The Last Town

by Blake Crouch

  Theresa wrapped her arms around Ben as the first abby stood to its full five-and-a-half-foot height.

  It cocked its head and watched them through the bars, milky eyes blinking, processing, problem-solving.

  “What’s that thing moving inside its chest?” Theresa whispered.

  “That’s its heart, Mom.”

  “How do you—” Oh. Right. He’d learned about them in school.

  The heart beat rapidly, blurred and distorted through the layers of skin, as if Theresa were watching it through several inches of ice.

  This one’s legs were short, and standing straight, its arms reached all the way down to the floor. It slid its right arm between the bars—slim but rippled with muscle. It was over four feet long, and Theresa watched in horror as those black talons stretched across the floor of the cell.

  “Get away!” she screamed.

  The other abby came around the side of the cell and did the same. Its left arm was five feet long and when one of its talons grazed Ben’s shoe, Theresa stomped on its claw.

  The abby roared.

  Theresa pulled Ben toward the corner farthest away from the bars, where they climbed up onto the metal bed frame.

  “Are we going to die, Mom?”

  “No.”

  Three new abbies emerged from the corridor and broke for the cell, screeching and hissing. There were more behind them, the noise in the room growing and growing.

  Soon there were fifteen arms reaching through the bars, and more abbies hurling themselves at the cell.

  Theresa sank down onto the bare mattress and held Ben tightly in her arms.

  The light coming through the window had changed from blue to purple, the room becoming steadily darker.

  She put her lips to Ben’s ear and said over the noise of the monsters, “Think about another place, another time.”

  Ben trembled in her arms, and still more abbies streamed into the room.

  Theresa stared up at that high window as the monsters shook the bars and crashed into them and reached their hideously long arms into the cell.

  The last thing she saw as the light went away was the room beyond the bars packed wall to wall with abbies and one of them kneeling down in front of the lock, trying to dig its talon into the keyhole.

  Suddenly there was nothing to see. Night had fallen over Wayward Pines.

  And they were in the dark with monsters.

  ETHAN

  Ethan rode the elevator out of Pilcher’s suite to the Level 1 corridor. As the elevator opened, he could still hear gunshots, but they were distant now.

  He headed for the glass doors at the end of the hallway, pulling the pistol Alan had given him as he crossed through the threshold into the ark.

  It looked as if most of Pilcher’s inner circle had come down to see the source of all the commotion; at least a hundred people were milling about, confused and scared.

  The gunshots were louder here, the reports issuing from somewhere deep in the tunnel that led down through the mountain into Wayward Pines.

  There were dead abbies everywhere.

  Piles of them in the tunnel.

  Forty or fifty in the cavern.

  Blood running in channels over the stone.

  Five bodies, covered by sheets, lay in a row next to the entrance to suspension.

  The smell of spent munitions was overpowering.

  Alan came running out of the tunnel.

  Ethan pushed toward him through the crowd, saw Alan’s face speckled with blood, his right arm torn open by what Ethan surmised was the slash of a talon.

  The racket of an AR-15 fired up in the tunnel.

  Followed by a scream.

  “We’re pushing them back,” Alan said, “but there must’ve been two hundred abbies. I’ve lost men. The M230 is out of ammo. If we hadn’t had the chain gun, this would have gone a whole lot worse. Where’s Pilcher?”

  “He’s unconscious, tied up in his office.”

  “I’ll send someone down for him.” Alan’s radio squeaked. He answered, “Alan. Over.”

  Mustin’s voice crackled through the speaker, shouting above gunfire, “We just drove the last band out of the tunnel, but the door’s compromised! Over.”

  Alan said, “I’ve already got a truck heading down to you with sheets of reinforced steel and a three-man team of metalworkers. They’re going to weld the door shut. Over.”

  “Copy that, we’ll hold the line! Out!”

  Ethan said, “You can’t seal that exit. We have to get to the people in the valley. My wife and son are down there.”

  “We will, but we need to regroup, reload. I lost eight men that I know of. If we’re going to roll out in force into Wayward Pines, we better take every last weapon in our arsenal. We have to find more ammo for that chain gun.” His eyes became grave as he said, “And we can’t go out there at night.”

  “What are you saying?”

  “It’s already evening. It’ll be dark long before we’re ready to go. We’ll head into town at first light.”

  “Tomorrow?”

  “We aren’t equipped to do battle at night.”

  “You think the unarmed people in that valley are? You think my wife and son—”

  “We’d be slaughtered in the dark, and you know it. All that would happen is we’d lose the only chance we have of saving those people.”

  “Goddammit!”

  “You think I don’t want to scream into town right now, guns blazing?”

  Ethan moved toward the tunnel.

  “Where do you think you’re going?” Alan called after him.

  “To find my family.”

  “You go out there at night, the only thing that’s going to happen is you’ll get eaten. There’s hundreds of those things out there.”

  Two steps into the tunnel, Ethan stopped.

  “I can only imagine how you feel,” Alan said. “If it were my family out there, you wouldn’t be able to hold me back. But you’re smarter than I am, Ethan. And certainly you understand that your death tonight on some suicide mission isn’t going to save your family or anyone else’s.”

