Mass Extinction Event: The Complete Fourth Series (Days 54 to 61) (7 page)

Thomas

“Let's see you try the same thing again,” I mutter as I place several pieces of fabric over the air-vent above the bunker, before weighing them down with rocks.

After checking that the vent is completely covered, I scramble across the boulders until I reach one that allows me to hide without being seen too easily. Crouching down, I take the screwdrivers from my pocket and start going through them, determined to make sure that I can defend myself if necessary.

Once I've selected the two screwdrivers that seem sharpest, I hitch the others to my belt and peer through a gap in the rocks, watching the pile of fabric on top of the vent. It might take a while, but I'm going to get hold of the guy when he comes out to fix the problem.

***

Several hours later, with the sun setting and darkness falling across the scene, I've begun to carve small drawings into the rocks using one of the screwdrivers. It's not exactly the most fascinating project in the world, but it's better than counting sheep or – even worse – thinking back to all the people who've died over the past few weeks.

Sometimes I think it's a miracle that I'm still alive.

Eventually, just as I'm getting to the point at which there's not enough light for me to finish my work, I hear a bumping sound nearby. Looking through the gap in the rocks, I realize I can hear a faint creaking sound, which could be the bunker's metal door being opened. I wait, with the two screwdrivers held firmly in my hands, and finally I hear someone getting closer before, finally, the silhouette of a human appears above the distant boulders, heading over to the vent. I watch as the figure crouches by the vent and glances around, as if he's checking that there's no-one around, and then he hurriedly removes the small rocks and pieces of fabric from the top of the vent.

“Don't move!” I shout, stepping out from behind the boulders and holding the screwdrivers out toward him. “I swear to God, if you try anything, I'll stab you!”

“Thomas?” a familiar voice replies.

I stare at the silhouette for a moment.

“Quinn?” I say finally, barely able to believe that it's her.

“Oh, thank God you're okay,” she says, getting to her feet and stepping toward me, which finally allows me to see her face properly. “I was starting to worry when you didn't come back, I thought maybe something terrible had happened to you at the camp.”

“I thought you were dead!”

“Why on earth did you think that?” she asks, as if it's the craziest idea in the world.

“All the blood!” I continue. “There was blood on the ground when I came back!”

“Oh, that.” She pauses. “Well, yes, I'm afraid there was a bit of a struggle when Leonard came out from the bunker, but it's okay, he's fine now. It wasn't much more than a bump on the head, although that hasn't stopped him complaining. I swear, that man has the pain threshold of a newborn child.”

“Leonard? Who the hell is Leonard?”

“The man we saw through the window.” She reaches out and pushes my hands down. “Don't point those horrible screwdrivers at me. Now come on, let me introduce you properly. We're not savages.” With that, she turns and starts making her way across the boulders. Again, she seems to be completely unaware that this situation is surreal.

“Thing are going crazy at the camp,” I reply, following carefully. “I know what Mark's up to!”

“Something horrid, no doubt?”

“He has this pit,” I continue, “filled with those creatures, and he's throwing dead bodies down there to feed them! It's like he thinks they're his pets or some kind of personal army! At one point he even referred to them as his apostles!”

“Well that's not right at all, is it?” she replies, clambering down to the hatch's doorway, from which a patch of light can be seen. “I'm sure we'll have plenty of time to work out what to do next, Thomas, but it
does
sound as if that frightful pit should be destroyed as quickly as possible.”

“What
is
this place?” I ask, jumping down and stopping at the open door. Looking inside, I realize that there's a small room with metallic walls, and a door leads off to what must be other rooms.

“It's a bunker,” Quinn replies, stopping in the middle of the first room and turning to me. “Come on, get inside. We don't want to leave the door open for too long, do we? The light from this place is likely to attract stragglers from miles around if we're not careful.” Stepping past me, she pulls me into the room before closing the door and turning a wheel that slides a large bolt across. “There,” she continues. “It'd take a tank to get through this thing. We should probably think about getting a tank, by the way. I'm sure there are plenty just sitting around these days.”

