by Cross, Amy
6am
Elizabeth
“I had the best catnap ever,” Natalie says as she comes into the locker room, almost bouncing along with renewed vigor. “Man, I'm really getting the hang of those. It's just, like, zoom straight into sleep and then, zoom, straight out again. I guess maybe it's got something to do with the lack of coffee and alcohol. How about you?”
She pats me hard on the shoulder and heads over to her locker, where she starts taking out some of her things. After a moment, however, she turns to me.
“Lizzie?” she continues. “You look troubled. Like, even more than usual. You always look like you're chewing on a wasp, but right now you've got that face again. Like it's an extra-large wasp.”
“I'm fine,” I reply, getting to my feet. “Are you ready? Markham and Stanovsky will be waiting for us.”
“What happened?” She puts a hand on my arm as I try to slip past her. “Don't tell me you're fine, Lizzie, 'cause I can tell that you're not. Something's wrong. Is it that guy you shot earlier?”
“I don't want to talk about it,” I reply, struggling to hold back tears. “We're supposed to leave our emotions here in the locker room when we go out onto the platform, right? So that's what I'm doing. In fact, for the first time, that's what I want.”
“You look like you're about to cry,” she says. “Then again, you look like that most of the time anyway. Something tells me you were like this even before the world went to shit. Am I right, or am I right?”
“We should get out there,” I tell her coldly. “We've got a job to do.”
With that, I slip out of her grip and head through the door, and then I make my way toward the door that leads to the platform. I have my rifle over my shoulder, and all I can think is that I want to get out there and not think at all for the next few hours. I want to forget everything. I want to become some kind of machine.
***
Warm morning sunlight continues to reach low and long across the yard, casting long shadows. Not too far from the main gate, the dead man's body remains on the ground, but so far there's not enough light for me to really make out any details. From up here he just looks like a smudge, although every few minutes the darkness seems to lift just a little. Soon I'll be able to see him properly. Soon I might even see his face.
I can't take my eyes off him.
It's as if the world itself is slowly uncovering the evidence of what I did. Of my crime. And it feels like a crime, even though everyone around me keeps telling me I did a good job. I'm usually really glad when morning comes, when the light chases away the darkness, but right now I want the darkness to roll back in and stay forever, so that the body remains hidden. Then again, I know I shouldn't hide from the consequences of my actions, so I keep my eyes fixed on the body.
While I was thinking all of that, a little more light has reached the corpse. It's wearing some kind of long white coat that's stained on the back with blood.
Suddenly realizing that Natalie has been uncharacteristically quiet since we came out, I turn and see that she's staring at the wall over her shoulder. Following her gaze, I realize after a moment that she's staring at the spot where that bullet hit earlier.
“Are you okay?” I ask.
She doesn't immediately respond. Instead she stares at the mark for a few more seconds, with a hint of intense concentration in her eyes, and then finally she turns to me.
“That shot missed my head by about three inches,” she says. “Maybe less.”
“You were lucky.”
“Lucky?” She pauses. “Remember about two weeks ago, when those assholes tried to storm one of the checkpoints?”
I nod.
“And they got a few shots off, didn't they?” she continues. “Like, bang bang bang, real fast.”
“Sure. I remember.”
“One of those almost hit me too.”
“I didn't know that.”
“I didn't say anything at the time,” she replies, “but I felt one of those shots go right past my ear. I mean, it could've hit me. And back when all this madness started, there were several times when I had a really close call. I almost died a dozen times in the past hundred days.”
“I think we all had some moments like that,” I point out.
“But I've had a lot!” she says, and now her eyes are wide with wonder. “I was counting them up, and I've had seven really close calls and another five that were pretty damn hairy. Don't you think that's a little weird? It's almost one a week!”
“What do you mean?” I ask.
“I mean maybe something's keeping me safe,” she continues. “I know this probably sounds crazy, but just hear me out. Nobody's as lucky as I've been lately.”
“We're all lucky to have made it this far,” I remind her.
“But my luck has been almost supernatural,” she replies. “It's been mind-blowing, it's been like something out of a comic book. When I realized we'd hit a hundred days of this madness, I suddenly understood that my survival has been damn near miraculous. I mean, it's almost like I've got a super power, and that super power is the ability to not get killed.”
“Okay,” I say cautiously, “I'm not sure where you're going with this.”
“What if I'm being kept alive for a reason?”
I furrow my brow.
“I'm serious!” she hisses. “What if I've got a purpose, and I have to stay alive so I can fulfill that purpose? What if the world has a job for me to do?”
“Are you talking about God?” I ask.
“No!” she spits back at me. “Don't be ridiculous! I'm talking about something, I don't know what, but something that's protecting me so that I can fulfill my destiny. I know it sounds nuts, but do you know what else is nuts? Surviving so many near-death experiences!”
“I think maybe you're getting carried away,” I tell her.
“Tell that to the bullet that should've hit me in the face a few hours ago,” she replies. “Tell that to the last bullet, that one that I think almost grazed my ear. Hell, tell it to that Edward Pitt asshole who took us hostage a while back. I've had so many near-misses, and they can't all be coincidences. I might not be able to explain it, but I can't deny it either.”
