by Cross, Amy
"I'm staked to the ground in a pit," he replies. "How the hell could I have been in there? I just heard your voices arguing. I'm not deaf!"
"You're too far away to have heard everything," I reply.
He stares at me for a moment, and the smile has left his lips, replaced by a look of concern.
"You were in there with us," I continue, "because you're in the mind of one of the people in the farmhouse, aren't you? You've already infected someone, but you've managed to pass unnoticed."
"You're a smart girl," he replies after a moment. "Instead of running off in a panic, why don't you sit down and talk to me properly, like two intelligent individuals."
"Who is it?" I continue. "Bridger? Thor? Patricia?" I take a deep breath, trying to think back to anything over the past few days that seems out of place. "It's Patricia, isn't it?" I say after a moment. "No, wait, she wouldn't have kept you down here. It must be Thor. He's quiet, doesn't say much, but sometimes..." I pause again as I realize that I have no idea which of the other people in the farmhouse might have been infected. Hell, for all I know it might be more than one of them. "Eriksen?" I ask.
The creature doesn't reply. He just stares at me, as if he finds me amusing.
"It's not Toad," I continue. "It can't be Toad..."
"How do you know it's not you?" he replies. "How do you know I haven't already infected you? Maybe I'm looking out through your eyes right now, and you don't even know I'm in your head?"
"I'd know," I say calmly.
"Would you?"
"I'd know," I say again, this time with more confidence. After all, if there was someone else in my head, I'd definitely be able to feel or hear them. "It's one of the others."
He smiles. "Good luck finding out. I could tell you, but then there wouldn't be any fun, would it? The best part is, while you rip one another apart and your little community collapses into fear and suspicion, I'll have a perfect, ringside seat for the whole thing."
I stare at him for a moment, before turning and starting to run back to the farmhouse. I can hear the creature calling after me, but all I can do is keep running. By the time I get back to the front door, I have to stop for a moment and work out what to do next. I can hear the others arguing inside, so I push the door open and slip into the kitchen. At first, no-one seems to even notice that I've arrived, but finally, one by one, they glance over at me. As the room falls silent, I realize that they've recognized the look of horror on my face. Patricia, Bridger, Toad and Eriksen are all waiting for me to tell them what's wrong, except one of them already knows.
One of them is already infected.
Thomas
Missouri
"What?" Joe asks, following me down the stairs. "Seriously, Tommy, what the hell's wrong with you now? You're acting all, like, fucking priggish and superior. You know who you remind me of sometimes? Mom. You remind me of Mom. How do you feel about that particular compliment, huh?"
Heading through to the kitchen, I stop for a moment, trying to work out what to do next. All I know is that that old woman can't just be left up there. She's clearly lost her mind, and it'd be inhuman and cruel to just head on out of here and leave her to rot in that bed. Still, as I hurry over to the drawer and pull it open to look at the knives, I realize that there's no way I can just go up there and kill her. I'm not that kind of person.
"You want me to do something about her?" Joe asks from the doorway.
"Like what?" I ask, trying not to let him hear that I'm scared.
"I know what you're like," he continues. "You're always banging on about doing the right thing, and I reckon this is right up your holier-than-thou creek, isn't it?" He pauses. "You want to put the old bitch out of her misery, but you don't know if you can actually do the deed. You talk the talk, but you can't actually do anything, can you?"
"We can't just leave her here," I reply, turning to him. "We have to do the right thing."
"Which is?"
"Ending her suffering."
"In other words, cutting her throat."
"No!"
"Then what?" He stares at me. "Come on, Bambi, enlighten me here. Tell me exactly how you reckon we can resolve this fucking situation in a way that doesn't hurt, upset or even mildly perturb anyone. I'm all fucking ears, kid, 'cause I don't reckon you've got any fucking clue!"
I take a deep breath. I know he's right, but I hate the fact that he seems to be so goddamn pleased with himself. I guess people never really changed: even after he's died and come back to life, my brother is still, deep down, an asshole. The biggest problem, however, is that even when he's at his most annoying, he has a habit of being right about things.
