his mouth, but all that comes out is a faint groan.

"Tell me it's you!" I say, holding the knife out toward him. "Joe!"

"I'm not strong enough," he says after a moment. "I thought I could keep him back, but he keeps overpowering me. It's like he's playing with my body, using it when he wants but..." He pauses. "I feel like my head is connected to something. My mind is part of... They're everywhere, Thomas. You can't run from them. Every few seconds, I get a glimpse through their eyes, and I see the whole world at once. There are other survivors, but they're being picked off one by one. You can't... I don't know how you can stop these things. Sometimes I... I get a glimpse into the rest. It's like seeing the world through billions of eyes all at once. It's madness."

"Kill him!" the old man shouts.

"Did he do this to you?" Joe asks, staring at the manacles around my ankles. After a moment, he spots the cut on my cheek. "Did he hurt you?"

"He's keeping me in his basement," I reply.

"He's out of ammunition, you know," he continues.

"No," I say, "he's
really
not."

"He is." He pauses. "He was firing at me, and then he stopped, and I saw him searching for more. I've been watching him for the last day or so. He's been desperately searching for some more ammunition, but he's got nothing left. Why do you think he hasn't come out here and shot me by now? He can wave that fucking rifle around all day, but he hasn't got a single bullet left to fire."

I turn and look over at the old man. It makes sense, in a way, that he's bluffing about the rifle; after all, why else would he have bothered to revive me? It's clear that he'd decided to let me die, but he obviously realized at the last moment that he could use me to kill Joe. I guess he's too scared and too old to come and do the job himself.

"I'll do it," Joe says, getting to his feet. "Watch. He won't shoot. He can't. He can't do anything, not before I get to him." Lumbering past me, he starts making his way slowly toward the house, limping through the mud. Even though he's my brother, he makes for a horrific sight, with torn and rotten skin hanging from his body.

"What are you waiting for?" the old man shouts, his voice filled with panic. "If you don't do it, I swear to God, I'll blow the rest of his head away and then I'll fucking turn this thing on you. Kill him! Right now!"

I open my mouth to shout back at him, but finally I realize that Joe's right: the old man
is
bluffing. He was happy to leave me down in the basement to rot, and he'd have used the rifle on Joe if he had any ammunition left at all. Instead, he looks absolutely terrified as he slowly steps back into the house.

"What are you gonna do?" I ask, hurrying over to Joe just as he reaches the door.

"I'm gonna kill the creep who hurt my little brother," he replies, stepping inside. "Family's family, Tommy boy. It's the last thing I can do for you. I haven't been the best brother, but I sure as hell can get rid of this asshole."

"I'm warning you!" the old man shouts, still aiming the rifle at us. "If you want to get out of here, boy, you'd better kill this fucking thing right now or I swear to God, I'll blow you both away."

"Go on, then," Joe says, making his way around the kitchen table. "Why don't you pull the trigger? That's a very big gun you've got there. You could blow my head across the kitchen, so why don't you? You're a coward, so do what cowards do best."

"Don't think that I won't," the old man sneers. "If you come one step closer..."

"I want you to," Joe continues, stepping toward him. "You think it's fun being like this? I
want
to die. Blow my head clean off. Make it so this body can't ever be used again. I dare you. Hell, I'm begging you! Do it!" He pauses, waiting for the old man to pull the trigger. "Do it!" he screams.

"Keep back!" the old man shouts, before turning the rifle around and swinging the butt straight at Joe. He narrowly misses, and the momentum is enough to send him tumbling back. He lands hard against the concrete floor as Joe steps closer. "Stop him!" the old man screams, obviously in pain. "For God's sake, kid, stop this thing! It'll kill you next! Don't think you'll be safe! You have to save us both!"

I want to say something, or to turn and run, but all I can do is watch as Joe steps closer to the old man. Finally, his eyes filled with terror, the old man turns and scrambles down the steps, making his way into the basement and pushing the door shut. It's as if, gripped by terror, all he can think to do is lock himself in the basement. Joe tries to break his way in, but the steel door is too strong.

