The Missing (37 page)

deer. The air felt good. His eyes saw best in the dark. From the top of the hill, he could see all the way to the highway clogged with cars. They weren’t moving. Pulled over, or out of gas. The people driving them had been killed where they sat during the night. He could smell their bodies. Somebody had gotten lazy and left plenty of gristle.

He wondered, briefly, if he was damned.

They got to the Dew Drop Inn. Wooden planks boarded its doors, but he could see light through the cracks. Ronnie pried the nails with his fingers. The boards came off, along with some of his skin. But even before it started bleeding, the wound was already healing. He opened the door. TJ Wainright was sitting all by himself at the bar. He smelled sweet as a suckling pig, and he was high, too. When Ronnie saw the chemical red in his eyes, he moaned. He wanted that pot so bad. He started to charge, but TJ lifted a gun from the bar and pointed it between Ronnie’s eyes.

Ronnie kept coming. He wanted TJ to shoot him. He was sick of being hungry all the time. He wanted this to end, while there was a part of him that was still human. Noreen held him back. “TJ, let me in, won’t you?”

Her voice echoed, and Ronnie could hear it not just in his ears, but in his mind.

TJ looked up, only his eyes were different. Noreen had gotten inside them. He looked at the gun for a cou- ple of seconds, like he knew he was doing something stupid but couldn’t help himself. Then he placed the gun on the bar. “That’s right, TJ. Noreen knows best,” she said. Ronnie got dizzy just listening to her. The virus was stronger in her than in him, he suddenly realized, which wasn’t good news. Noreen looked at him and smiled, like she’d just figured that out, too.

“We’ll all have a drink. I’m sorry about your boy- friend, TJ. But you had to do it. We understand,” she said, and TJ nodded: “He woulda bit me otherwise.”

Noreen lunged. Ronnie could smell TJ’s fear. TJ didn’t fight, or even scream. Noreen moved a little bit, so that there was space for Ronnie to nibble, too. He closed his eyes like it was just more spiders, or a squir- rel, and began. When they were done, it was like TJ Wainwright had never been. All that was left was his scalp, and few hunks of bone.

Soon, Ronnie would be like Noreen. His fingernails would fall out, and his skin would thicken. He wouldn’t be Ronnie Koehler anymore. Maybe even now, he wasn’t Ronnie Koehler. He thought about that, and wished, once again, that he was dead. But he was so fucking hungry.

That’s when she came into the bar. The gap between her teeth was gone, and so was her hair. He remem- bered the present he’d found on his welcome mat. He’d left it there because he’d been afraid that if he took it inside, she’d come looking for it.

He could see the blue veins under her skin. She’d grown a few inches taller, even though she didn’t walk on two feet anymore. She stood above all the rest. The virus was strongest in her, which was funny in a way, but mostly sad. He didn’t want to see her like this. He liked her, he realized. And that was sad, too.

Behind Lois were more of them. At least a hundred.

Probably more.

“Lois,” Noreen said like they were best buddies, still. She crawled across the floor on all fours, and kissed Lois’s hands.

Lois,
Ronnie thought in his mind,
I’m sorry
. He looked around at the crowd, hoping to find a friendly face, but there was a mean thing inside them, and it had

changed the way they looked. It was inside him, too, and he wanted to weep.

Lois came to him. Her ring finger was missing, and he wondered how many times a night she had to eat the stump to keep it from growing back.

He took a chance. He kissed the stump of her ring finger.

Lois stepped back and opened her arms. The others became still, and listened. “There’s too many of us. The animals are gone. The people are gone. There won’t be enough food left. These two have fed unwisely, and we must make an example of them.”

It happened fast. He and Noreen were holding hands. He tried to run, but Noreen wouldn’t let go. They con- verged on him. He wished Lois had killed him before now. Before he’d become this thing, and murdered a man. The floor of the bar groaned and split under their weight as the infected attacked.

Ronnie and Noreen fell into the cellar. Up above a sky of pale faces peered down at them. One by one they jumped down and began to feed. He felt his life leaving him, and wished that she’d killed him before now, when he had no soul to free him from this body. But at least, finally, as he took his last breath, Noreen finally let go of his hand.

T H I R T Y - T H R E E
‌

The Victorian

T

he women were waiting when Fenstad got home. Maddie ran to him, and he held her stiffly.

