by Cross, Amy
Copyright 2015 Amy Cross
All Rights Reserved
This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, events, entities and places are either products of the author's imagination or are used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual people, businesses, entities or events is entirely coincidental.
First published: April 2013
as part of Mass Extinction Event: The Complete First Series
This edition: July 2018
One day, the power goes off and the world falls silent. And in two very different parts of America, two very different nightmares are about to begin.
In Manhattan, Elizabeth and her brother Henry are all alone in their parents' apartment. Looking out the window, they can see the carnage slowly spreading through the city. But as hopes fade for their parents to come back, Elizabeth and Henry discover that dangers might alread have entered the building.
Meanwhile, in Oklahoma, Thomas and his family live on an isolated farm. They too have noticed that something has changed, and a chance encounter on a deserted road leads to a moment of pure horror. An infection is spreading, and soon more victims begin to fall.
Table of Contents
Prologue
Day One
Day Two
Day Three
Day Four
Days One to Four
(Mass Extinction Event book 1)
Prologue
Three weeks ago
It starts with a man in a crowd at an airport. The kind of man no-one ever notices.
But he's used to not being noticed.
Shuffling through the sea of bodies, the man keeps his hands in the pockets of his light beige jacket. His fingers are wrapped around a pair of glass vials, each of which is airtight. The vials are just a couple of inches long and half an inch wide, but their contents have the potential to spread around the world many, many times over. It's almost as if the man has two entirely new worlds in his pockets, ready to release them at a moment's notice. He's been waiting for this moment for so long, and now it's finally here.
Most importantly, the glass of these vials is particularly thin; so thin, in fact, that even the slightest pressure could cause them to break.
The man hates people. He detests every other human being on the planet. That's why he created the virus in these vials, and it's why he's holding them so tight. As he's bumped and knocked by people in the crowd, he knows that at any moment one of these rude assholes is going to thump rudely into him and cause his fingers to break the glass of the vial. It seems somewhat poetic to have things happen like this, and the man can't help smiling as he continues to make his way through the check-in area. He's not here to catch a plane, though; he's just here to experience the rudeness and lack of thought of his fellow man.
"Out of the way!" shouts a businessman, charging through the crowd as he races to catch his flight. He slams into the man, who gasps at the thought that finally the vials might break. But they don't. Somehow, miraculously, the vials remain intact. The businessman merely scuttles off into the distance, leaving the man to watch him go. That was exactly the kind of rude, inconsiderate asshole who the man hoped would break the vials, but it doesn't matter. The world, the man reminds himself, is full of assholes. There'll be another one along any -
"Oh, I'm sorry!" says a woman, bumping into the man and shattering one of the vials in the man's pocket.
The man turns to find a blonde, middle-aged woman carrying a toddler in her arms.
"I'm so sorry," she continues. "I hope I didn't hurt you".
The man stares at her for a moment. This isn't quite how he expected it to happen, but it's too late to change things now. Besides, all that matters is that the first vial is broken. In his other pocket, he squeezes his fingers together and the second vial breaks.
"It's quite alright," he says, his heart pounding at the thought that all his work has finally paid off. "Please don't give it a second thought".
"Sorry," the woman mutters again, before pushing past him.
"Excuse me," the man says. "Can I ask... What's your name?"
The woman turns back to look at him. "Karen," she says, before pausing. "Why?"
"No reason," the man replies, pausing for a moment. "My name's Joseph," he says eventually.
The woman smiles politely. "Okay. Well, sorry again, Joseph". With that, she turns and hurries into the crowd, disappearing from view within seconds.
Taking a deep breath, Joseph stands and imagines the contents of the vial spreading through the airport. Carried in the lungs of everyone in the building, carried onto planes, carried through the air to other cities, and remaining dormant all the time until finally the right moment will arrive and people will start to die. The virus has been very precisely engineered so that it won't be noticed until it has spread all over the world. Smiling, Joseph turns and starts heading for the exit. He figures he might as well go and have one final drink at his favorite bar, and reflect upon the fact that the secret to immortality has turned out to be so simple: kill as many other people as possible.
Day One
ELIZABETH
Manhattan
"Hang on!" I say, tucking the phone under my chin as I carry the bottles of cola over to the sink. "Henry!" I shout at the top of my voice, hoping against hope that my brother will be able to hear me over the din of the laptop in the next room. He's watching some kind of cartoon, with the volume turned up to full. "Henry! Can you come through here for a minute?" I wait for him to reply. "Henry?"
"What's going on there?" my mother asks over the phone. "It sounds like absolute chaos".
"It's not chaos," I say, putting the bottles down and then sliding the kitchen drawer out to search for an opener. "It's cool, Mom. It's just that everything's happening all at once and... It doesn't matter. Did you have a good birthday?"
"Oh, delightful," my mother replies drolly, her voice dripping with sarcasm. "A whole night alone with your father. Wining, dining and whining. What could be more enjoyable?"
"That's nice," I mutter. "Listen, I wanted to say that I'm -"
"I swear," he continues, interrupting me, "your father goes out of his way to cause embarrassing scenes when we're out. Do you know how many times he sent his main course back to the kitchen?"