"How do we open this thing?" he asks, clearly determined to get through and kill the old man. "Tommy boy, help me! I need to get in there!"

Spotting the keys on the counter, I pick them up and stare at them for a moment.

"No," I say eventually, putting them in my pocket. "Leave him in there. He doesn't deserve a quick death." After all, the old man was willing to leave me to rot down there, and I don't have any regrets about doing the same thing to him. He can go through exactly the same thing that I went through, except this time the door won't ever be opened again. For what he did to me, and what he did to that girl whose bones are down there, the old bastard deserves to rot in the basement forever.

Thomas

Missouri

"What's he doing in there?" I ask, with my ear pressed against the steel door.

"Dying, hopefully," Joe says, standing by the kitchen table. "Slowly and painfully."

The truth is, I'd been expecting the old man to start banging on the door, demanding to be released. I doubt he intended to lock himself in there forever, but he probably forgot that he didn't have the keys with him, and once the door swung shut and locked automatically, he was stuck. I'm pretty sure there's no back-door to that place and no other way out, but while I can hear him shuffling about down there, there's no sign so far that he wants to come out. Maybe I've become a little sick and twisted, but right now, I want him to scream and beg for his life; I want to know that he's terrified. Maybe I'd let him out, or maybe I wouldn't, but I want to hear the fear in his voice.

"You need to get out of here," Joe says after a moment. "Thomas, are you listening to me? You need to go. This place isn't good. Look at it. The whole fucking house is about to collapse at any moment."

"We can head to St. Louis," I tell him. "If there's no-one there, we'll go to Chicago."

"Are you kidding?" he replies. "You want to go to a fucking city? Do you have any idea how many of these creatures there must be?"

"But that's where the army's gonna start helping people first," I reply, turning to him. "They have to, Joe. They've probably got all these plans worked out already, but if we wait out here, in the middle of nowhere, it might be weeks or even months before they get to us. We have to go to where there are other people."

"That didn't work out too well the last time," he points out.

"This'll be different," I continue. "We'll -"

"I'm dead, Thomas," he says suddenly. "This voice that's in my body," he continues, "sometimes lets me see through other eyes. I've seen people all around the world, Tommy boy, running and screaming and dying. It's pretty fucked up, but do you want to know the one thing I
haven't
seen? Not once?" He pauses. "I haven't seen one soldier, or police officer, or anyone who looks like they're taking charge. It's just chaos all over the place. It's been two weeks now since all of this started, and the world isn't getting its shit together. Nothing's gonna change. This is how it is now."

I take a deep breath. There are tears in my eyes, but I'm damn well not going to let him see that I'm on the verge of crying.

"Look at me," he continues. "The only reason I'm standing here now is that this thing, whatever it is, dragged my body out of the grave, but..." He holds his hand out in front of his face, as if to remind me that the flesh is starting to rot and fall away. "I won't make it to St. Louis," he says eventually. "Look at me. I'm falling apart already. If my body was worth saving, that voice would have made more of an effort. He abandoned my body precisely because he knows that there'll be nothing left in a day or two. I'm just winding down while the maggots get ready to do their shit."

"We can find a way to save you," I tell him. "We can -"

"More miracles?" he asks with a faint smile. "Is that really your plan, Thomas? Go to a city, hook up with some miraculous bunch of people who're gonna save the world, and then find some fucking doctors who can perform another miracle by saving me?" He sighs. "Face it. This body is old and gone. I'm already dead. I just have to wait for my mind to catch up."

"I'm not leaving you," I say firmly.

"I don't want you to leave me," he replies. "I want you to finish me off."

I shake my head.

"Please."

"I can't," I reply, trying to stay calm. "I already did it once, Joe. I can't do it again."

He pauses. "I was in pain that time," he says eventually. "I'm not in pain now. It's just about waiting, but that seems kinda pointless, right? Just sitting around, waiting for the lights to go off?" He pauses. "Fuck that shit, man. Do you know how I always
wanted
to die? In a fucking blaze of glory! You know, like some kind of fucking hero, with machines guns in my hands and hookers everywhere." He smiles. "Real immature shit, yeah? The full Troma kind of thing. And obviously that's not gonna happen, but at least I don't have to sit around, dragging it out forever."

