Mass Extinction Event (Book 2): Days 9-16 (8 page)

Chapter Six

Missouri

"Faster!" the guy shouts, standing at the top of the hill and watching as I struggle with the barrel of water I'm supposed to be dragging to the house. "We haven't got all day!" he continues. "I want this done before it gets dark! There's still a few more jobs I need doing!"

"It'd be easier if my legs weren't chained together," I mutter.

"What was that?" he calls out.

"Nothing!" I shout, giving the barrel another heave as I finally get it onto the level ground that surrounds the house. It's taken me almost half an hour to get the damn thing up a slope that seemed at times to be running at a forty or fifty per cent incline. Given that the barrel is completely full of rain water, I guess I shouldn't be surprised that I almost collapsed several times. "Why do you keep this thing down by the road, anyway?" I ask, out of breath and generally feeling as if I might black out at any moment. I swear to God, with the late afternoon sun beating down on me, I'm sweating like a pig, and there's no sign of any let-up.

"None of your business," he replies, raising the rifle so that the barrel is once again pointed at me. "You're not done yet. I want this thing over by the door. It's the best clean water source we've got right now. I don't know how long I'll be having you around, boy, but I might as well make use of you while you're here."

Figuring that there's no point trying to argue, I start rolling the barrel toward the house. There's a part of me that wants to just make a run at the old bastard and try to knock him down. Sure, he
might
manage to get a shot off and blow my head to pieces, but on the other hand I might just manage to get to him. It's not that I want to kill him, but I sure as hell don't plan to let him keep pushing me around like this. I've already got some kind of plan worked out: I'm going to lull him into a false sense of security, make him think he can trust me a little, and then I'm going to bash his head against a rock.

"This is what happens to murderers," he says, watching me for a few meters away. "Thieves, too. You're gonna have to work off your sins, and I intend to make sure that you do just that. God wouldn't want it any other way."

"This isn't anything to do with God!" I say, but before I can add anything else, there's a kind of rumbling sound, and for a moment everything starts shaking. I look over at the guy, and I'm just about to make a lunge for the gun when the trembling stops and everything goes back to normal.

"See?" he says. "That's what God thinks about you. He's sending a message. You've sinned, boy, and you've got to make it right. There's no point pretending otherwise."

"That wasn't God," I tell him.

"Who else can make the ground shake?" he asks. "Who else can make the whole world tremble? You'd do well to remember that the Lord's watching you, boy. He can see everything you do, and he knows what's in your heart. He's everywhere. Don't they teach you kids anything these days? Don't you even know what God is and what he can do to you?"

Setting the barrel in position next to the door, I take a step back. I've always thought that I'm in pretty good shape, but that was by far the hardest job I've ever had to do in my life, and right now I feel as if I need to rest. It's pretty clear that this guy is going to keep pushing me until I drop.

"Grab a shovel," the guy says.

I turn to him.

"Do I have to say everything twice?" he asks. "Get a shovel. There's plenty resting over by the side of the house. Just grab one. Doesn't matter which, as long as it's sturdy. You're gonna be using it for a few hours, though, so make sure it's one you can grip properly. Don't get the biggest one. It's too big for you."

Sighing, I walk over and pick up the nearest shovel. It's clear that this guy, whose name I don't even know, has decided that I'm going to be his general, all-purpose slave, and while he's holding that rifle, there's no way I can even hope to get the hell out of here. Still, he's pretty old and frail, so I'm sure I can overpower him once I've managed to get close enough, so once again it's clear that my best option is to find a way to make him think that I'm harmless. I need to spend a few days, maybe even a week, being obedient and well-behaved, and then I need to watch out for the right moment to strike.

"Come on!" he calls out. "The longer you delay, the later you'll be working!"

Carrying the shovel back over to him, I follow as he leads me over to the trees. We walk a few hundred meters into the forest, before finally he stops and turns to me. As usual, the rifle is pointed straight at my head, and I have no doubt that he'd use it if he thought I was going to try anything. I can only hope that his trigger finger isn't twitchy.

"Dig," he says firmly.

"Here?"

"Here."

I look down at the dry ground. "Why?" I ask.

"Why do you think?" He smiles. "You don't think we're gonna leave that corpse just sitting in the back of that truck, do you? Jesus Christ, boy, what kind of idiot are you? There's disease and all sorts of reasons why we've gotta get rid of it. You dig a hole, and dig it deep. There's a reason churches put bodies six feet under. It's to make it so wild animals can't dig people up. So get at least six feet down, maybe seven. I don't want any mistakes being made here. If in doubt, go a little deeper. Doesn't have to be too wide, though. It's not like we've got anything fancy like a coffin."

