Mass Extinction Event: The Complete Third Series (Days 46 to 53) (15 page)

The Bunker

"Bang," I mutter as I hold the rifle up, admiring its long, smooth barrel for a moment. I never used to be the kind of guy who liked guns. Hell, I was in favor of strict gun control. Now, however, with my life riding on my ability to protect myself, I find myself appreciating these fine weapons so much more.

Aiming at the hatch, I close one eye and peer down the scope with the other. For a moment, I try to imagine what it would be like to have some poor bastard right in the crosshairs. With a faint smile, I pull the trigger, although the gun only makes a satisfying clicking sound.

"Boom," I say calmly as I lower the rifle. "One more goddamn asshole out of my way."

Before I came down to the bunker, I stocked up with plenty of rifles, handguns and grenades. I've got enough weapons here to hold back a full army, and even though I doubt I'll have to face off against anyone with too much firepower, it feels good to be prepared. Placing the rifle on a table, next to the rest of my weapons, I take a moment to admire them all. Damn it, I feel like a kid in a candy store, and there's a part of me that actually wants some bastard to come and cause me trouble, so I can take a pop at him.

Once I'm certain that all my weapons are in good working order, I head over to the desk and pick up my copy of
Ulysses
. Just because I've become a man who likes firepower doesn't mean I'm not cultured. I've already read this particular book twice over the past month and a half, and now I intend to start again from page one. Joyce was always such a master of prose, and when I read his greatest achievement, I find myself idly wondering if perhaps I could write something just as powerful. The problem is, since there's no-one around to read anything I come up with, I find it hard to get motivated. I'll just have to be happy with the knowledge that in another life, I was almost certainly a literary genius.

Opening a bottle of whiskey - one of several that I saved for my long sojourn down here in the bunker - I pour myself a glass and then settle in a chair. After glancing at the laptop and checking that everything is more or less under control, I raise my glass in a mock toast to whichever poor souls eventually come and find me here.

"Cheers," I say with a grin. "Same procedure as every year!"

After taking a sip, I open the book and stare at the inscription on the first page. It's been so long since I received this beautiful gift, and it's hard to believe that the hand that wrote this inscription is now cold and dead. Still, love outlasts the soul, and I know that she'd be proud of me. In fact, these words of hers feel to me like the real start of the book, and I read them several times over:

To Jacob,

with all my love,

Annalise

If only she could see me now. Glancing at the hatch, I remind myself that someone out there is probably headed this way. When they finally arrive, I can put phase two of my plan into action. Until then, however, I've got nothing to do apart from eat, drink and read.

Sometimes, life is good.

Thomas

"Are you really going to come with us?" I ask, keeping my voice low as I sit with Kaylee.

She turns to me, but she seems a little dazed, as if she's not sure what to say. When she glances over at Quinn, who's still working frantically on the laptop at the other end of the room, I realize that Kaylee's problem is that she's not certain she's
allowed
to talk to me. I don't know exactly what's happened to her, but something's definitely wrong.

"She thinks she's found a signal," I explain, hoping to at least get some dialogue started. "She's trying to triangulate the source and then I guess we're gonna go and check it out. I guess I understand it, at least a bit. I think she knows what she's doing, but..."

My voice trails off as I realize I'm not getting anywhere.

After staring at me for a moment, Kaylee finally allows herself the faintest of smiles, although she still seems scared and uncertain.

"I've got a truck," I continue. "We're gonna use it, so we won't be too tired. There's enough gas to keep us going for about a week, and I figure that should be enough time." I pause as I realize that I'm not sure how I got dragged so deep into this situation. There's a part of me that thinks I should have stuck with George; no matter how stubborn or deluded he might have been, at least he wasn't crazy.

"I don't mind," she says suddenly.

"You don't mind what?"

"Whatever." She pauses. "Living or dying. There's no point to either."

"We might as well at least check it out," I reply. "If there's something out there... What if the world's not ending? What if someone's got a plan?"

"Maybe," she mutters, although she really doesn't seem to care either way. It's almost as if she's high on some kind of drug, although I think the more likely cause is some kind of post-traumatic stress problem. "It kinda... hurts to think about it," she adds. "I'm sure it's all gonna be okay."

"I can hear you two chatting away," Quinn says after a moment, not looking up from the laptop. "I don't mind you talking, but just be aware that I can hear every word." Finally turning to us, she stares for a moment, as if she finds something amusing. "I wasn't going to reveal this yet," she says, getting to her feet and heading over to a cupboard at the far end of the room. Opening the door, she rifles through a box before pulling out a sheet of paper and looking at it for a few seconds. "I don't want to freak either of you out," she continues, "but sometimes I have these very powerful dreams, and I like to keep a record of them."