"I'm sure it was lots of times," I reply, "but listen, Mom, I just wanted to tell you that I'm -"
"Next time, he can cook his own fucking steak".
"Mom, I'm -"
"You should have seen the look on the waiter's face. So embarrassing, Elizabeth. I could have curled up and died right there and then".
I sigh. "But you had a good time, right?"
"Hmph!"
"Listen, Mom," I say after a moment, "I wanted to talk about what I said the other night, before you left. I didn't mean it. I'm -"
"Oh, Elizabeth, do we have to go over this now?" she asks, putting on her most tired-sounding voice. "We'll talk about it when we get back, okay?"
"Yeah," I continue, "but I just wanted to say that I'm -"
"We'll be home around three," she says firmly, as if to emphasize the fact that she really doesn't want this conversation to continue. "Do you think you can manage to keep things ticking over at home until then, Elizabeth?"
"Of course," I reply, searching through the kitchen drawer. "Where's the bottle opener?"
"Use the one on the wall," she snaps back at me.
Grabbing one of the bottles, I head over to the electric opener next to the fridge. I hate using the electrical appliances when we have perfectly good non-electric ones that people just keep misplacing. It's a total waste of energy. Then again, my parents have the time and
the money to buy every labor-saving device on the planet, which means our entire apartment is filled, wall to wall and floor to ceiling, with an array of devices that only seem to add to our stress levels. Convenience has never seemed so inconvenient.
"This airport is a fucking nightmare," she continues. "I don't know what's going on, but people are just so rude these days. I've almost been knocked over four times, and all I'm trying to do is claim my fucking baggage. You'd think people would be a little more considerate of one another's needs, but apparently not. Welcome to the modern world, where nobody gives a crap anymore".
"Henry!" I shout. "Can you get your ass through here?" I wait for a reply, but all I hear is the sound of his laptop. My brother is taking full advantage of our parents' absence, and he's spent all morning watching cartoons. He knows full well that I don't have the ability to force him to do anything, so he's going to go on his stupid little power trip and ignore every request I make of him. To top it all off, when our parents get home, he's the one who'll get treated like an angel, while I'll be told to tidy up. At his age, though, he should know better. "Henry!" I shout again.
"Don't yell at him," my mother says. "Yelling doesn't work with Henry. Do you know what works?"
"Years and years of consistently good parenting?" I mutter darkly.
"Don't try to be smart with me, Elizabeth".
"I wasn't trying to be smart," I say, hitting the button on the electric opener. For a second, it starts up, before suddenly the power fails completely. The lights turn off, the hum of the air-conditioning winds down, and the laptop goes silent as the router dies. "Huh," I say, looking across the gloomy apartment. "There's no power".
"What do you mean?" my mother barks.
"Elizabeth!" Henry screams from the front room. "Why's everything gone off? What did you do?"
"There's no electricity," I tell my mother again as I flick the bottle opener on and off several times. The whole apartment is kind of gloomy. "Where's the fuse box?"
"The what?"
"The fuse box," I say, walking through to the hallway. "We must have blown a fuse or something. Where's the box?"
"I have no idea what you're talking about," she replies haughtily, "and please watch your tone when you're speaking to me".
"I didn't swear!"
"I don't know where the fuse box is," she continues, stressing those two words as if they're completely alien to her, "and I doubt your father does, either. I don't think we even have one. Why would we? This is the twenty-first century, Elizabeth. People like us don't have fuse boxes, for God's sake. There's probably just one big fuse box for the whole building, so Giedo's undoubtedly heading down there to fix it as we speak. I'm sure you'll have power in a couple of seconds".
Sighing, I head through to the front room.
"Why's there no power?" Henry asks, staring at me as if I'm personally responsible for this latest fuck-up. He's sitting cross-legged in front of the laptop, leaning back on the side of the sofa. He's only sixteen years old, but Henry's already cultivated a very grand and very solid impression of his own importance. From the scowl on his face, you'd think the whole of New York had conspired to have a power cut solely to piss him off.
"There's a blackout," I tell him.
"Duh!" he replies. "I know that. Why's there a blackout, and how long's it gonna last?"
"I have no idea," I say.
"Tell him it'll just be a few minutes," my mother barks from the other end of the phone.
"You don't know that," I hiss back at her.
"Elizabeth," she says, "power cuts are very rare, and when they happen, they're fixed quickly. They have little people to work on these things".
"Who are 'they' and what 'little people' do they have?" I ask, marveling at my mother's understanding of how the world works.
"Jesus Christ, this isn't a third-world country," she sighs. "Tell your brother that everything's going to be okay. Okay?"
"It's okay, Henry," I say reluctantly. "Everything's going to be okay".
"Tell him Giedo's fixing it," my mother adds.