  Damn.

  He was right.

  Ethan turned, blew out a hard, frustrated sigh.

  He said, “So the residents of Wayward Pines get to spend another night in the dark, in the cold, with no food, no water, sharing that valley with a swarm of abbies.”

  Alan came toward him.

  Ethan could hear, far down the tunnel, more gunshots.

  Alan said, “Hopefully, those who survived the initial invasion have found safe places to hole up. Where’s your family?”

  “I left them in a cave, behind a locked door, halfway up a mountain.”

  “So they’re safe then.”

  “I have no way of knowing that. There’s a group in the school,” Ethan said. “Down in the basement. Eighty, ninety people. What if we just—”

  “Too. Risky. And you know it.”

  Ethan nodded. “What about the gate in the fence? Is it still wide open? Another thousand or thirty thousand abbies could just stroll right into our valley if they wanted?”

  “I had the lead technician look into that. He says we can’t turn on the fence from inside the superstructure.”

  “Why?”

  “Apparently, Pilcher sabotaged the internal system. Only way to power the fence back up and close the gate is through the manual override.”

  “And let me guess . . .”

  “It’s at the fence. Wouldn’t be fun if it were easy, right?”

  “I say we send someone,” Ethan said. “Right now.”

  “There’s a secret exit on the south side of the mountain. It’s only a quarter mile from there to the fence.”

  “Send that technician and a couple of guards.�
��

  “Okay. But while I do that . . .” Alan glanced over his shoulder at the crowd of people who had wandered into the ark. “They don’t know anything. They just heard gunshots and came down here to see what’s going on.”

  “I’ll talk to them,” Ethan said.

  He started toward the crowd.

  Alan called after him, “Be gentle!”

  “Why should I?”

  “Because this is the only life they know, and you’re getting ready to blow it all to pieces.”

  THERESA

  She jerked awake, her eyes opening to total darkness.

  Ben was stirring, mumbling, “No, no, no,” in his sleep.

  She shook him awake and whispered, “You’re okay, buddy. Mama’s got you.”

  It had been years since she’d uttered words like those to her son. Not since she’d been a young mother, rocking her baby boy to sleep, the window cracked in his nursery and the two of them lulled by the whisper of soft Seattle rain.

  “What’s happening?” Ben asked.

  “We’re still in the jail cell, but we’re okay.”

  “Where are the monsters?”

  It was unnervingly quiet, no sound of movement beyond the bars.

  “I think they’re gone for now.”

  “I’m really thirsty.”

  “I know, buddy. Me too.”

  “Isn’t there a water cooler behind the front desk?”

  “I think so.”

  “Maybe we could sneak out there, try to get—”

  “Oh, I don’t think that’d be such a hot idea, Benjamin,” said a woman in the darkness on the other side of the bars.

  Theresa recoiled. “Who’s there?”

  “Don’t you recognize my voice, honey? How could you not? You’ve been spilling your guts to me every fourth Thursday of the month for the last—”

  “Pam? Oh my God, what are you—”

  “I heard you two screaming a few hours ago, saw those abbies chase you into the sheriff’s station. I waited until they left. I’m so relieved to find you both intact. You have no idea. That was quick thinking, Theresa, locking yourself in here.”

  Theresa had expected some level of sight to return, but she still couldn’t see her hand in front of her face.

  Pam said, “I’m not quite clear on what happened here last night. Did your husband show an abby to the town?”

  “He told them everything. About the abbies. The surveillance. That it’s two thousand years in the future. That we’re all that’s left.”

  “So he really did it. That motherfucker. Hey, don’t look at me like that.”

  Theresa felt a cold knot ratcheting down in the small of her back.

  “It’s pitch black in here,” Theresa said.

  “Yes. It is. But I can see you holding Benjamin in your arms and glaring into the dark in the general vicinity of where I’m sitting, and I don’t appreciate—”

  “How?”

  “They’re called night-vision goggles, Theresa, and this isn’t the first time I’ve watched you through them.”

  “What’s she talking about, Mom?”

  “Ben, don’t—”

  “Benjamin, I’m talking about the time I caught your mother and father sneaking out of your home on Sixth Street, after dark. That’s strictly forbidden, you know.”

  “Don’t speak like that to my son—”

  “Don’t speak like that to the woman who’s pointing a twelve gauge at you.”

  For a moment, it was absolutely silent, Theresa trying to piece together the image—Pam sitting in front of their cell wearing night-vision goggles and aiming a shotgun at her and Ben in the dark.

  “You’re pointing a weapon at my son?” Theresa tried to ask it coolly, but her voice quivered, betraying the rage and the fear metastasizing inside of her.

  “I’m going to shoot him too.”

  All the strength left her.

  Theresa climbed onto her knees and tried to shield Ben with her body.

  “Oh please,” Pam said. “All I have to do . . .” She moved. Her voice moved. “Is stand up and walk over to this side of the cell. Then I have a clear shot again.”

  “Why are you doing this? You’re my shrink.”

  “I was never your shrink.”

  “What are you talking about?”