"Sometimes you have to do the wrong thing," he says eventually, "to do the right thing."
"That's bullshit," I reply.
"Killing's wrong," he continues. "I get that, I really do. Maybe God's up there in Heaven, watching down on us, and he's all, like, pissed off and angry that we'd even consider killing someone. Hell, maybe God's gonna turn green and start smashing stuff. Maybe all this crap that's happening, maybe it's God's way of saying everything's fucked up, and maybe by killing that old woman, we'd be making him even more mad." He pauses. "I figure it's worth the effort. If God's real and he's pissed off at me for saving some old hag from suffering any longer, well, I'm willing to take God's wrath. I'll sacrifice my good standing with the Lord in order to help another poor bastard out in her time of need."
I stare at him.
"Can you do that?" he asks. "Can you overlook your need to be a good boy, and do the right thing? Or are you gonna let that old bird suffer in pain, just so you can tell yourself you've still got a good relationship with the Lord? Are you that fucking selfish, Tommy?"
"You're good at killing people," I say after a moment. "It seems to come pretty easily to you. Remember that cop? Was that the right thing?"
"He had it coming to him."
"No-one deserves to die," I point out.
"Cops do."
"That's a bullshit answer and you know it," I reply. "You've always liked killing. Even when we were kids, you used to catch squirrels and mice in the barn and torture them. There's something wrong with you, Joe. There always has been, and there always will be."
"I'm dead," he replies. "It's a bit late for me to turn over a new leaf."
"The worst thing," I continue, "is that any time anyone actually points this stuff out to you, you just make some crumby joke and act like it doesn't matter."
We stand in silence for a moment.
"That cop was half-dead anyway," he replies eventually. "I mean, fuck, I basically just ended his suffering. My personal feelings don't come into it one way or another. Hell, the guy was probably grateful to me, just like..." He pauses. "Well, just like I was grateful to you when you bashed my head in. It's not your fault that things didn't quite work out as planned, but..." He takes a deep breath. "You know your problem, Tommy? You fucking think things through too much, and while you're doing that, you end up letting bad things happen. That old bitch should be dead by now, except she's gotta suffer a little longer while you go through some kind of fucking moral debate with yourself."
"I'm not a murderer!" I shout.
"You murdered me," he replies, fixing me with a determined stare. "I mean, how do you know I wouldn't have pulled through? How do you know that, in a couple of days, I wouldn't have sat up with a bit of an ache in my shoulder, and been absolutely fucking okay?"
"You wanted me to kill you," I reply, close to tears but determined not to let him see any emotion in my eyes. "You said it yourself! You were grateful!"
"Still," he replies coldly, "you were able to do it. So here's what I wanna know, Tommy. Help me out and tell me why I shouldn't be offended. After all, you were willing to bash my head in, but when it comes to some random old woman neither of us have met before, you're too timid and holy." He pauses. "I can't help thinking that maybe you wanted to do that to me," he adds. "Like, maybe you got a kick out of it. Maybe, a
fter all these years, you wanted to do it."
"Don't be stupid," I reply.
"Huh." He pauses. "Fine. I'll sort the old dear out." Limping over to the drawer, he takes out a large steak knife. "That should do the trick. Don't worry, I'll make it quick and painless. Well, as quick and painless as possible, anyway." He pauses for a moment. "Or are you gonna try to stop me?" he asks. "After all, if you've got a moral objection, then you should try to stop me, shouldn't you? Or are you relieved that I'm gonna do it, so you don't have to?"
I stare at him, but I don't know what to say. He's right, even if I can't admit it.
"What the fuck are you gonna do when I'm not around?" he asks with a smile, before turning and limping toward the door. "Stay down here, Tommy boy. I'll be back in a few minutes. Just gotta go and do the right thing by a scared old woman whose entire family seem to have popped off prematurely."