"Giedo's fixing it," I say with a sigh. "Probably," I mutter under my breath, as I turn and head back through to the kitchen. Something about this day just feels a little 'off' and I can't wait for it to be over. I hate it when my parents go away and leave me in charge; my brother's a spoiled little brat and I don't see why I should have to babysit him when all he's gonna do is sit around making demands and treating me like a piece of crap. "Is Dad there?" I ask. "Can I talk to Dad?"
"He's still in the bathroom," she replies. I stand and listen to the sound of pushing and shoving. There are some raised voices, and finally I hear my mother let out a loud sigh.
"Well, that's just wonderful!" she continues eventually. "Do you what just happened? Half a dozen men in military get-up just came running through the baggage reclaim room as if the whole world was on fire. They were carrying great big guns, slung over their shoulders and swinging about so much, they almost hit several people in the eye. It's as if they don't care about the people in their path. I can't believe what the world is coming to, Elizabeth. There's clearly no respect for anyone".
"I guess not," I say, flicking the light switch on and off a few times, with no luck.
"It's a miracle no-one got hurt," she adds. "They just came storming through here as if they own the place. Jesus Christ, you put a uniform on a man, Elizabeth, and he thinks he can do whatever he wants. If they -" Suddenly there's a brief click, followed by silence.
I wait for her to continue.
"If they what?" I ask.
Silence.
"Mom?" I say after a moment. "If they what?" I wait a few seconds, before I realize that I can't hear anything at all through the speaker. The line's gone completely dead. "Great," I say, putting the phone down and walking back over to the kitchen counter. It seems like this is one of those days where everything starts going wrong. I take the cola bottle from the opener and place it on the counter, before grabbing a small knife from nearby and using it to carefully slip the bottle cap away. Once that's done, I grab the other bottle and do the same; this time, however, there's a little more pressure holding the cap in place, and the knife slips out of the groove. The bottle falls over as the blade slices into my thumb just below the nail. Shocked, I pull the knife away and throw it to the ground.
"Fuck!" I shout, standing back and watching as the bottle rolls off the counter and smashes against the floor. "Fuck!" I shout again.
"Well done!" Henry calls through to me. "That was your bottle, not mine. You know that, right? I'm not having the broken one!"
"Fuck!" I say again, looking down at my thumb and seeing that I've cut a fair-sized gash straight through one side. Bright red blood is already starting to run down onto my hand, so I hurry over to the sink and turn the tap on. Sticking my thumb where I expect the water to come out, I wait for several seconds before trying the tap again. Nothing. I turn the handle all the way to the other side, but all that comes out is a brief, thin dribble that soon dries up. Meanwhile, my thumb is continuing to bleed heavily.
"Can you bring my bottle through?" Henry shouts. "Can you do it now? I'm literally dying of thirst in here!"
Ignoring him, I examine the wound on the tip of my thumb and see that it's quite deep. I must have gone almost through to the bone. Taking a deep breath, I force myself to remember that there's no reason to panic. No-one ever died of a cut thumb. Not in Manhattan, anyway.
"Elizabeth!" Henry calls out, sounding increasingly impatient.
"In a minute!" I call back to him, grabbing a piece of paper towel and wrapping it around the thumb. As I turn to carry the cola bottle through to my brother, I glance over at the window and see something unusual outside. I walk over and stare out at the Manhattan skyline, and finally I realize what's wrong: there's no power anywhere. All the buildings are dulled against the bright afternoon sky, and looking down at the street I can see cars stuck at the nearest intersection as they try to negotiate the
crossing without any traffic signals. It's as if all the electricity in the entire city has suddenly been switched off, and a blanket of calm has descended as far as the eye can see.
THOMAS
Oklahoma
Coming up around the back of the barn, I stop dead in my tracks as soon as I see Joe's truck parked out front of the house. It's been a while since Joe was last allowed to head into town on his own, but it looks like maybe he's been given the keys back at last. That's good. Having Joe confined to the farm was unnatural; Joe's the kind of guy who needs to be able to stretch his legs, and it wasn't fair of our parents to clip his wings just because of one small vehicular mishap. Besides, I miss going driving with Joe; it used to be just about the only fun thing to do around here.
"You just go straight there and back," our father says as he comes out of the house, limping slightly on his bad leg. He glances back at Joe's, who's just a few steps behind. "You don't go anywhere else. You don't take any detours. You got that? Just town and the gas station, and stick to a sensible speed. I've only this morning finished banging the panels back into shape after your last excursion, and it's not an experience I want to repeat. And don't forget to fill the tank back up before you come home. I don't want an empty truck sitting in the driveway, okay? There's other people besides you who need to use this truck".
Without saying a word, Joe throws his backpack into the rear of the truck, before heading around to the driver's side door.
"I asked if you understood what I just said," our father continues.
"I speak English, don't I?" Joe says, climbing into the truck and pulling the door shut. "I went to school every day like a good boy, so I know what all those fancy words mean". That's typical of Joe: he's always pretty sarcastic, especially when he's talking to our father. Deep down, though, Joe's a good person: he's got a heart of gold buried beneath that rough exterior. Other people maybe don't see it like that, but they don't know him well enough; he's my brother, though, so I can see right through him. He's cool. One day, I'm gonna be just like him.
