Mass Extinction Event: The Complete Third Series (Days 46 to 53) (13 page)

Elizabeth

"Toad?"

Sitting up suddenly, I realize I must have been asleep for several hours. Sweat is pouring down my face and I feel as if I'm burning up, and as I look around the clearing, I'm shocked to find that the light is starting to fade. A kind of hazy gray dusk is descending, making the whole place seem almost unreal.

"Toad?" I say again, wiping my eyes.

No answer.

"Toad?"

I look around, but there's no-one here. For a moment, I can barely remember anything that has happened over the past few days. Memories of the farm are mixed with older memories, of Henry and my family, of that psychopath Bob and... The fever seems to be keeping me from thinking clearly, but eventually I remember my ankle, and then I remember the conversation I had with Toad a few hours earlier.

"Rachel?" I call out, pulling the blanket close as I feel a cold breeze blow past.

Silence.

"Rachel?"

When I try to get to my feet, I immediately find that my balance is a little off, and it doesn't help that my ankle is throbbing. Crawling on all fours, I make my way over to where Toad placed the rucksack earlier, but it's gone. Taking a deep breath and trying to stay calm, I finally realize that he did what I asked: he took Rachel and he left. I guess he wanted to wait until I was asleep, so he wouldn't have to endure some long, drawn-out goodbye. Still, it's good that he left. If he'd stayed, we all would have died. He did the right thing.

And now I'm alone.

I look across the clearing.

This is it.

This is where I'm going to die.

Elizabeth Marter, born in a New York hospital, raised in Manhattan, and died in a forest shortly after the collapse of civilization...

Reaching down, I touch my ankle and find that it's swollen even more. The pain is intense, but in a strange way it's also bearable. I feel as if my whole body's on fire, which I guess means that the infection is spreading. Rolling onto my back, I stare up at the early evening sky. This is probably the last time I'll ever see the world, but my mind is too muddled to take it all in. All I can think about is the fact that somewhere out there, Toad and Rachel are continuing the journey, making their way toward a possible future. I know it's still a long-shot, but at least they have a chance, which is more than they would have had if they'd stayed here with me.

"Dear God," I say out loud, "please look after them. Keep them safe. Forget about me, but make sure Rachel gets a chance to grow up. Please, whatever has to happen to me, just keep her safe. Just... please..."

I wait, hoping that there might be some kind of reply, but instead the pain in my ankle seems to be building. I hold my breath, trying to push the pain back, but it's no use. Digging my fingers into the ground, I hold on tight, desperately forcing myself to stay strong; as the pain gets worse, I dig my fingers deeper, but it's not working and finally I let out an agonized scream that seems to last forever.

Part Four

Day 49

Thomas

Sitting by the window, I watch as the first rays of sunlight start to spread across the remains of the city. Shorn of human attention, the skyscrapers look old and abandoned now, and it's hard to believe that this was once a bustling home to millions of people. Every building has become a kind of tomb, filled with the bodies of those who fell and died when this catastrophe hit. Somehow, I feel as if we should abandon the cities now and leave them undisturbed, as a mark of respect to the people whose lives were lost.

"Are you thinking anything specific," George asks suddenly, "or just staring vacantly out the window?"

I pause, not really knowing what to say.

"I'll tell you what
I'm
thinking," he continues. "I'm thinking about the past. I'm thinking about the people I took for granted, and all the things I never got a chance to say. I'm thinking about the world that was suddenly pulled away, like part of some magician's trick. I'm thinking about how complicated everything was, and how quickly it was destroyed."

"I'm thinking about the future," I reply, not turning to him. Instead, I keep my eyes focused on one particular building, which towers a little higher than its neighbors. There's no point to its existence now. It might as well fall down. If I could, I'd destroy the city completely. I hate the idea of Chicago, like every other city, still standing now that most of the people are gone.

"What
about
the future?" he asks.

"Whether there'll be one."

"I'm sure Lady Macbeth'll be along shortly," he continues. I hear him shuffling over to join me, and eventually he sits a few feet away. "She doesn't seem like the kind of person who has much downtime, if you know what I mean. I'd rather avoid her, if possible. What are
your
plans?"

"Plans?" I turn to him.

"There was talk yesterday about some people who left town," he replies. "Just a handful, but apparently they headed north. I've been thinking, maybe Melissa and Katie were with them. I know it's a long-shot, but right now it's the
only
shot." He pauses, and it's clear from the look in his eyes that he knows there's no chance. "If I stop looking for them," he adds, "I'll die. I'll just sit down and waste away, or God help me I'll find a gun from somewhere and I'll blow my goddamn brains out. I know this is going to sound pathetic, but they're all I've got left. Even if I only catch up to them briefly, or I just hear from someone that they got away, I need to know they're okay. Once I've done that, there's nothing else I want in the whole world. I can..."

His voice trails off, but I figure I know what he was going to say.

"Are you gonna head north?" I ask.

"Got no choice. If that's where they went, then it's where I'm going too. I don't believe in miracles, but this once... What about you?"

