by Patrick Ness
“Do you have a key?” Tomasz shouts, pointing at the door to the deck. “Please say you have a key!”
“It’s open,” Seth gasps, his chest still throbbing. “Pull on it, wiggle the switch.”
There’s a crash as the Driver throws its weight against the kitchen door, nearly knocking the refrigerator away on its first try, but Regine’s already got the back door open. She grabs Tomasz’s hand and yanks him outside, yelling, “Come on!” to Seth.
He staggers to his feet as a second crash comes, knocking the top half of the kitchen door from its hinges. But it holds. For the moment. Gasping, still hunched over at the pain in his chest, Seth dashes out the back door after them.
They’ve already disappeared into the grass by the time he makes it onto the deck. He can see Regine’s head above the stalks, but Tomasz is only a current running through them, like fish near the surface of a lake.
Seth stumbles past the heap of silvery bandages – still there, still where he left them – and into the grass as he hears a more definitive crash from inside the house.
“Tell me there’s a way out,” Regine shouts back at him.
Seth doesn’t answer.
“Shit,” he hears her say.
They stop next to the ancient bomb shelter, its door long gone, its innards piled high with shards of pots and about eighteen million coat hangers. The back fence is high and wooden with no easy place for footholds, and the embankment on the other side only runs steeply up to another fence, impossibly high with barbed wire across the top.
“Where exactly is this?” Regine says.
“The prison grounds,” Seth gasps. “There’s another fence beyond that and another beyond that –” He stops because Regine and Tomasz are looking at each other in surprise. “What?”
“The prison?” Tomasz says.
“Yeah,” Seth says. “So what?”
“Oh, hell,” Regine says. “Oh hell, oh hell, oh hell.”
“HERE!” Tomasz shouts, pulling at a loose board on the lower corner of the fence. Regine and Seth go to help him, Seth wincing as he bends down, and they yank back two, then three boards. Tomasz scrambles through to the other side. They pull off a fourth and Regine pushes Seth through.
He turns to help her.
But she’s looking back at the deck.
Where the Driver now stands.
Through the hole in the fence, they can see her looking at it, see her turn back to face them.
See her eyes calculating.
See her not moving.
“What are you doing?” Tomasz says, alarmed.
“Go, both of you.” She looks at Seth. “Take care of Tommy.”
“NO!” Tomasz shouts, lunging back for the hole, but Seth instinctively stops him.
“Regine, that’s crazy!” he says.
“I’ll slow it down,” she says. “You can get away.”
“Regine!” Tomasz cries, pulling against Seth’s arms.
There’s a tearing sound as the Driver starts ripping through the tall grass, slowly now, almost leisurely, as if it knows it’s got them.
“Go!” Regine shouts. “Now!”
“Regine –” Seth says.
And Tomasz breaks from his arms, evading Seth’s grasp as he dashes back through the hole in the fence, avoiding Regine, too, as she tries to step in front of him. “Tommy!” she shouts.
But Seth can see him reaching into his pocket, see him pull out a small plastic cartridge, see his stubby fingers working frantically –
See the flame of a cigarette lighter as it dances in the air.
“Tommy?” Regine asks.
Tomasz drags the lighter along the edge of the tall, willowy grass, still brittle even after the rainfall, still very ready to burst into flames wherever Tomasz touches the lighter. He flicks it off. “Come!” he shouts at Regine, dashing back through the hole in the fence.
Regine looks at the rising flames, spreading so quickly that billowing smoke is already hiding the Driver. Seth sees her wait, motionless, for the smallest of seconds, but then she follows Tomasz through. They turn right, down the embankment, hoping there’s a way out at the end of the fences.
And they run like hell.
“That’s my lighter, you little thief,” Regine says as they run, Seth continually looking over his shoulder for the Driver, but the flames are now burning so high he can see them over the tops of intervening fences.
“That’ll spread,” Seth says. “Everything here will burn just like the other side of the tracks.”