“Daddy, I’m so glad you’re safe. Did you see Enrique?” she asked. Her green eyes peered up at him like a kit- ten’s.

“No. I didn’t see him.”

Meg limped across the kitchen. He noticed that she was walking worse now than when she’d first gotten the cast. It was healing wrong because she wasn’t using her crutches. She needed it broken and reset if she ever wanted to walk without a limp, but there wasn’t anybody around to do that, except him. He winced at the thought of such a thing, or having to go back to the hospital for more plaster.

“I can’t get in touch with David to let him know, but we’ve got to get out of here,” Meg said.

Fenstad didn’t answer. Maddie let go and stood back so that the three of them formed a circle. It was dark out, and already Meg had heard sounds she didn’t like. The animals were gone, so who was moaning out the window? “I packed our clothes in a bag on the bed. We’ll stay with your parents in Connecticut.”

“We don’t have the gas,” Fenstad said.

Meg was leafing through the kitchen cabinets. She hadn’t taken a codeine all day, and her ankle was swol- len and hurting. Fiery sparks of pain radiated through her leg, all the way up to her groin. She filled a few jugs with water, and then started pulling cans from the pantry. Creamed corn, pineapple slices, tuna. In a pinch, they’d make a meal. “Go now,” she said to Maddie. “Get the bag you packed, and mine and Dad- dy’s, too.”

Maddie nodded solemnly and started out of the room. She looked like she’d aged ten years since flopping down the stairs this morning. Meg felt for her. All day she’d wanted to give in and look for Enrique. But what if they found him, and like the rest he was infected?

Fenstad didn’t help her with the supplies. He looked like he’d been crying again, which she knew was a bad sign. “The deadbolts were a good idea,” she said. He didn’t even nod. “What is it? What happened? Did you get Lila out of the hospital? Does she need to come with us?”

“Nothing out of the ordinary. Business as usual,” he said.

She cocked her head. “I doubt that . . . Anyway, we’ve got to get going.”

Fenstad didn’t move. “We can’t leave.”

“Christ, Fenstad! Look around. We’ve got to get out of here!” she shouted. Then something caught in her throat, and she tried not to cry. She lowered her voice. “I
can’t
stay here.”

“It’s a virus. It’s everywhere, Meg. By now it’s prob- ably global. Leaving won’t make a difference.”

She laid her hand flat on the marble counter so she could hold herself more erect. “This is the center. Ev- erything started here. We’ll be safer once we’re outside of it.”

He shook his head. “You’re hysterical. You need to calm down. The worst thing we can do now is get Mad- die upset, too. The worst thing we can do is travel like this, without a plan.” His diction, she noticed, was es- pecially stiff. He pronounced every word fully, and with equal emphasis.

“What’s wrong with you?” she asked.

He looked at her for a while, and set his jaw in dis- dain. “You’re the one with the problem. We can’t run from them. The second we step outside, especially at night. They . . . Don’t you understand? They
feed.
” His eyes got far away, and she could tell he was remember- ing something. She’d hoped all the rumors were false. She’d hoped he would tell her that all of this could be rationally explained. She knew for sure now that wasn’t going to happen.

Then he was smiling. It was a blank smile, like the real Fenstad had decided to take a nap behind those green eyes. “There’s no gas—you think you’re going to walk to Connecticut on that ankle? Hey, I know! We’ll pick a couple of guns up at the police department. They won’t need them—they’re all dead. Then we’ll walk to Connecticut in the dark. If it turns out my par- ents are infected, we’ll shoot ’em! It’ll be great. You’re a genius, Meg.”

Meg closed the pantry door.
What a jerk
was her first thought. Her second was:
He’s right
. Her plan would get them killed, or worse, infected. When she’d told Maddie they were leaving this morning, she’d as- sumed that Fenstad would take care of everything. She’d give the order, and he’d carry it out. He’d plop them into the car, and they’d arrive at his parents’ house by the sheer strength of her will and his wits. She could rest for a while. Snooze in the backseat, be- cause he’d drive. But none of that was going to happen.

She limped toward him. Her left leg slid across the floor. She hadn’t cleaned the kitchen since Monday, and her cast was black with dirt. This place was turn- ing into a sty. “So what do we do?”

He gritted his teeth. “For the last time, would you use your goddamn crutches?”