I open my mouth to reply, but the truth is, I have nowhere to go. Sure, there's Martha out in California, but even if she survived all of this, there's no way I could ever hope to find her. She might have gone back to the farm, in which case she'll have found nothing but a set of burned ruins, and then what? If Joe and I had been smarter when we left, we'd have put some kind of message up for her, but then again it's not as if we even knew where we were going when we set off. Whatever we'd said, it would have been useless by now. I guess we could just have written goodbye, but at the time we were focused on hitting the road. Still, I figure I shouldn't spend too much time thinking about Martha. She's probably dead, anyway.

"I don't suppose you fancy making the trip north, do you?" George continues. "I sure could use that truck of yours. I've got a bad knee, did you know that? I'm a brave soldier and I hide it, but my left knee feels like there's razor blades tucked between the bones. Imagine me trying to make such a long journey on foot. I doubt I'll last more than a couple of days."

"I don't know," I reply. "I think..." Taking a deep breath, I try to imagine another long journey, but I'm too tired to even
think
about traveling anywhere. "I think I wanna stay here for a bit," I tell him, "and then head off somewhere else once I'm rested. I don't know how long."

"I can't stick around. Every second I'm here is another second that they're getting away. I figure I'll try to find out some more information about whatever direction they took, and then I'll strike out this afternoon. I'd like to say I'll keep in touch with you, boy, but we both know that's not gonna be possible. With the world as it is, I reckon there are gonna have to be an awful lot of goodbyes."

"It's okay," I tell him. "I understand."

"That little girl..." He pauses, and there are tears in his eyes now. "Katie's the most wonderful child you could ever meet. She's fearless and smart and kind. I know the world's in a terrible state right now, but I refuse to believe that anything bad could have happened to her. Maybe I'm naive, maybe I'm stubborn, but my granddaughter is too precious to fall victim to whatever the hell's going on. It doesn't make sense that someone as good as her would be cut down by this random misery. No god would allow it. It's not natural."

I want to argue with him, to point out that his granddaughter is almost certainly dead, but at the same time I don't want to take his hope. He's going to head off toward the horizon, looking for his family, and even though I'll never see him again I know that this is something he has to do. He's basically heading off to his death, but there's nowhere else for him to go. In a way, I admire him; he knows what he's going to do with the rest of his life, whereas I'm just stuck here with no reason to go and no reason to stay.

"Do you think it's all going to go back to normal one day?" I ask.

He smiles. "No chance."

"But at least a little bit?"

"You're not one of those idiots who thinks the government'll ride to the rescue, are you? There's no-one out there in a position to do anything. The whole goddamn system fell apart, and the most we can do is pick up the pieces. I'm sure some people are gonna do okay out of it. Probably the lunatics, like Ms. Quinn, while the rest of us fade away. I guess the building blocks of a decent world are still scattered all over the place, something for the children to play with, but the human race had its chance. It's over now."

"But that signal -"

"It's just a blip, or a malfunction, or some other kind of fuck-up."

"There has to be someone somewhere," I continue. "Someone's doing something, and maybe it'll help us all."

"We're cooked," he replies. "Maybe a few of us'll keep going, but we'll never get back to where we were. I have no idea how many people are left on the planet, but it could be as low as a few hundred thousand. Things'll probably get worse before there's a chance for them to get better, and that's without taking into account things like disease and infections. It's only been about six weeks, so there's still food left over from the old days, but when that starts to run out, I don't see many people surviving. There's gonna be mass starvation, including the people here." He pauses. "If you want my advice, you'll get out of the city, find yourself some land out of the way, and try to get by with subsistence farming. Maybe someone'll come along and help you out, maybe even a woman and you can think about bringing some children into this world. But that's really the absolute best you can hope for."

"When are you leaving?" I ask.

"As soon as I've done some asking around," he replies, getting to his feet and gasping as his knee cracks. "There's no time to sit around chatting. Just take my advice, boy, and don't hang around here for too long. The city's a bad place to be, and I don't trust that Quinn woman. There's something dangerous in her eyes. She might seem friendly, but she's crazy, and not the good kind of crazy either. If I were you, I'd get the hell out of here before sundown." He reaches out a hand. "I know we met in awkward circumstances, and I'm truly sorry for trying to blow your head off that time. It was nice getting to know you, even if it was only for a few days, and I wish you all the best."

"You too," I reply as I shake his hand. "I hope you find your daughter and granddaughter. They really might be out there somewhere."

He nods, but he clearly knows that there's no chance.

Once he's gone, I stay by the window for a moment. There's a part of me that's tempted to go with him, since we could cover so much ground if we used the truck, but I don't feel like going on a doomed quest. I need to come up with something, anything, that gives my life purpose, and then I need to make a proper decision. The craziest thing is, I'm starting to wonder if Joe and I should have just stayed at the farm. At least we knew the land, and if we'd worked together, we might have been able to grow enough food for us to survive. One thing's for sure: I definitely can't stay in the city. The people who cling to this place are deluded. The only chance for survival is to hit the road and, as George said, to find a new home.