“I don't understand,” I say, stepping over to the middle of the bare room. “What's a bunker doing all the way out here? And who's the -”

“Leonard,” a dour, unimpressed male voice calls out from the next room. “My name's Leonard!”

I stare at Quinn. “Who?” I mouth silently after a moment.

“Leonard!” she says excitedly, grabbing my hand and leading me through. “Leonard Cole, I want you to meet a very good friend of mine, Thomas Edgewater. And Thomas, I want you to meet a very
new
friend, Mr. Leonard Cole of the... What was your organization called again, Lenny?”

“Please don't call me Lenny,” he replies, wincing as he puts a damp cloth against a cut on his left cheek. A middle-aged, unkempt-looking man with a face that looks particularly sour, he has slouching shoulders and the demeanor of someone who hasn't been impressed by anything for a very long time. He's sitting on one of two camp-beds. “And it's the Boston Metropolitan Institute for Communicable Disease Prevention and Study. Before you ask, no, there's not a handy acronym. You have to say the whole name every time.”

“What are you doing here?” I ask.

“So far, getting smacked in the head by a rock thrown by this lunatic.”

“You startled me,” Quinn says innocently. “What else was I supposed to do?”

“Do you always throw rocks at people you don't know?” he asks.

“Sometimes. Well, only once before.”

“Hold on,” I say, interrupting them, “why are you living in some kind of nuclear fallout bunker next to Lake Erie? And why are you so close to a group of people living by the lake?”

“It's not a nuclear fallout bunker,” he replies testily, “it's a research pod set up by the Boston Metropolitan Institute for Communicable Disease Prevention and Study. It's next to Lake Erie because this is one of the locations we chose for our study into long-term post-apocalyptic survival, due to certain environmental and geographic factors. And it's close to a group of people, as Ms. Quinn has so keenly informed me, due to sheer bad luck, and also because – I guess – they also realized that this would be a good spot to pick. Just my luck, huh?” He dabs at his wound a little more, before checking the cloth for blood. Sighing, he sets it down on the other bed. “I had no idea anyone was in the area until you two showed up a couple of days ago.”

“So what were you studying?” I ask.

“I told you,” he replies with a sigh. “The idea was to test out living conditions for people seeking to survive mass extinction events. It's a research program being run by the Boston Metropolitan Institute for Communicable Disease Prevention and Study.”

“Like the one we're dealing with now,” Quinn points out.

“Ironic timing, huh?” he continues. “The idea was that I was supposed to live in this pod for an entire year, to test out the system and see what kind of psychological effects there might be.”

“What kind of psychological effects have you noticed so far?” Quinn asks.

“The ability to hallucinate annoying idiots,” he says darkly.

“Leonard has a very cynical sense of humor,” Quinn continues, turning to me. “I think it's his way of coping with the terrible sense of isolation.”

“You have no idea how much I'd like to be isolated right now,” Leonard says. “I was quite happy being isolated. I was chosen for this project specifically because I'm good at being on my own.” Sighing, he mutters something under his breath, before getting to his feet and grabbing a cup of water. “There are twelve of us,” he continues, “dotted around the country. We went in on January the first, and we were supposed to stay in until the last day of December.” He takes a sip. “I guess circumstances overtook us.”

“You can say that again,” Quinn mutters.

“I suppose the project's over now.”

“Why?” she asks.

“Because the Boston Metropolitan -”

“You really don't have to say the whole name in full every time.”

“Because
the
organization,” he continues, clearly annoyed, “probably doesn't exist anymore.”

“Mark's insane,” I say, turning to Quinn. “Seriously, you should see the pit he's dug and the creatures that are down there. There's something not right with him, and I think I already know the next person who's going to end up getting thrown down there.”

“This pit,” Quinn replies. “Is it beyond the eastern point?”

“In the area that everyone's been told not to go,” I tell her. “Exactly.”

“And what's he planning to do with all these creatures?”

“I don't know,” I reply. “I'm not even sure that
he
knows yet, but he's determined to keep them alive.”

“That doesn't sound too healthy,” she mutters. “I was hoping that the creatures had completely died off by now. They certainly seemed to be becoming scarce.”