“Sorry,” Tomasz says.
“I want my lighter back,” Regine says.
The space between the back fences and the steep embankment is too narrow to run on comfortably. They’re having to move as fast as they can with one foot flat on the ground and the other up a steep slope.
“It’s not following us,” Seth says, looking back again.
“Not yet,” Regine says.
They reach the end of the row of houses, bursting out into the parking lot of a small block of flats down from the sinkhole. Seth veers left, away from his own street.
“No!” Regine calls, out of breath. “We have to get away from the prison. There’s no chance of losing it if we don’t.”
Seth stops. “What? Why?”
But she’s already running in the other direction, up toward the sinkhole and the High Street, Tomasz right behind her.
“That’ll take us right by it!” Seth calls after them, but they don’t stop. “Dammit!” he shouts and goes after them, grabbing his still aching chest –
Still aching, but –
They run to the edge of the sinkhole and stop, crouching down. Tomasz peeks around the corner of an overgrown shrub. “Nothing,” he says. “The van is still there, but nothing else. Just lots of smoke.”
“Come on then,” Regine says. She dashes across the street, Tomasz after her, both exposed to the van for a quick, horrible second. Seth follows, glancing toward his house, but nothing is moving. They hide in the bushes on the other side of the street. “My chest,” Seth says, hand on his heart. “It’s –”
“We will go back to our house,” Tomasz says. “We can help you there.”
“Too far to go on foot with that thing after us,” Regine says. She turns to Seth. “Do you know anywhere to hide?”
Seth looks up to the High Street, thinking past all the smaller stores he’s been into and out of, all the way to the supermarket at the top of the hill.
“As a matter of fact,” he says.
“Dark in there,” Tomasz says, peering through the glass door of the supermarket after they’ve raced up the High Street.
“It’s perfect,” Regine says, nodding at Seth. “Good one.”
Seth looks back in the direction of his house, where smoke is still rising. “Do you think we killed it?”
“Death itself cannot die,” Tomasz says.
“It’s just a man in a suit,” Regine says. “It’s not death. We shouldn’t even call it an ‘it.’” She ducks inside and is lost in shadows almost immediately. Seth makes to follow her, but Tomasz remains firmly in place, biting his lip.
“Is dark,” he says again.
“Come on!” Regine calls from inside.
“We’ll be in there with you,” Seth says to him. “And you’ve got the lighter.”
Tomasz takes it out of his pocket, turning it over in his fingers. “Is not mine. Is Regine’s. She ask me to hold it for her.” He glances up at Seth. “As way out of temptation.”
“She said you stole it.”
Tomasz shrugs. “People ask for what they need in different ways. Sometimes by not even asking for it at all. What my mother always say.”
Regine comes stomping out of the darkness. “I’m serious, Tommy. The only thing in here that’ll hurt you is me if you don’t move your short little ass.”
“You smoke?” Seth says.
She stares at him. “That’s what you want to talk about? Are you kidding me with that
shit?”
“Come on, Tommy,” Seth says, turning to him. “We really do need to get inside.”
Tomasz looks surprised. “You called me Tommy.”
“I did.”
“I prefer Tomasz, please.’
“She calls you Tommy.”
“Is allowed. Is Regine. For you, Tomasz I like better. Is making more sense this way.”
He follows Seth and Regine into the darkness of the store. They walk back through the silent aisles, their feet sliding on the dust of ancient food scattered everywhere.
“This’ll do,” Regine says, turning to Tomasz. “Give me the lighter.”
“No,” Tomasz says, shaking his head. “You are done for the smoking, you said. No more smoking for me, says Regine.”
“It’s still mine, and I need to see if Seth here’s going to die of a punctured lung.”
“I will do it,” Tomasz says. He flicks on the lighter, holding it above his head to light the aisle.
“Not so high,” Regine says. “It can be seen from the front.”