“Okay,” she said, and kept walking toward him. The musky scent of his sweat was strong. She liked that smell; it was specifically
Fenstad.
He’d been wearing the same jeans and shirt for four days now. It was strange, she’d made a point of leaving fresh shirts on top of his dresser.

“I’m not kidding. And take a codeine. It hurts just looking at you sweat like that.”

“I know,” she said, and now she was close enough. She leaned her head on his shoulder. He stiffened. She waited. He put his arms around her. To her own sur- prise, her eyes teared up. She held him tight. “I’m scared,” she said.

He rested his chin on the top of her head and took a ragged breath. They stood there for a long while. She felt her muscles loosen. He wasn’t acting like the man she’d married. The man she married never said a word in anger. Never, for that matter, said an angry word. Still, it felt good to be in his arms. It felt good to rest.

Finally she pulled away from him. “I don’t know what I’d do without you,” she said.

His eyes were red. He nodded, like he felt the same way, and she wondered how, over the last few years, they’d managed to drift so far apart, when between them there was so much love. “Tell me what happened to you at the hospital. Tell me what you saw,” she said. He looked out the window for a while, and she thought maybe she’d gotten to him. She’d cracked him. It was scary, because she wasn’t sure she wanted to see

him crack. She wasn’t sure she wanted to know what he looked like, when all his walls came down. “Tell me,” she said.

A tear rolled down the side of his face, and more than anything else, it was the tear that sent her pulse soaring fast enough to make her whole body throb. This had to be very bad. “The virus turns your mind. It knows the things that make you weak. Like about your dad. About me. I hit a woman, Meg. I hit my patient. I think . . . I’m suffering from a nervous br—” He was interrupted by a loud crash in the front hall.

They looked at each other, and Meg couldn’t help it. She sobbed. She’d heard there were looters who roamed at night. Worse things than looters . . . The bones on the lawn.

In the front hall, the stained-glass bay window had been shattered. A huge hunk of slate from their roof lay on the Persian rug. Fenstad bent down and examined it for a long time.

“What happened?” Maddie hollered as she came pounding down the stairs.

“We don’t know. Go back to your room. Lock the windows. Draw the curtains,” Meg said.

“Can I help?” Maddie asked.

“You can help by going to your room.”

Maddie frowned but didn’t resist. “I’ll be here if you need me,” she said, and started back up the stairs.

Lost in his thoughts, Fenstad didn’t look up from the slate. “How did they know about the German shep- herd? Did you tell them?” he asked.

German shepherd?
Meg swallowed. He held the slate loosely, like he might drop it, and she suddenly knew what he’d been about to say:
I’m suffering from a ner- vous breakdown.

Before she had the chance to finish that thought, the

doorbell rang. Like a robot, Fenstad turned the lock. “No!” she shouted, but he didn’t heed her. He opened the door. Graham Nero’s smile was wide, and his eyes were black. Even from far away, she could see her reflec- tion inside them.

“May I come in?” he asked. His tone was refined, but he stood on all fours, like a wolf.

“Holy God,” Meg whispered.

Fenstad looked from her to Graham Nero, and what- ever he was thinking, she didn’t like it. Then he did something foolish. Slate in hand, he stepped outside.

“What do you want?” Fenstad asked.

Graham grinned. He was drooling, and only his face was recognizable. The rest of him was pale and hair- less. “She invited me here. Told me to kill that dog, too. We’re running away together.”

Fenstad charged. Something flashed so quickly that she could hardly see it. Her mind put together the pieces and guessed what it was. The hunk of slate. He caught Graham off guard and plunged it through his chest. Gra- ham screamed. The sound was a high-pitched, wheezing bray of pain. Fenstad wiggled the slate and forced it in further. His face was sweating. She wanted to close her eyes, but she knew she had to watch. Fenstad was grin- ning. His smile was wide. He pulled out the slate. Gra- ham crawled across the lawn like a dizzy drunk. Fenstad brought the slate down again, this time in Graham’s neck. He pulled it out and brought it down again. And again. And again.

The sound was thumping, but not wet. You’d never know. You’d never guess. Meg wanted to close her eyes but she didn’t. This was her husband. She had to watch. “Stop,” she mouthed, because she didn’t care anymore about Graham, or even about their safety. She only wanted Fenstad to stop. She only wanted that smile to