As she comes over to join us, I can't help feeling that Quinn's madness is becoming more and more evident.

"Do you believe that dreams can tell us things about the future?" she asks. "I know this probably sounds a little cuckoo, but just hear me out. Do you believe that dreams are the mechanism by which our subconscious mind picks up on echoes from the future?"

I look over at Kaylee, but it's clear she's not going to answer. In fact, as she frowns, I realize she probably doesn't even understand what Quinn's talking about. She seems somehow disconnected from the world.

"Thomas," Quinn continues. "Did you hear the question?"

"Dreams are dreams," I reply, turning to her. "I mean, they're just stuff that comes up from deep in our heads. It goes in when we're awake, and then it comes out when we're asleep. All, like, jumbled."

"How quaint," she says, before turning the piece of paper around so we can see a crude sketch of three figures. "But if that's true, how do you explain this?"

As soon as I see them, I realize that the figures are Quinn, Kaylee and me. The likenesses aren't great, but there are enough similarities and, besides, the clothes are a perfect match. She's even written T, Q and K under each of us, as if she had some idea of our names. I'm not sure whether to be amused by the fact that Quinn drew this, or genuinely freaked out. Still, there has to be some kind of logical explanation. I'm sure as hell not about to believe that this crazy woman had an accurate dream about the future.

"This was from a dream I had on the very first night," she continues. "It was so powerful and vivid, I had to get an image down immediately. In the dream, I was setting out on a journey, and I had two people with me. When I woke up the following morning, most of the dream had already faded from my memory, but I had a strong image of the three of us. It's like it was some kind of vision, and even though I don't usually believe in such things, I kept the drawing in case..." She pauses, as if she's stunned by this development. "It must mean something," she adds eventually. "After everything that's happened, with all this chaos surrounding us, somehow a message has been sent to me."

I glance at Kaylee, but she's just staring absently at the piece of paper.

"Thomas," Quinn continues. "You can see that this is the three of us, can't you? There's no doubt about it."

I want to disagree with her, but I can't. Unless she whipped the picture up some time in the past few hours, it's undeniable that something seems to have caused her to draw us, and if the dream came so long ago... I've never been the kind of person who believes in this kind of thing, but I have no doubt that Quinn is telling the truth. It's either the biggest coincidence I've ever encountered, or it's a sign that something strange is happening here.

"It's our destiny," she adds with a smile. "It might even be the destiny of the whole human race. Maybe this all happened for a reason, and some kind of force is pushing us to the heart of that reason, and now we're on the cusp of uncovering something huge. What if it's -"

Before she can finish, the laptop lets out a brief buzz. Dropping the piece of paper, Quinn turns and races back over to it. Staring at the screen for a moment, she seems completely enthralled by whatever she's reading. She taps a few buttons on the keyboard, bringing up different windows, and although I'm still skeptical of pretty much everything she says, I'm starting to wonder if there might be at least a small amount of sanity at the heart of what she's doing.

"I've done it," she continues eventually, sound as if she can barely believe what she's saying. "I've found the source of the signal. To within a few square miles, anyway." After a few more seconds, she turns to me. "It's not even that far away. Someone's transmitting from somewhere along the shore of Lake Erie. Do you realize what this means?"

"We have to go there?" I ask.

"Not only that. We can be there in a day or two! We can find these people, whoever they are, and we can make contact." Grabbing a piece of paper and a pen, she starts making notes from the laptop screen. "Everything's coming together perfectly," she continues. "The dream, the signal... It's as if some divine force is guiding us to an endpoint. There has to be a reason, though. After all the chaos, order is finally being restored and..." She pauses, and then she turns to me again. "Order is being restored, and we're right at the heart of it all. The world is being reorganized in a new manner, and while the vast majority of people have been left to die, the three of us are destined to play some part in whatever comes next."

Hurrying back to the laptop, she closes the lid and unplugs it from the various wires that have been connecting it to the wall.

"There's no time to waste," she says, grabbing a bag from the desk and turning to us. "Thomas, fire up that truck of yours and let's get moving. I've got the directions, I already have some supplies packed, and if I'm right, there's some kind of force guiding us on our way. The future of humanity is waiting for us!"

***

A few hours later, with dusk starting to fall, we hit the road. Although I keep telling Quinn that we should wait until morning, she insists that we start the journey as soon as possible, and eventually I'm too tired to argue with her. With the truck packed, the three of us leave behind the sixty survivors, who have started to huddle around burning trashcans for heat. I want to ask Quinn what'll happen to them, but I figure I know the answer. They're going to die slow and painful deaths, probably starving or becoming dehydrated, or maybe the rats will get them. Quinn seems to excited to even care, but I can see that Kaylee understands the situation. Again, though, I'm too exhausted to argue, so we leave.

Quinn tells me that I have to drive.