“Oho,” Tomasz says. “All the advice now, but there is nothing when Tomasz is lighting the grass on fire and saving all our lives. Oh, thank you, Tomasz, thank you so much for your clever idea which lets us get away. Ow!”
He drops the lighter and sticks two burnt fingers in his mouth.
“Yeah,” Regine says. “Thanks so much, genius.”
“You are welcome,” Tomasz says through a mouthful of fingers. Regine starts patting around the floor in the gloom to find the lighter again.
“Why is this particular lighter so important?” Seth asks.
“Because it works,” she says, finding it and flicking it on. “These things are basically alcohol. You know how many hundreds I tried before I found one that wasn’t evaporated? Now, take off your shirt.”
Seth blinks at her.
“Your chest, stupid,” she says. “You’re walking and talking, so I’m guessing you’re fine, but we might as well see.”
Seth hesitates, suddenly shy.
Regine frowns. “We’ve already seen you showering.”
“And more!” Tomasz says.
Regine switches the lighter to her other hand. She gives him a mischievous look. “I’m not asking you out on a date or anything.”
“It wouldn’t matter if you did,” Seth says, the words coming out almost as a reflex. “I don’t date girls.”
Her face drops immediately. “You mean you don’t date fat girls.”
“No, that’s not –”
“I can see you thinking it. How can she still be so fat in a world where there’s hardly any food? How fat must she have been to start with?”
Seth starts to argue but stops. He didn’t think that. But it does beg a larger question. “How long have you been here?”
“Five months, eleven days,” Tomasz says.
“Long enough,” Regine says at exactly the same time.
There’s silence for a moment, as Seth doesn’t know what to say, so finally, he just says, “No, I meant I don’t date girls. Any girls.”
Regine holds up the lighter to look at him, understanding now. “So what you’re saying is, if we’re going to repopulate the planet, it’s up to me and this little Polish person?”
“What?” Tomasz says, confused. “What are you saying? I am not following.”
“He dates boys,” Regine says.
“Does he?” Tomasz says, fascinated. “I have long wondered how this works. I have many questions for you –”
“Just let me see your chest before he goes off on one,” she says to Seth. “Please.”
In the light of the flame, all they can see on Seth’s skin are the beginnings of a bruise and maybe some redness.
“How can this be?” Tomasz says. “It knocked you all the way across the room.”
“I know,” Seth says. “I thought I’d have ribs sticking out my back.”
Regine shrugs. “Maybe it didn’t hit you that hard?”
Seth gives her a look.
“I don’t know,” she says. “Just be happy.” Her voice has gone irritable again, and she starts making her way down the aisle, deeper into the store. “Is there anything here to drink?”
“You could be a little friendlier, you know,” Seth says. “We’re all in this together.”
She faces him, the flame shining off her sweaty cheeks. “Are we now? Because I thought me and Tommy weren’t really here. And if we’re not, then there’s not a lot of point being friendly to you, is there? Not when you make brilliant moves like the one back at the house that nearly got us all killed. Thank God for us not being there, eh?”
“But we are okay!” Tomasz says. “Thanks to myself.”
“Well, if I knew what was going on,” Seth says, “instead of all this stupid mystery –”
“You want answers?” she says challengingly.
“Regine,” Tomasz says carefully. “He is maybe not ready.”
“Nope,” she says. “He asked. So I’ll tell him.”
“Tell me what?” Seth says.
She stares at him, the flame flickering between them. “This world? This hell you think we’re in?”
“Regine,” Tomasz says. “Stop.”
But she presses on. “This isn’t hell, Mr. You’re Not Here So I Hope You Don’t Mind If I Kill You. Everything you’re remembering, everything you’re dreaming, every stupid little bit of life you can ever recall living?” She leans into the flame until her eyes look like they have their own fires burning in them. “That was hell.”
“It was not,” Tomasz says, firmly.