"A grave?" I say, my heart racing as I realize what he wants me to do. "For my brother?"

"He's liable to start stinking," the guy continues, with that big smile still plastered across his face. "There'll be flies and everything if we don't get moving, so I figure there's no time like the present." He pauses for a moment. "What are you waiting for, boy? Dig!"

Chapter Seven

Pennsylvania

Dinner at the farmhouse is a strange event. There's a guy named Bridger who seems to be in charge of cooking, and everyone else seems content to let him stir the pot. Patricia, meanwhile, seems pretty nervous, and I can't help but notice that she takes her last cigarette out a few times and twirls it between her fingers, but she always puts it back in the packet after a few minutes. With Shauna having decided to stay in bed upstairs, Erikson seems kind of relaxed, although I'm suspicious that he might have taken more than one extra beer. There's also a guy named Thor, from Sweden, who seems polite but quiet, and it's his job this evening to keep an eye on the horizon and watch out for any unwelcome visitors. As we sit at the large kitchen table, there's not much conversation, and everyone seems intently focused on their food, as if it's the most important thing in the world.

"So what do you guys think Toad'll bring back tonight?" Patricia asks eventually, as she finishes her bowl of meat soup. She turns to Bridger. "What was in this tonight, anyway? Please don't tell me it was rat meat."

"We're not on the rat meat yet," Bridger replies with a half-smile. "I thought we agreed that there'd be a don't ask, don't tell policy regarding the food. Believe me, if we have to sit around here much longer, you guys are
definitely
not gonna want to know what starts going into the pot."

"Come on, just tell us," Patricia says. "We might as well know."

Bridger pauses. "Beef," he says eventually.

"Beef?" Patricia replies, as if she can't quite believe it. "Seriously?"

"Beef," Bridger says again, with a shrug. "I'm using up some frozen beef that's been thawing in the basement. Don't get too used to it. It's gonna be all gone within a week.
That's
when we might have to start thinking about the rat meat. There's plenty of rats around here." He glances over at me. "So how were things in New York? After the shit hit the fan, I mean."

"It was pretty empty," I reply, realizing that everyone's turned to stare at me. "Not much going on."

"Sirens and stuff?" Bridger asks. "I've been wondering ever since this started, how it went down in the major population centers. Was there looting and stuff?"

I shake my head. "Everyone seemed to kind of vanish. I think people felt ill overnight and mostly went home. There were bodies in some of the cars, though."

"But no marauding gangs?" he continues.

"A few psychos," I reply, trying hard not to picture Bob's demented grin. "There were some planes that came down."

"Fuck," Bridger says, unable to hide a smile. "I bet that was a sight."

I smile awkwardly, not really wanting to get into the details. Even though it's only been just over a week since this whole disaster started, I feel as if I'm no longer even on the same planet as New York. Two days ago, I was still in the city with Henry and Bob, and now here I am, a thousand miles from nowhere and sitting in a room with a bunch of people I'd never even met when I set out from the city yesterday morning. Everything's moving so fast.

"Did they, like, just drop from the sky likes fucking stones?" Bridger asks. "Were there explosions?"

I nod.

"She probably doesn't want to talk about it," Patricia says, interrupting the conversation. "I imagine it was a pretty traumatic time."

"Yeah, but -"

"Bridger!" she says firmly. "Maybe leave it, yeah? Think about what it must have been like out there. I'm glad I happened to be out here in the sticks when it happened. The cities must have been hell."

"Toad's back," Thor says suddenly, looking out the window. It's almost dark outside, but there's still a little light, and seconds later I hear footsteps on the porch before a distant door opens and someone enters a different part of the house.

"Told you he's anti-social," Patricia says, turning to me. "Still, you should probably go and introduce yourself. It's only polite."

I stare at her, trying to work out whether or not she's joking. I guess I'm
hoping
that I won't actually have to go and meet Toad, at least not tonight. After everything that people have been saying about the guy, they've kind of built him up to be some kind of freak, and the last thing I want to do is meet another guy like Bob. Maybe I'm just being paranoid, but it feels as if the events of the past week have brought out the worst in some people.

"Go on!" Patricia continues, grinning. "Get through to the pantry and just say hi, thank him for letting you stay, and tell him food's on the table. He won't say much, but he'll probably appreciate it, deep down. And then, just come back through. You'll still be in one piece, I promise."

"If he doesn't get you first," Bridger says with a smile.

"Shut up," Patricia says, turning to him.