I wait in the kitchen, listening as he slowly makes his way up the stairs. After a moment, I hear him walking into the old woman's bedroom, and seconds later she starts to call out for help, begging Sara to run up and save her. I take a deep breath as I hear a loud creaking sound, as if Joe is getting onto the bed, and finally the old woman lets out an agonized scream that cuts off abruptly. There a heavy thump, and then I hear the floorboards creak again as Joe leaves the room. By the time he's making his way back down the stairs, I feel as if my mind is completely blank and empty.
"There," he says as he reaches the doorway. "There wasn't even much blood. The poor old hag was dried out like a fucking prune, but it's done." He pauses. "So out of the two of us, Tommy, which is the one who did the right thing today and which is the one who was weak and cruel?"
Day Sixteen
Elizabeth
Pennsylvania
"This is crazy," Bridger says, getting up from the table and walking over to the pitcher of water. "It's gone midnight. We're not going to get anywhere by sitting around here like this and staring at each other. No-one's infected."
"That's what an infected person would say, isn't it?" Eriksen replies, with his feet up on the table. Grinning, he looks over at Patricia, then at Thor, and finally at me. "Isn't it? Jesus Christ, you guys, have you all lost your sense of humor?"
In my arms, the baby lets out a faint gurgle.
"Maybe it's her," Eriksen continues. "Maybe the kid's infected."
"You're sick," I reply, unable to hide my disgust any longer. He's barely even held his own daughter, and now he's suggesting that she might have been infected.
"You think kids are immune?" he asks. "Seriously? If I was some fucking weird-ass sentient virus thing and I wanted to hide, I'd go for the newborn baby. Makes total sense, doesn't it?"
"No-one's excluded from suspicion," Patricia says firmly, clearly pissed off with Eriksen, "but at the same time, it's highly unlikely that the baby would be a carrier. She's had far less exposure than any of the rest of us. Granted, we don't know the mechanism of transmission, but let's not just to conclusions just yet, okay?"
"The voice of medical reason, huh?" Eriksen says with sarcasm dripping from his voice. "The world was full of fucking doctors and so-called experts, and now look at the fucking mess we're in."
"We all know who it is," Bridger says solemnly. "He's upstairs right now, and he's getting worse."
"It hasn't been twenty-four hours," I point out.
"So what?" He pauses, before turning to Patricia. "I went in to take a look at Toad earlier. The guy's sweating like a pig. He's getting worse and worse. There's no point waiting twenty-four hours, not when he could spread this thing to the rest of us. We need to take action. We need to put him out of his misery, and then..." He pauses.
"And then what?" Patricia asks uncomfortably.
"That thing you're keeping out in the forest," he continues. "We have to kill it."
"It's too valuable," she replies. "Our only hope for finding a cure is if -"
"There's no cure!" Bridger says firmly, exhibiting more passion than I've ever seen from him. "There's nothing! This whole world is just dying, and we're the unlucky ones who got to sit around a little longer than the rest and watch what happens! You have to kill that thing before we all get sick!"
"Try to be rational," Patricia replies. "You're acting on instinct. You're no better than a caveman. If we're going to get out of this situation, we need to be calm and logical and -"
"Screw that," Eriksen mutters with a laugh. "We've tried being calm and sensible, and now look at the fucking mess we're in." Reaching over to the table, he picks up pistol. "I can do it if the rest of you are all too fucking scared. I'll go up and put a bullet in his head while he's asleep. It's not like he'll even know that anything's fucking happened. He'll just never wake up. It's just like killing a chicken."
"We agreed to wait twenty-four hours," I say firmly.
"That was before the situation became so fucking urgent," Eriksen replies, getting to his feet. "I don't see why we should sit around and let that fucking disease get stronger and stronger." He pauses. "I'm going to put a vote to the group, and a simple majority carries the day. I propose that I go upstairs and deal with the Toad problem, and then I'll go outside and deal with that fucking creature, and then we'll decide where to go from there. Who agrees with me?" He raises his hand, and waits for the rest of us to do the same.