“I don't think they can survive alone,” I tell her, “but when someone's looking after them, they seem to be able to get by.”

“They should all be killed,” Quinn replies. “I value all life, I wouldn't even kill a bug, but those things... They all need to be wiped out as quickly as possible.”

“I agree,” I tell her, “but how do we do it?”

“Easy,” she says, taking a deep breath. “With fire.”

Elizabeth

“Lizzie, it's time.”

Looking over at the door, I see that my father is waiting for me.

“Time for what?” I ask.

“To go. The helicopter's waiting.”

“I can't leave Toad,” I tell him. “Please, you have to try one more time to find him!”

“Lizzie, it's futile. There are thousands of acres of forest around this base, and the storm caused huge mudslides. It'd take weeks for us to manage even a cursory check.”

“Can't you use infra-red or something like that?”

“Lizzie -”

“We can't leave him!”

He stares at me for a moment, before stepping into the room and sliding the door shut.

“I know this might seem crazy,” I continue, sitting up on the bed, “and I've only known him for a few weeks, but I can't just go off and leave him here. He helped me, he saved my life... I have to do the same for him.”

“You can't.”

“I can! I can find a way to get out there and -”

“It's too late,” he says firmly.

“No, it's not too late. There has to be something I can do to -”

“He's dead.”

I stare at him for a moment. “You don't know that,” I say finally, although a cold shiver just passed through my body. “Don't say things like that.”

“We found his body last night,” he continues. “I didn't want to tell you, because I didn't want you to get upset. I thought that at least if you had some lingering hope, you'd feel better. I was trying to protect you, sweetheart.” Sitting on the edge of the bed, he reaches out and takes my hands in his. “I don't want to get into the details -”

“Tell me,” I reply, fighting to keep from bursting into tears.

“Lizzie -”

“Tell me!” I shout, pulling my hands away. My voice is trembling now, but I can't bring myself to believe what he's saying, not yet. There has to have been some kind of mistake.

“He was about half a mile from the house where you were picked up,” he continues. “A mudslide got him, it looks like he drowned. It would have been fairly quick and hopefully not too painful.”

“You're wrong,” I reply, refusing to believe any of this. “You've found someone else, there's some kind of mistake...”

“It was him, Lizzie.”

“How do you know?”

“Based on your description and the fact that there really aren't too many idiots wandering around out there. What color clothes was he wearing, again?”

“Jeans,” I reply cautiously, “and a checkered blue shirt”.

As soon as I say those words, I can see the sadness in his eyes.

“No,” I continue, shaking my head. “You're wrong...”

“I'm so sorry,” he continues, taking my hands one more time. “It
was
him.”

“I want to see him,” I tell him, my voice trembling with shock.

“That's not possible,” he replies. “The body was covered as a mark of respect, but it wasn't extracted from the site.”

“Then you have to take me there and -”

“No, Lizzie.”

“I want to see him!”

“You can't.” He pauses for a moment. “Lizzie, think about it for a moment. You don't want to go out there into the forest just so some of my men can dig through the mud and...” Another pause. “I'm sorry, truly I am, and I probably should have told you from the outset, but I was trying to save your feelings. That was a mistake, and I apologize.”

I try to answer, but I feel as if my whole body is completely frozen. As my shoulders start to shake, I realize that it's the same sensation I felt when Henry died a couple of months ago. Unable to help myself, I start sobbing wildly, and my father puts his arms around me in an attempt to help. All I can think about is Toad, drowning out there in the dark mud as he tried to get back to me. I was so sure that he'd survive, that nothing out there could ever hurt him, and now he's gone. Leaning against my father's chest, I try to say something but all that comes out of my mouth is a kind of low, pained cry.

“We've all lost people, honey,” he says after a moment, running a hand through my hair. “We just have to focus on the people who are left.”

***

“The journey to Boston will take about four hours,” my father explains a short while later as he leads me out onto the roof of the building, where an army helicopter is already waiting. “We can do it in one hop, so we should arrive around midnight. Flying at night isn't ideal in these conditions, but I don't want to wait a moment longer than necessary.”