“It was and you know it,” she says. “But this here” – she gestures to encompass the store, the empty streets beyond, the Driver, which is still undoubtedly out there somewhere looking for them –“this is the real world. This here. This.”
She slaps Seth across the face. “Hey!” he shouts.
“Feel that?” she says. “That’s as real as it gets, baby.”
Seth puts his hand up to the sting spreading through his cheek. “What’d you do that for?”
“You didn’t die and wake up in hell,” she says. “All you did was wake up.”
She clicks off the lighter and heads into the darkness.
“Wake up from what?” Seth says, going after her.
She stops in front of the bottled water, her eyes wide. Without a word, she and Tomasz start searching through the bottles, holding them up to the lighter flame, discarding the discolored or empty ones.
“Don’t you have a supermarket in your neighborhood?” Seth asks, a little shocked at how vigorously they’re attacking the shelves.
“The big one near us is totally empty,” Regine says.
“Which leaves only small corner shops and markets called Something Express,” Tomasz says, drinking out of a bottle.
“But you’re only a couple miles away,” Seth says, taking a bottle and drinking, too, only realizing as he does how thirsty he is. “Didn’t you come looking?”
“Not with the Driver on patrol,” Regine says. “It’s all been undercover, house to house and keeping quiet and trying not to be seen. Which we did fine until today.”
“If that was my fault, then I’m sorry, but I’m getting a little tired of –”
“I need a smoke,” Regine says.
“No!” Tomasz says. “You will die! Your lungs will be as dark as your skin! Your brain will grow out of your eyes in tumors!”
“Well, that’ll be something to see,” she says, and heads back to the front of the store.
Through the doors, they can still hear the engine cutting across the silence of the neighborhood, but it’s comfortably distant sounding and nothing’s hovering around the entrance waiting to grab them.
“As long as we’re not by the prison,” Regine says, going to the cigarette counter, “I’m guessing it doesn’t care as much.”
“What’s so special about the prison?” Seth says. “And what do you mean about me wakin
g up?”
“Hold on,” Regine says from behind the cigarette counter. Most everything looks like it’s been torn to bits by rats, but after some scavenging, she finds a nearly whole pack of Silk Cuts. She rips it open like it’s the first Christmas present she’s ever received and taps out a cigarette.
“Regine,” Tomasz says, disappointed.
“You have no idea,” Regine says. “I mean, seriously, you don’t even have the first clue.”
She uses the lighter for its original purpose, the end of the cigarette sparking up in the gloom. She takes a deep, deep breath, holding the smoke in, and they can see her close her eyes tight against it, tears coming down first one cheek, then the other.
“Oh, Jesus,” she whispers. “Oh, sweet holy shit.”
Tomasz looks seriously at Seth. “It will kill her.”
“I thought you said we were already dead,” Seth says.
“No,” Regine says. “Not dead. Tommy’s wrong there.” She coughs and takes another drag, leaning one hand on the counter in what seems like nearly debilitating relief. “What a stupid day.”
“Regine,” Seth says impatiently.
“All right,” she says. “All right.” She takes another drag. “I’m going to tell him, Tommy. You okay with that?”
Tomasz drags one foot across the floor, drawing a line in the dust. “He will be shocked,” he says. “He will not want to know.” Tomasz looks up at him seriously. “I did not believe it. I still do not very much.”
Seth swallows. “I’ll take that risk.”
“Okay, then,” Regine says, taking one more drag, then stubbing the butt out on the counter, pulling out another to light up. She looks at Seth, holds out the pack, offering him one.
Seth absentmindedly gestures at the running shorts and running shirt and running shoes he’s still somehow wearing. “Runner,” he says. “We can do pretty much anything except smoke.”
Regine nods. And then she begins.
“The world,” she says, “is over.”
“Over?” Seth asks. “What do you mean, over?”
Regine sighs, the smoke curling out of her. “We think it’s over because we wanted it to be over.”