"No," I say, turning to Patricia.
"No," she says, staring down at the table, almost as if she's in a trance.
"I agree with Eriksen," Bridger says, raising his hand.
"You can't!" I say, shocked that he'd turn against Toad so easily.
"I'm just being logical about it," he replies. "We can't let one person put the whole group in danger!"
"What about you?" Eriksen asks, turning to Thor. "You've got the deciding vote, old pal. What do you reckon?"
Thor stares at him for a moment, before turning to the rest of us one by one until, finally, he looks down at the baby.
"I vote with Eriksen," he says eventually. "I don't like it, and I appreciate everything Toad's done for us, but if we're going to have even half a chance, we need to make tough decisions. This is the only way. All the evidence we have so far suggests that the most likely threat comes from Toad. We have to act."
"Then it's decided," Eriksen says with a faint smile, as he gets to his feet with the gun in his hand. "I guess I'll carry out the actions that have been chosen democratically by the group. I just want to say, first, that it gives me no pleasure at all to be doing these things. Toad was a good friend to me for many years, and although I hadn't seen him for a while before I rocked up here, I still hate to have to plug him. I'm sure he'd understand, though. This is the only right thing to do."
With that, he turns and heads over to the door.
"You can't!" I shout, standing up and hurrying over to him, with the baby still in my arms. Before I can reach Eriksen, however, Bridger grabs my arm and holds me back.
"Just let him do it," he says firmly.
"It's murder!" I shout, as the baby starts to cry.
"It's democracy," he replies uneasily.
"It's okay," Eriksen says. "Democracy ain't about pleasing all of the people. It's about pleasing the majority." He pauses for a moment, and a grin breaks across his face. "What matters is that the people of this place have spoken, and now we're going to -"
Suddenly there's a loud bang and Eriksen jerks back into the door-frame as one side of his head explodes, spraying blood and brain matter across the wall. As he slumps to the ground, I turn and see, to my horror, that Patricia is sitting at the table with a gun in her hand.
"Holy shit..." Thor mutters.
Calmly, Patricia stands up and fires at him, dropping Thor to the ground with a single hit to the chest. Without blinking, without even registering any kind of reaction at all, she turns and fires once again, hitting Bridger directly in the eye and sending him falling back against the wall. Turning to me, she pauses for a moment with the barrel aimed straight at me, and then
slowly she lowers the gun.
"I'm sorry," she says after a moment. "I had no choice."
Looking down, I see the bodies of Eriksen, Bridger and Thor on the floor. I take a step back, unable to suppress the sense of panic that's flooding through my body.
"They were losing their heads," Patricia says calmly. "Eriksen was always a live-wire, and Bridger and Thor were starting to be too easily led. If I hadn't done something, they'd have messed everything up. They'd have killed Toad based on little more than superstition, and then they'd have killed the creature, and I couldn't allow that to happen. All three of them had crossed a line, and there was no way back for them."
"That doesn't give you a right to execute them," I reply, staring at the gun in her hand. "You can't just... You can't take matters into your own hand like that!"
"Why not?" she replies. "Because we had a vote?" She pauses, and there's a barely-suppressed smile on her lips. "People can have all the votes they want, but if they end up with the wrong decision, it's up to the smarter members of society to put them in their place. If I hadn't acted, they'd have formed this little three-person voting bloc and they'd have pushed on with a series of increasingly dumb decisions until this whole place came crashing down, and then it would've been every man for himself. They were out of control. All I did was hurry things along."
"But -"
"I'm sick of being held back by idiots," she continues. "Seriously, those men were dumb. They were useful, sure, but at the end of the day, they were starting to cause more problems than they could solve. What was I supposed to do? Let them fuck everything up, just because we all had a vote about it?"
"But the creature," I reply, trying to decide whether or not I need to turn and run. "One of us is still infected!"