Limping alongside him, I stare at the helicopter and try to empty my mind. All I can think about, however, is Toad, and when I glance at one of the soldiers nearby, I can tell that he knows I've been crying. I must look completely pathetic.

“Things are going to be a lot better once we're in Boston,” my father continues. “The facilities are better, and we're starting to rebuild a kind of normal life. The city's relatively clean and work is already progressing. Wait 'til you see it, Lizzie. The bare bones of a proper city are already in place again, it'll really restore your faith in humanity's ability to survive.”

“Rachel,” I whisper, stopping suddenly and looking around. “Where's Rachel?”

“Who?” he asks.

“The baby,” I continue, turning back to him. “She's coming with us, right?”

“She has to stay here for now,” he tells me. “Given that we don't yet know whether she's been exposed to the sickness, we have to monitor her for as long as necessary. Boston has been declared a safe-zone, so we can't risk any kind of contamination.”

“But -”

“She'll be properly cared for,” he continues, putting a hand on my shoulder. “Everyone here knows that children are our future. You trust me, don't you?”

“Of course, it's just -”

“Assuming she's given the all-clear after a few weeks, she'll be taken to Boston, or maybe to another city if we've got more to choose from, and someone will be found to look after her.”

“I thought
I'd
take care of her,” I tell him, shocked by the idea that I might never see her again. “She's used to me!”

“She's a baby,” he replies. “She's not even used to having her eyes open yet.”

I look back at the door that leads into the building, but I know there's no way he'll change his mind.

“What about Doctor Kennedy?” I ask, turning back to him. “Dad, I saw -”

“Doctor Kennedy is also under observation,” he explains. “The unfortunate scene you witnessed earlier was an isolated incident in which an infected patient managed to escape from a treatment room. It's truly tragic that Doctor Kennedy was contaminated, but there's still a chance she can make a recovery. We're working on some drugs that might reverse the progress of the illness and we've already made several major advances.”

“It's time, Sir,” says General Patterson, standing nearby.

“You've never been in a helicopter before, have you?” my father says, patting me on the shoulder. “Come on, it'll be exciting!”

As he heads over to the helicopter and opens the door on the side, I turn to Patterson.

“You're better off in Boston,” he says, with a sympathetic smile. “This is a military facility, and as you saw today, it's one that's struggling to deal with a major catastrophe. From what I've heard, Boston is at least trying to get back to some semblance of normality. And don't worry, if your friend happens to show up, I promise I'll let him know where you are. I'll even arrange for him to ship out with us.”

“Didn't my Dad tell you?” I reply, close to tears. “The soldiers found Toad's body in the forest.”

“They did?” He pauses, clearly shocked. “I had no idea.”

“Come on,” my father says, hurrying over and taking me by the hand, “we need to stick to our schedule.”

“I'm sorry about your friend,” Patterson says, glancing at my father. “Sir, I -”

“We'll be in touch about the incident earlier,” my father tells him. “It was completely unacceptable and there are going to have to be significant changes around here.”

“Absolutely!”

Leading me into the helicopter, my father takes a moment to strap me into my seat before sliding the door shut and leaning forward to tap the pilot's shoulder.

I open my mouth to ask him about Toad again, but before I get a chance he grabs some headphones and puts them over my ears. At the same time, the helicopter's engine comes to life, and I look up just in time to see the rotor blades starting to turn. I wait a moment, almost hypnotized as I watch the blades spinning faster and faster, and then finally there's a bump as we start to rise up from the top of the building. Turning to look out the window, I watch as General Patterson heads back inside, and then the helicopter swings out over the side and flies across the yard before rushing out over the forest.

“Try to get some rest!” my father shouts, tapping my shoulder. “It's going to be a long journey and you'll have a lot to take in once we get to Boston!”

Looking down, I watch as the treetops flash past below us. For a moment, I spot a dilapidated building nestled in the forest, and I think it might actually be the farmhouse where Toad and I holed up with Rachel on that final, disastrous night. Feeling as if I might burst into tears again, I lean back in my seat and close my eyes, and I think of Toad once again before allowing myself to whisper a final word:

“Goodbye.”