As we reach the outskirts of the city, I glance toward the horizon and watch as the sun casts a beautiful red and orange glow across the desolate landscape. In the distance, a lone silhouette is walking slowly toward the north, and I realize that it's George, setting out on his lonely, doomed quest to find his daughter and granddaughter. For a moment, I consider telling Quinn to go to hell, and maybe joining George instead. Finally, however, I steer the truck onto a road that leads toward the east, figuring that we should stick to our plan and head to Lake Erie. Still, I keep glancing over my shoulder until finally George can no longer be seen.

The road ahead is dark.

Part Five

Day 50

Elizabeth

When I open my eyes, I immediately realize that something's wrong. My skin is cold and wet, and finally it hits me: I'm covered in a fine layer of dew.

Sitting up, I wipe beads of water from my face. I'm shivering, but I'm not sure if that's because of the high fever or the fact that I seem to have been passed out for more than a day. I'm simultaneously hot and cold, and I can barely even squeeze a coherent thought out of my head, but as I sit in the silent clearing I finally realize that something
else
is also wrong. I take a deep breath, but there's a sharp pain in my chest. Whatever's wrong with me, it's spreading.

Suddenly, there's a sound nearby.

Whatever it is, it's repetitive, and getting closer. Like a kind of rustling, or footsteps...

Turning, I see something moving in the distance, a dark shape making its way between the trees. I can barely even remember who I am, let alone how I ended up here, but finally the shape gets close enough and I'm able to make out a tall, well-built man with a small bundle of fabric cradled in his arms and some kind of cloth sack slung over his shoulder. He's making straight for me, and although I have no idea if it's safe for me to be here, all I can do is wait for him. Something about the guy feels safe and reassuring, but I'm still not certain...

I open my mouth to ask him what's happening, but no words come out. I try again, but it's as if my body is no longer fully under my control.

Feeling a faint pain, I look down and see that the skin around my right ankle looks to be swollen. I can vaguely remember something about this, as if deep in my memory there's a range of facts that make sense, but my mind is far too jumbled. Again, I try to ask a question, but again my mouth barely even moves.

"You're alive," the man says as he sets the bundle of fabric down nearby. To my surprise, the bundle moves slightly, and a moment later I see a small hand reach out. It's a child.

There's a name in the back of my mind.

Rachel.

I want to ask the man who
he
is, but I feel as if my head is burning.

"I wasn't sure you'd still be here when I got back," he continues as he places the sack next to me and starts pulling out various items. "Last night was much colder than I'd expected. There was a real risk of exposure, even with the blanket I left. I traveled as fast as I could, but it wasn't easy with Rachel in my arms the whole way. I never realized quite how tiring it could be, carrying a baby for such a long time. I've got no idea how you managed it."

Me? Did I carry her once? She's not my child, I'm sure of that.

Squinting a little, I stare at his tools. There are a couple of saws, along with some bandages and various other items I don't even recognize. I feel as if I know this man, as if I should be pleased that he's come back, but my mind is still a little foggy. Focusing on trying to remember his name, I hold my breath for a moment, but it's useless. I feel as if there's a fire burning in my body.

Nearby, the child lets out a gurgle. For some reason, this seems to reassure me.

"Are you okay?" the man asks.

I turn to him, but's it's difficult to focus on his features. Everything seems slightly blurry.

"Let's take a look," he continues, leaning closer and using his fingers to pull my eyelids back. There's a flash of light, as if I'm not used to having my eyes fully open, and I can tell from the look on his face that the guy is concerned. "Your pupils are dilated," he says after a moment, "one of them more than the other, and you're having trouble focusing, aren't you? The fever's getting worse. Can you even remember your name?"

"Eliz..." I whisper.

"What's that?"

"Eliz..." I pause, trying to get it right. "Elizabeth." I pause again. "Marter. Elizabeth Marter. I'm from Manhattan. My brother's... Henry..."

"That's good. And do you remember
my
name?"

I stare at him, but the answer won't came.

"What about her?" he asks, indicating the child nearby.

"Baby," I whisper, before I feel my mind start to clear a little. "Rachel... Is she okay?"

"Given the circumstances, she's great. She's been a little more responsive over the past day." Turning to my right foot, the guy reaches down and examines the skin. "I wish I could say the same for you. This is as bad as I feared, Elizabeth, maybe even worse. You're developing a serious infection, and even if we had access to the best medical science the old world could provide, I don't think there's much they could do at this point. You're going to have serious necrosis of the flesh around the wound soon. If I had to guess, I'd say this is a case of tetanus complicated by a tight shoe and maybe some other environmental factors."

It takes a moment, but I'm finally able to focus on my own foot, and that's when I realize that it's swollen to double its usual size, while the flesh has become a kind of black and green color. Taking a deep breath, I can feel pain throbbing through my body, but somehow I'm almost like an outside observer,
noticing
the pain but not really feeling it.