“By default,” I point out, “anyone who's made it this far must have had a lot of luck. I'm sure half the people here could say exactly what you just said. And I survived Pitt as well, remember?”
I wait for her to acknowledge that I'm right, but I'm not sure that she's actually taking on-board a lot of what I'm saying. She seems to have been seized by this sudden idea that somehow she's being protected, and for the first time I actually start to worry about her. She's deluded.
“We'll see if it happens again,” she says finally, with a faint smile. “I mean, that's the test, right? Crazy bad stuff is always around the corner, so I'm sure some asshole'll be shooting at us again before too long. Maybe I'm wrong and I'll get blasted to bits, but I'm not so sure about that. Lizzie, I think maybe I have a purpose. Like, I'm being saved for this destiny that I don't know about yet.”
“Let's hope we all get through it,” I reply, before looking back down toward the dead body again. “There's not a lot of -”
Suddenly I stop speaking, as I see that the corpse is much more visible now. I stare, hoping against hope that what I'm seeing is wrong, but then I get to my feet and head along the platform so I can get a closer look. Finally, squinting and peering down, I see the face of the person I killed.
It's a little girl, no more than ten or eleven years old.
7am
Thomas
“War, ladies and gentlemen,” Patterson says as we all sit listening to him in the abandoned gas station. “I'm not going to sugarcoat this for you. When we get to Boston, we're going to face all-out war with some fellow survivors who have made the wrong choices. The problem is that they heavily outnumber us, so we're going to have to be smart.”
He steps aside, and a woman named Sarah Carter comes forward to take his place. I'
ve seen her around a few times and I haven't spoken to her, but something about her makes me feel nervous. There's an iciness in her pale blue eyes, allied to a sense of calm confidence that seems so at odds next to the chaos of the world all around us. One hundred days into this nightmare, and most people are still trying to find their way, whereas this Sarah Carter woman seems almost to have been born for a moment like this.
It's as if this is where she truly belongs.
“Gasoline bombs,” she says calmly. “We have twelve, and by tomorrow we should have fifteen. We could have made more, but then we'd have risked diluting their effectiveness. Better to have fifteen good bombs rather than thirty damp squibs.”
“There's no such thing as a good bomb,” Toad mutters next to me.
“What was that?” Sarah asks.
He doesn't reply.
“I know what you're all wondering,” Carter continues. Even from here, I can smell the strong perfume that she always wears. “You're wondering how we can possibly take a city with just fifteen bombs and a handful of guns. Well, you're right to be skeptical, but fortunately we've been working on a plan. Mr. Patterson has been able to give us a good outline of the layout of the city as it currently stands, and we've got some good guesses as to where the Council will be located. All we have to do is take out the leadership level, and then we can move in and assume control.”
“You make it sound easy,” Taylor says, sounding doubtful.
“It won't be easy at all,” she replies, “and there will certainly be casualties. Fortunately, there's another part to our plan, a part that we haven't been able to divulge to you all just yet. We're going to be working on something for the next few hours, and I hope to be able to share more information with you shortly before we set off on the final stage of the road to Boston. For now, let's just say that we've been very fortunate. We've found like-minded groups who are keen to assist us.”
“Allies?” one of the others asks. “Do you mean we're going to team up with someone?”
“Patience,” she replies. “You'll find out soon. All in good time.”
“That's bullshit!” he continues. “Why do you get to know and we don't? Who put you in charge?”
“We're just sitting around doing nothing!” Taylor points out. “It's been thirty-nine days since we arrived here, we were supposed to be on the verge of going to Boston and then suddenly we had to sit here twiddling our thumbs!”
“All for a very good reason,” Carter tells him.
“And what reason is that?”
“A beautiful reason,” she replies with a faint, calculated smile. “When you see it... Well, if you see it, you'll understand. You might not get the chance, but hopefully you will. Let's just say that something has been happening a little way from here, something huge that has required coordination with other groups that are opposed to what's happening in Boston.”
“Could you be any more cryptic?” Taylor asks. “What's with all the secrecy? Why can't you just tell us what's going on? Is it anything to do with that zombie that showed up this morning?”
“There's a connection, yes,” she says, before suddenly turning and looking directly at me.
I meet her icy gaze for a moment, but then I have to turn away as I feel a shudder in my chest. I didn't like the way she was looking at me, not one bit.
“We're asking for your trust,” she continues. “We just need a little longer, but I assure you that soon Boston will be ours and the Council will be eradicated. We all have to stay focused and remember who our real enemy is here. We can't afford to turn on one another.”
I glance at her again, and fortunately she's no longer looking at me.
“Human civilization is rising again,” she announces. “We're the agents of its return, and it's going to be better than ever. I promise you all, one day we'll give thanks for what has taken place over the past hundred days. One day, everyone will realize that the past hundred days are the best thing that ever happened to humanity. We're going to turn this nightmare into an opportunity to make the world a better place.”