"What?" he replies, acting shocked. "It's true!" He turns to me. "I don't mean to scare you too much, but Toad's a bit of a monster. I mean, why else do you think we call him Toad? If the world was normal, there's no way any of us would be out here with him, but right now he's pretty useful. He's the kind of guy who really should just be alone. Totally, completely alone forever. He knows it, too. He doesn't like having people around. That's why he spends so long out foraging each day. The guy barely even talks to any of us."

"It's true," Erikson says from the other end of the table. "He's always been a bit odd. I'm not sure, but I think maybe there's something a bit loose in his head, if you know what I mean. He's not quite wired properly. I used to think maybe he was, like, partially autistic or something like that, but now I think it's something else. I don't know, though." He smiles. "I'm sorry, I guess I'm probably scaring you. There's no reason to be nervous. He's actually a real teddy bear."

"Go on," Patricia says, leaning over and nudging my elbow. "Don't let these ungrateful assholes put you off. Just go and introduce yourself."

Smiling awkwardly, I get to my feet. The floorboards creak as I walk around the table, and I can tell that everyone's watching me. I don't know exactly what's wrong with this Toad guy, but it's as if the others are setting me up for some big fall. I reach the door and look out into the gloomy hallway, and I can hear someone moving about in the pantry. Glancing back into the room, I see that the others are all still watching me, and with a sigh I turn and start walking along the hallway, hyper-aware that my every step is causing the wooden floor to creak and groan. Eventually, I reach the door that leads into the pantry, and I spot a figure in the shadows at the far end of the room, working on the contents of some kind of large bag. In this light, it's hard to make out much detail, and I feel as if I'm in danger of interrupting some private moment. Still, I figure I have to at least introduce myself.

"Hi," I say eventually.

He pauses for a moment, but he doesn't turn to me, and he doesn't say anything. After a few seconds, he gets back to work.

"I'm Elizabeth," I continue, trying not to sound scared. "Elizabeth Marter. I arrived earlier with Erikson and Shauna. I..." I pause, watching as Toad pulls some kind of dead animal from the bag and sets it on a nearby table. "I just wanted to thank you," I add, "for letting me stay."

He pulls another dead animal from his bag.

"The food was really nice," I say after a moment. "The others said to tell you that there's some waiting for you."

He pulls out a third dead animal.

"Okay," I continue eventually. "I don't want to disturb you, so -"

Before I can finish, Toad turns and carries his bag over to a nearby table, and finally I get a proper look at him. To my surprise, I see that he's young, maybe late twenties at most, and although he's covered in dirt and grime, and despite the fact that his dark hair is matted and unruly, there's something about him that immediately makes me feel as if I've been punched in the gut. His dark eyes glance at me briefly before he starts pulling some mushrooms out of his cloth bag and setting them in a bowl. As I watch him work, I can't help but notice that he seems quietly confident, and I stare at his hands as they start sorting through the mushrooms. Whereas everyone else here at the farmhouse seems out of place, this guy appears to be in his element, as if he belongs here.

"You're Toad, right?" I ask after a moment, worried that maybe I've made a mistake.

He glances at me for a moment, before getting on with his work, and it's clear that this is definitely the right guy.

"Do you mind if I ask..." I pause. "What's your real name?"

With the mushrooms sorted into two bowls, he takes the bag over to a nearby sink and finally he empties out a tumble of what appear to be blueberries. I already feel as if maybe I've made a mistake and insulted him, so I'm not sure what to do next. I guess I should just turn around and go back through to the others.

"You can come with me tomorrow," he says suddenly, his voice sounding dark and smoky.

I stare at him, worried that maybe I just imagined that sentence.

"You need to help out," he adds, sorting through some jars from a nearby cupboard instead of looking at me. "If you come with me, you can help carry, and maybe you'll learn something. No offense, but you don't strike me as someone who's already brimming with transferable skills. We need to get you up to speed as fast as possible."

I open my mouth to reply, but I'm not sure what to say.

"Or you can stay here and learn to shoot," he adds.

"I'll come with you," I tell him.

"Be out front at sunrise," he continues. "Should be about 7am." With that, he starts cleaning out some jars, and after a couple of minutes I realize that the conversation is over. Quietly, feeling a little stunned, I turn and head out of the room. I can hear the others talking and laughing in the kitchen at the other end of the house, and I guess I should go back and join them. Still, I can't help thinking about tomorrow, and about the idea of going out into the wilderness with this Toad guy. I pause for a moment, loitering in the hallway as I try to get my thoughts together, and then finally I take a deep breath and decide that tomorrow's another day and I'll deal with things as they come. Bracing myself for the inevitable jokes, I eventually, reluctantly, go back into the kitchen to join the others.