"You can't just sit around and wait to die," I tell him. "That's insane!"

"I'm not waiting to die," he replies, turning and heading over to the table. Carefully, he lowers himself into a chair. "I'm already dead, dip-shit. I'm just waiting to rot away to nothing." He pauses. "Do you remember how Mom died at the kitchen table? It's hard to believe that was only about a week ago. I guess... I guess now it's my turn. I'm gonna die at a kitchen table too, just like her. Talk about a fucking comedown, huh?"

"No," I say firmly. "You can't just sit around like this."

"And how are you gonna stop me?" he asks. "If you try to drag me out of here, you'll probably end up pulling my goddamn head off anyway. I'm already falling apart." He pauses again. "You need to leave, Thomas. You need to get the hell out of here and just forget about me. I'm okay with it, really. It's too late for me, but you've still got a chance." He waits for me to say something. "Go on, Tommy. Get the fuck out of here. At least one of us should make it."

"I'm not leaving you."

"Then you can stick around and wait until my fucking head falls off," he replies. "Believe me, there are already maggots chewing through my flesh. It doesn't hurt, but I can feel them. They're hungry little bastards, burrowing their way through the meat. I can feel some of them wriggling in my brain, it's..." He pauses. "It's okay, Thomas. I'm not scared. Maybe I should be, but I just feel like I'm ready, you know? I've already died, really. Those few seconds when I knew you were killing me, I felt so free. I liked it, and I want it again. I'm at peace." He laughs. "Well, peace is the wrong word, but I'm pretty chill about it all."

"I'm not leaving you," I say again, sniffing back the tears.

"You wanna sit around and watch your older brother's head rot off?" he asks. "Seriously?"

"I'm not leaving you."

"Pervert."

I take a deep breath as I try to work out if there's any other way. Joe sure looks as if he's about to fall apart, and I guess I should accept his decision. Still, I know that when he's gone, I'll be alone. It's not as if I've got any chance of finding my sister Martha again, even if she's alive, so once Joe's gone, there'll be no-one left. Slowly, I walk over to the kitchen table and sit facing him. He's all I've got left, and once he's gone, I don't know where I'm supposed to go. Sure, I can get in the truck and drive away from this place, but what do I do after that? I know he's right about the cities, but at the same time it doesn't seem as if the countryside is much better. Every time I try to work out some kind of plan, to decide where to go, I come to the same conclusion: there's nowhere that's ever going to be safe.

"Come on," he says. "You've gotta be kidding. Get in the fucking truck and get the fuck out of here!"

"I want to be here with you," I tell him, sniffing back some more tears. "I don't care how long it takes, but I want to wait with you. It's my decision, Joe, and there's nothing you say that'll make me change my mind, so you'd better just get used to it, okay?" I take a deep breath. "I'll keep you company," I add, "and then I'll bury you, and then I'll get going."

"Don't bury me," he replies. "I'm claustrophobic."

I sigh.

"I mean it," he continues with a smile. "You can just leave me sitting here at this table. You never know, some kids might come by one time and get freaked out. I kinda wish I could stick around and see their faces, but I can already feel my body being destroyed. There's not much time left. Sooner or later, one of these maggots is gonna chew through an important part of my brain, and it'll be lights out."

"I'm going to wait with you," I say firmly.

"You're not making the right decision," he continues. "Don't be dense, Tommy."

"I don't care if it's the right decision or not," I reply. "It's what I'm doing."

"I'm not gonna be much company," he replies. "Jesus fucking Christ, I can feel a big fat maggot in my brain right now. It's trippy as shit."

"You swear too much," I point out. "Maybe we oughta pray or something."

He raises an eyebrow. "Pray?"

I nod.

"What the fuck for?"

I open my mouth to reply, but at first I'm not sure what to say. "I don't know," I continue eventually, "but it seems like it might be a good idea. You know..." I pause. "Something good might come out of it."