  “It’s truly a shame, Theresa. I liked you. I enjoyed our sessions together. I want you to know that what’s getting ready to happen to you and your son isn’t personal. You just have the misfortune of being married to the man who destroyed this town.”

  “Ethan didn’t destroy anything. He just told everyone the truth.”

  “That wasn’t his place. The truth can be a dangerous thing for the weak-minded.”

  “You knew, didn’t you?” Theresa asked. “All this time you knew.”

  “What? The truth about Wayward Pines? Of course I knew. I helped build this town, Theresa. I was here from the beginning. Day one. This place is the only home I ever had, and your husband ruined it. He ruined everything.”

  “Ethan didn’t open the gate. He didn’t turn off the fence and let all these monsters inside. Your boss did that.”

  “My boss, David Pilcher, created this town. Every house. Every road. He handpicked each resident. Each team member. Without him, you’d have been dead for centuries. How dare you question the man who gave you this life.”

  “Pam, please. My son isn’t responsible for any of this. You know that.”

  “You don’t understand, honey. This isn’t about holding you and Ben responsible for Ethan’s actions. We’re way past that.”

  “Then what is it you want?” Theresa could feel tears coming, panic descending.

  Ben was already crying, shaking in her arms.

  “All I care about at this point is causing your husband pain. Nothing more,” Pam said. “If he’s still alive, he’ll eventually come here looking for you, and do you know what he’ll find?”

  “You don’t have to do this, Pam.”

  “The two of you dead and me sitting here. Waiting. I want him to know I did this before I kill him.”

  “Just listen—”

  “I am listening. But before you start talking, ask yourself if you really believe you’re going to change my mind.”

  Down the hall, somewhere in the lobby, Theresa heard the faintest sound.

  Like a shard of glass splintering.

  Thinking, Please be an abby. Please.

  “Most of this town was killed last night,” Theresa said. “I don’t know how many of us are even left.”

  Another piece of glass crunched.

  Theresa raised her voice a notch.

  “But no matter how you feel toward my husband, how can you think that killing two of us who happened to survive is what’s best for our species? We’re on the verge of extinction!”

  “Wow, that’s a great point, Theresa. I hadn’t thought of that.”

  “Really?”

  “No, I’m just kidding. I don’t give a shit.” Pam racked a shell into the tube. “I promise I won’t make you suffer. And honestly? Take a second to look on the bright side. At least you two didn’t die at the hands of an abby. This way, you won’t feel a thing. Well, you’ll probably feel something, but it’ll all be over before you know it.”

  “He’s a child!” Theresa cried.

  “Oh, would you mind sliding me the key to the cell before—”

  The muzzle flash brightened the entire room.

  The sound was deafening.

  Theresa thinking, We’re dead. She did it.

  But she could still think.

  She could still feel her son in her arms.

  She braced for the pain to hit, but it didn’t come.

  Someone was saying her name, and over t
he ringing in her ears, it sounded as if the shouts were coming from the bottom of a deep hole.

  Something sparked, a point of light flaring in her field of vision, Theresa wondering, Is that the light at the end of the tunnel? Am I dead now, accelerating toward it? Is my son with me?

  It sparked again, only this time the light didn’t die.

  It grew brighter and brighter until a single flame ignited a tiny bundle of dried-out moss.

  It was smoking now, and she could smell the smoke as she watched hands lift the burning tinder off the floor. The flames illuminated the dirtiest face she’d ever seen, engulfed by a shaggy beard that must have taken years to grow.

  But those eyes . . .

  Even in the diminishing firelight and through all the filth and the wildness in that face, she knew them. And not even the shock of almost dying could rival the shock of actually seeing them again.

  The man said in a raspy voice, “Theresa! My love!”

  Theresa released Ben and lunged forward.

  As the light extinguished, she reached the bars and thrust her hands between them. She grabbed him, pulled him into the bars.

  Adam Hassler reeked like a man who had been in the wilderness for years, and as her hands slid inside his duster and wrapped around his waist, she could feel that he was skin and bones.

  “Adam?”

  “It’s me, Theresa.”

  “Oh my God!”

  “I can’t believe I’m actually touching you.”

  He kissed her through the bars.

  As Ben climbed off the bed and approached, he said, “I thought you were dead.”

  “I should be dead, little man. I should’ve died a thousand times over.”

  ETHAN

  He stood on the hood of Maggie’s Jeep, staring out at the hundred fifty faces that had gathered around him in the ark. It felt strange to look at this entire group, which for fourteen years had worked together to keep its fellow human beings, the residents of Wayward Pines, living in the dark.

  Ethan said, “Last night, I made a difficult choice. I told the residents of Wayward Pines the truth. I told them what year it was. I showed them an abby.”

  A voice in the midst of the crowd shouted, “You had no right!”

  Ethan ignored this.

  “I’m guessing none of you agree with that decision, and that’s not really much of a surprise to me. But let’s see if you agree with the decision David Pilcher made in response. He killed the power to the fence and opened the gate. At least five hundred abbies entered the valley in the middle of the night. More than half the town has been slaughtered. Those who managed to escape are stranded without food or water, and with no heat since Pilcher also cut off the power to the town.”