"I couldn't find everything I was looking for," the guy continues. "I went back to the farmhouse to pick up some things. It was the only solution."

"I thought you'd left me," I reply, even though the words barely even make sense. "I thought you'd..." I pause for a moment, trying to breathe steadily. "I thought you'd gone off without me."

"I'd never do that," he says, turning to his tools and arranging them on a small piece of cloth. "However, what I'm going to do next is going to hurt, Elizabeth, and I'm afraid there's absolutely nothing I can do about that. Believe me, I've tried to come up with an easier approach, but there's nothing. All I can promise is that the pain shouldn't last too long, and at least you'll have a good chance once it's over."

"Toad?" I say suddenly. "That's your name, isn't it?"

He turns to me. "That's right."

"What's happening?" I ask.

"You're sick."

"I know, but..." I stare at the tools. One of them is a large saw, while another is the same but smaller. "What are you going to do?" I ask eventually, starting to feel a knot of panic in my gut. "What are you doing to me?"

"The only thing that might save your life."

"What?" Instinctively, I try to inch away from him, although I'm not very mobile. "Tell me..."

"Your foot isn't going to get better," he explains. "It's only going to get worse, and once it passes a certain point you're going to end up with blood poisoning, and then you're going to suffer a slow, painful death. I've tried to come up with another approach, but there's no point delaying the inevitable. If you're going to stand any chance of survival, I'm going to have to take the foot off."

"What do you mean?" I ask, dragging myself a few inches away.

"I'm going to amputate," he continues. "That's why I told you that this is going to hurt."

I shake my head.

"It's the only way."

"No."

"The actual procedure won't take too long. I did something similar to a cow once. I know that probably won't make you feel much better, but if I work quickly it can all be over in a couple of minutes."

"You're not cutting my foot off," I tell him, starting to really panic as I realize that I'm not strong enough to stop him. I try to get up, but as soon as I put any pressure at all on my right foot, the pain is intense and I collapse in a fit of agony. "Please," I whisper as I try to get up again, "don't touch me!"

"I know what I'm doing. More or less, anyway. Once the foot has been removed, I'm going to fold the skin over and then bandage it properly. I can't lie to you, though. It's going to hurt, and then you'll have to endure more pain while it heals, but I think we can keep it clean. Dan Hodge's farm isn't that far away, maybe five hours. I was going to try to get you there first, but I don't think we can afford to wait a moment longer. As soon as the amputation is complete and I've bandaged you up, I'll take you there for recovery. It'll just be a few days -"

"No!" I shout. "No, I don't give you permission for this! You can't do it!"

"Do you want to die instead?"

"I thought you'd left me!"

"I almost did," he continues, "but eventually I realized... If Rachel and I had gone on without you, we might have had a marginally better chance of survival, but I'd never be able to live with myself. So here we are, and I hate to say this, but your opinion on the matter doesn't really count. You can't stop me, and I'm prepared to use force here. It's for your own good."

Reaching out to one side, I try to find a rock or a stone, anything that I might be able to use to defend myself. Rolling over, I feel a jolt of agony in my foot but all I can think about is somehow getting away from this maniac. As I try to crawl, however, I can already feel myself getting weaker and weaker, and after several minutes have passed I've still only managed to get a few feet away. Turning, I see that Toad seems to have finished preparing his tools, and finally he looks at me.

"It's time," he says calmly.

"No!" I shout. "No! You're not doing this!"

"I'm going to have to tie you down," he continues, pulling a length of rope from the cloth sack. "It's only to make sure you can't struggle once I start cutting. Please try to understand."

"No!"

"It's the only way, Elizabeth. You'll thank me later."

"No!" I shout again, as he comes around behind me and grabs my shoulders. Although I try to fight him off, I'm too dazed and weak to have my effect, and soon he's got my arms tied firmly behind my back, at which point he drags me across the clearing and uses a second piece of rope to tie me to the side of a tree. Even though I know I can't make him stop, I keep trying to get free, but finally I feel the last of the ropes being pulled tight around my chest and I realize that I can barely even move.

"This is going to save your life," he says eventually, holding a small piece of wood toward my face. "Here, bite down on this. It'll help with the -"

"Go fuck yourself!" I shout, still struggling to get free. He tries to put the piece of wood in my mouth, but I immediately spit it out.

"Elizabeth -"

"Help!" I scream, hoping against hope that there might be someone nearby who can hear me. "Somebody help me!"

"I'll make it as quick as possible," Toad says, turning and heading back toward his tools.

I keep screaming, even as he picks up the large saw. He pauses for a moment, examining the blade, and then he turns and starts walking toward me.