***
“Are you Thomas Edgewater?”
Stopping as I walk away from the building, I turn and see that Sarah Carter has followed me out. I left as soon as her little pep talk was over, and I was planning to go get some rest before I'm due to meet Toad for some guard duty, and I can't help but shudder again as Carter takes a step toward me.
“Bill Patterson told me about you,” she continues with a smile. “He told me you're one to keep an eye on. He's very impressed by you, Tom. He says that although you're young, you've got some good experience and you know what needs to be done. I can call you Tom, can't I?”
“People call me Thomas,” I reply.
“Never Tom?”
“I prefer Thomas.”
“What about Tommy?”
I stare at her.
“Fine.” She comes even closer. “Apparently you're a very intelligent young man, Thomas. Wiser than your years would suggest. I'd like to have a chat with you some time. Would you care to come to my makeshift little room? It's not far from here.” She places a hand on my shoulder. “I'm sure we could have a good talk. And maybe we could find something else to do as well. After all, it's always good to explore the full range of possibilities in any new relationship.”
I pull back.
“I'm busy,” I tell her.
“Too busy for a little amusement?”
“I'm really busy.”
She pauses for a moment, staring at me as if she's slightly annoyed. I can't shake the feeling that beneath her calm exterior, Sarah Carter is filled with a constantly-churning anger that she's always struggling to keep hidden.
“Apparently you noticed something with that creature that was captured earlier,” she continues finally, changing the subject abruptly. “Bill told me that you counted the gaps between its moments of anger. Something about eleven seconds?”
I swallow hard.
“Is that right, Thomas?” she asks. “Did you count an eleven second gap between its cries?”
“Yeah,” I reply cautiously. “I mean, I think so.”
“Hmm.” She stares at me for a moment. “Do you think that means anything?”
“I don't know,” I tell her. “I'm no expert.”
“But what do you think?”
“I really don't know.”
“Have you been thinking about it?”
“I suppose so.”
“And have you talked to anyone else about what you think?”
I shake my head.
“I think it's an example of a false pattern,” she continues. “Sometimes those occur in the natural world. They're things that seem ordered in the midst of chaos, and we humans tend to notice them very keenly. The problem is, they're not real. Well, they're real, but they don't mean anything. And this eleven second pattern is, I'm sure, very false. It's not something that you need to think about.” She pauses, eyeing me carefully. “Or talk about. Do you understand what I mean?”
“You don't think it matters,” I reply. “Sure. Can I go now?”
“It means I wouldn't worry my pretty head about it all,” she tells me. “You have other things to be worrying about.”
“Anything specific?” I ask, feeling more than a little annoyed by the way she's talking to me.
“There's a place for you in the new world, Thomas,” she says. “A smart boy like you can go places, you can rise and become very powerful. I don't mean to speak out of turn, but men such as Bill Patterson are rather common. Clever, intelligent, sensitive men such as yourself, on the other hand, are rare and valuable. I hope you'll start moving in the right direction, Thomas, and join us in our victories. If you do, I assure you that I'll do everything in my power to help you.”
I'm about to tell her that I don't need anything, but then I hesitate as I realize that there is one thing I want. Not that anyone can do anything about it, but still...
“Could you help me find someon
e?” I ask cautiously.
“Lost family members?”
“My sister,” I reply. “Her name's Martha Edgewater, she was in California when all of this started. And some friends, too. They're called Melissa and Katie, they're out near Lake Erie, or at least they were.”
“You miss them, don't you?”
I pause, before nodding.
“I miss people too,” she continues. “Before all of this happened, I took it for granted that I could pick up a phone and speak to everyone I cared about. Then suddenly we were all cut off from one another, weren't we? We were left to wonder, and that's the hardest part. If we knew what had happened to them, at least we could deal with it one way or another. But like this, with no information beyond what we see and hear for ourselves... Well, it's very frustrating, isn't it? Like constant torture.”
She puts a hand on my shoulder, and this time I let it stay there.
“Once we've taken Boston,” she says calmly, “I'll personally ensure that a well-equipped team is sent out to locate anyone you're worried about. How does that sound?”
“It's all I want,” I tell her, “and for them to come here so I know that they're safe.”
“Then it's a deal.” She lets go of my shoulder and then she holds a hand out toward me. “Welcome aboard, Thomas.”
“Aboard what?” I ask.
“The journey to power. To success.” Her hand remains outstretched. “Don't be a grunt, Thomas. Grunts are just grateful for whatever they can get. They pump themselves up to hide their inadequacies, like that woman earlier who got bitten. What was her name? McGarrigle? McGregor?”
“McGuinness,”I reply.
“Whatever. Who cares? She's gone now, and she'll be forgotten soon enough.” She pauses. “Don't be like her. Maybe you were a grunt in your old life, but now you have a chance to be more than that. And you'll be able to help not only yourself, but also anyone you care about. Starting with your sister and with whoever you want rescued from Lake Erie. Do we have an understanding?”
I pause, before shaking her hand. Her skin is so cold, I actually flinch.