"You wanna sit here with your zombified, rotting brother, with some kind of fuckhead Nazi asshole locked in the basement, with the world falling apart all around us, and... you wanna put your hands together and pray?"

"I do."

"Fine," he says with a shrug. "What the hell? I've never tried it before, not since school anyway, so go ahead. Let's do this shit."

"Repeat after me," I say, closing my eyes. "Dear Lord."

"Dear fucking Lord."

"Joe!"

"Dear Lord," he says with a sigh.

I pause for a moment. "We ask you to look over this world and deliver us from whatever catastrophes you've seen fit to visit upon us. We ask you to keep us safe and to watch over us, and we ask you to watch over our sister Martha. Wherever she is, we ask that she's in good health and that she'll be okay."

"Yeah," Joe says, sounding a little more subdued, "look after Martha. None of us deserves this shit, and she's not a bad person. Keep her out of too much trouble, okay?"

"Amen," I add.

"Amen."

We sit in silence for a moment, before I suddenly realize that I can hear a voice somewhere nearby. Looking over at the door to the basement, I realize that the old man is talking down there.

"What's old Adolf going on about?" Joe asks.

Getting to my feet, I walk over to the door and take a moment to listen.

"Please," the old man is saying, his voice filled with fear and pain, "I'm begging you, don't come any closer. Leave me alone, please. Dear God..."

"What's he saying?" Joe calls out to me.

"Hang on!" I hiss, keen to hear more.

"I'm sorry, Sara," the old man continues. "Maybe I didn't treat you right, but I'm your father, for God's sake. I command you to go back over there! Get back in that corner!" I can hear him scrabbling about for a moment. "Get back over there!" he shouts. "I didn't tell you to get up! Obey me! You're my daughter and I command you to stop this! Leave me alone!"

I reach into my pocket, ready to get the key out, but at the last moment I reconsider. The truth is, I like hearing the fear in the old bastard's voice. If that makes me a bad person, after everything that's happened to me over the past few days, then I guess I just have to accept that I've become a little meaner than before. The old Thomas probably wouldn't have made it this far anyway; the old, naive Thomas would have panicked and ended up dead.

"Sara, please," the old man whimpers, "for the love of God and all that's holy, stop! I'm begging you! See? I'm on my knees and I'm begging you. Don't do this. Go away! Leave me alone!" There's the sound of footsteps hurrying up the stairs, and suddenly he starts pounding on the door. "Let me out of here! Get me away from her!"

"Who's he talking to?" Joe asks.

"Help!" the old man screams, still banging on the door before, finally, he lets out a cry of pain and falls quiet.

"What the hell's happening in there?" Joe asks.

"I..." I start to say, before realizing that the old fool must be talking to the pile of bones in the corner of the basement. As he continues to whimper and moan, I put the key in the lock and struggle for a moment with the awkward, slightly warped door, before finally getting it unlocked and pulling it open. At the last moment, I hear a clattering sound, like bones being dropped onto the floor.

The first thing I see once the door is open is the set of bones, except now they're in the middle of the room, and the old man's body is next to them. I walk cautiously down the steps and head over, only to see that the old man's eyes are wide open, staring up at the ceiling with a horrified look on his face. I kick him gently in the side, but it's clear that he's dead. Turning and looking down at the bones, I can't help but stare at the skull.

"Sara?" I whisper after a moment. "Was that your name?" I pause. "What did he do to you?"

Silence.

"What's happening in there?" Joe shouts.

"Revenge," I whisper as I continue to stare at the skull for a moment. "I guess she waited."

Without saying anything else, I turn and hurry up the steps. At the last moment, I glance back down at the old man's body. I don't know what the hell happened down here, or what exactly he thought he saw as he was dying, but somehow it seems strangely fitting. Whoever that Sara girl was, I guess he treated her about as well as he treated me, in which case I don't feel any pity for the old bastard at all. Maybe I'm getting tougher or more mean-spirited, and maybe what I'm thinking isn't exactly very Christian, but he got what was coming to him.