Or, if not a home, then at least somewhere that offers some kind of hope.

The Bunker

"Shit," I mutter, holding the main cable in one hand while I reach around the back of the machine and try to blindly operate the secondary valve. It's a balletic operation that would reward someone a little more delicate, but gradually I'm able to turn the handle, releasing pressure on the pipe and reducing the intake load. Straining to look back at the meter, I watch with relief as the needle quivers a little and then finally moves back down out of the red zone.

Danger averted.

For now.

"Fuck!" I shout, as my hand suddenly brushes against the pipe itself, instantly burning the flesh around my wrist.

I instinctively pull back and stumble over some cables on the floor, which cause me to tumble against the desk. Just about managing to maintain my balance, I look down at my wrist and see that the flesh on one side is seared pink. It hurts, but I know it's going to hurt
more
soon.

"Fuck!" I mutter again, annoyed by my own stupidity. I'm always so careful. What if this mistake is a sign of mental erosion? I might be losing my mind, which in turn might lead to clumsiness and then problems with coordination, and finally I'll just make mistake after mistake until I end up killing myself through sheer stupidity. Still, I'm on top of the situation. I'm not crazy yet.

Glancing at my reflection in the mirror, I stare at myself for a moment.

"No," I say finally. "You don't look crazy at all."

Making my way to the supply cupboard, I search for some anti-bacterial wipes and finally I find an open packet on the top shelf. Even the slightest injury could become infected and then blow out of control, so I'm careful to cover the burn in three layers of gel. It stings, and I'm going to have a hell of a blister in the morning, but this approach is definitely preferable to dying of some goddamn stupid little scratch. That would be an absolutely pathetic way to leave this world.

"Just keep on truckin'," I mutter as I examine the wound. It's pretty bad, and it's clear that I've burned the flesh deep. I guess it'll hurt like a bitch for a week, maybe two, but all I can do now is make sure I never do something so dumb again.

After a few minutes, I wander back over to the computer and watch the screen as the signal continues to cycle through its three stages. Keeping this damn thing running is a constant struggle, but fortunately I don't really have anything else to do. Grabbing the tin of cold beans I was eating earlier, I use a spoon to scoop some into my mouth before giving up and just pouring the contents straight down my throat. Some of the sauce spills over my chin, but I don't care. It's not as if anyone can see me, anyway. I haven't been anywhere near another human being for forty-eight days straight now, and I don't expect to see one any time soon either.

Unless...

Leaning closer to the screen, I watch as the inbound IP tracer cycles through another scan. It's been twelve and a half hours since the last ping, but someone out there has sure as hell located the server. So far, all they're doing is pinging it a few times a day, almost as if they can't be sure that it's really here. I guess they're surprised to find that someone has managed to keep such a sophisticated rig up and running for so long, and I have to admit that I've done a damn good job. The problem is, pinging my server is only the first stage. Whoever this asshole is, I need him (or her, I guess, if I'm being politically correct and all that other bullshit) to actually come and find me. After all, how hard is it to triangulate a signal?

"Come on, motherfucker," I whisper, watching the screen intently. "Use your head. If you've got the intelligence to get a basic system running, you should be able to come up with my position and grab a few shovels. It's not rocket science."

Glancing over at the window, I realize that it's daylight again. Damn it, the nights and days just seem to sneak up on me. Sometimes I worry that I'm going just
slightly
crazy, which wouldn't be too much of a shock. Still, I've got my anti-crazy set-up arranged on the desk: a copy of
Ulysses
, a set of headphones for the computer, a notebook, and a pen. When things seem to be getting too much, I can just take some time out and try to calm my mind. Damn it, I wish I had some opera recordings, but that would just be too perfect. A man must suffer.

"It'd be so easy to go nuts down here," I whisper, staring at the desk. "So easy to just... flip out and become a total psychopath. Good job I'm -"

Suddenly, I pause.

"Was that out loud?" I ask, genuinely puzzled.

I wait.

"Huh."

Taking a deep breath, I realize there's a faint smell of rotten meat in the air. Looking over at one of the other desks, I realize I forgot to finish off the ham from yesterday. Damn it, at this rate, I might actually have to start worrying about my food supply before the year is out. I should probably tidy up, but I figure the bunker's probably about as neat as it's ever going to get. Besides, I'm the only one down here, and I got used to the stench a long time ago. I've got far more important work to be doing, so the plates of half-eaten food can just stay in place. Feeling a ticking sensation in my throat, I break into a coughing fit that eventually causes me to double over. I'm still not doing so good, but I don't have time to rest. Once I've brought myself under control, I resume my relentless gaze at the monitor.

I'll do some sudoku later. Just a few from one of the books I stashed down here, to make sure that I don't get lazy. And then I'll play a game of chess against myself. I need to keep my mind alert and sharp, because eventually I'm going to need to put phase two of my plan into operation. God damn it, I need to be sharp as a pin when someone finally finds this bunker.

I need to be ready.

"Come on," I mutter, desperately willing the system to show another ping. "What are you waiting for? I'm right here. Come and get me!"