by Cross, Amy
“So why are you here now? Why not run back to your farm?”
“I'm tired, Thomas,” he says, putting a hand on my shoulder as, nearby, Jane lets out another angry snarl. “I can sit here for a while and keep an eye on things. But you can take a break for a while, Thomas. You don't have to see any more of this.”
12pm
Elizabeth
“You...”
Bob grabs the hilt of the knife and slowly slides it out from his chest. Blood pours from the wound, and it's clear that he's getting weaker by the second.
“You fucking little bitch,” he blurts out, his mouth filling with blood.
“Yeah,” I say, taking a deep breath to steady my nerves. “Well, so what?”
With that, I pull the trigger and shoot Bob straight in the center of his face. His forehead explodes and he falls backward, crashing into the cabinets before finally slumping down to the ground. His body twitches for a moment, but finally he falls still. Just to be absolutely certain that he's gone, I step forward, place the gun against his temple, and fire one more time. The other side of his head is blasted apart, with bits of bone and brain slopping down onto the ground.
“Fuck you, asshole,” I whisper.
And that's it.
No matter how many times I run that moment through my mind, there's absolutely no room for error. Bob Sullivan died that day, and I saw his goddamn head explode. Some of the events of the past hundred days might seem like a blur, but that particular moment is seared into my memory with such strength that I know I'll never forget. Bob is dead, and the dead don't come back to life, not the way I saw him today. Which means there's only one possible explanation.
Leaning forward on the edge of my bed, I put my head in my hands and try to focus.
I'm cracking up.
That's twice I've hallucinated Bob today, and both times the experience felt so real. It's as if I could have reached out and touched him, or picked up the odor of his sweaty cologne. Squeezing my eyes tight shut, I force myself to remember that Bob's long gone; in a way, however, that only makes me feel worse because now I know that I'm imagining the whole thing. What if, after a hundred days of this insanity, I'm losing my grip? What if this is only the beginning of something much more serious?
“Don't do this,” I whisper, trying to urge myself to stay strong. “Everyone else is holding up, you're not going to be the one who cracks. You've seen some bad things, but no more than the others. You're tough. You're strong. You can pull yourself together.”
As I say those words, however, I suddenly realize that I've begun rocking back and forth. Startled, I get to my feet and step over to the window, and I look out across one of the training yards. Rocking back and forth isn't exactly a classic sign of sanity, but I know I can pull myself back from the brink. I focus on watching the yard, as two figures make their way across to one of the other buildings. Everything out there looks so calm and peaceful, and I try to use that fact in order to anchor myself to some kind of reality.
For Henry.
I have to stay sane for Henry, and for Rachel too.
And then, suddenly, I spot a girl walking across the yard.
It's not just any girl, either. It's the girl I shot last night.
***
“Did anyone see her?” I ask, hurrying along the street at the far end of the yard. “Hey! Did you see a girl coming this way just a few minutes ago, wearing a white dress?”
Two men look at me as if I'm crazy, so I make my way past them. To be fair, they might have a point.
I keep telling myself that I can't have seen the girl, that it must just have been someone who looks a lot like her, but I have to know for sure. If I can just find her and prove to myself that it was a case of mistaken identity, I can calm down and stop worrying.
“Did you see a girl come this way?” I ask another man as he walks past me. “She was wearing a white dress. She's not very old, she's just a child.”
“Sorry.”
Suddenly hearing a roar overhead, I look up just in time to see the three helicopters racing across the city. No doubt they're heading out for another attack, or maybe just to check out the local area. I watch as they disappear into the distance, and then I look once more along the street. For a moment I feel lost, as if I'll never know whether I really saw the girl in the white dress, but then I realize that I have to keep searching. If I don't get an answer, I'm going to go crazy.
“It was just someone who looks like her,” I tell myself, whispering under my breath. “Lots of people probably have white dresses, even here in Boston right now.”
Spotting Violet up ahead, I head over to her.
“Hey there,” she says, sitting on the sidewalk and wiping her boots clean. “What are you up to one this fine day, Elizabeth Marter?”
“I'm looking for someone,” I tell her. “Have you seen a girl?”
Looking up at me, she uses a hand to shield her eyes from the sun.
“A girl?” she asks cautiously. “Any particular type of girl? Or aren't you picky?”
I look both ways along the street. It must be several minutes now since I saw the girl from the window, which means she's had time to wander off in any direction. Even with so few people around, finding her is going to be extremely difficult, but I can feel a sense of panic rising in my chest at the thought that she might be gone.
“Are you okay?” Violet asks after a moment. “You seem all hot and bothered. Did something happen? Apart from all the usual crap, I mean.”
“There was a girl,” I say, turning back to her. “She was wearing a white dress. Did you see her?”
“I can't say that it rings a bell,” she replies, before smiling. “Not unless you mean the girl you took down in the night.”
“Have you seen her?”
“Only when they were taking her out to dispose of her. I caught a glimpse.”
“Where exactly were they taking her?” I ask. “To the hospital?”
“The hospital?”
“She was dead, wasn't she?”
“She only had about half her head left. I mean, I didn't take her pulse, but I could see bits of her brain sticking out.”
“And she wasn't a zombie or anything like that?”
“I don't think so.” She furrows her brow. “Elizabeth, you're not making a whole lot of sense right now. Maybe you drank some dodgy water. Do you want to sit down and maybe take a moment to figure stuff out?”
“Where do they take them?” I ask.
“Where do who take who?”
“The men in the contamination suits,” I reply, trying to hide the fact that I'm getting increasingly frustrated. “Where do they take the bodies after they carry them away?”
“Are you sure you wanna know? 'Cause I found out a while back, and I wish I didn't.”
“It's a pit, isn't it,” I continue. “Somewhere outside the city?”
“It's about a mile that way,” she says, pointing along the street, “once you get past the inner boundary. I haven't been there myself, but I know the guys who dispose of bodies and they've told me about it. It's just a big open pit, and they toss the bodies in and leave them there to rot. Something to do with not wanting to contaminate the ground within the city by burying them properly, and also about scaring off anyone who comes near the city. Sounds pretty old-fashioned, doesn't it? They might as well stick the heads on poles to warn people.”
“They just throw them into a pit?” I ask, horrified by the idea.
“It's a restricted area,” she continues. “No-one's allowed out there without a contamination suit. I doubt it's a very pretty sight. I used to be curious, but now I know I wouldn't want to go out there, not for any money. It's one of the many things I like to pretend isn't real.”
I look along the street again, just in case there's any sign of the girl, but deep down I already know what I have to do. I need to prove to myself that I'm not losing my mind, which means either finding the person I mistook for the girl, or going
out there and seeing her body in the pit.
“Elizabeth?” Violet asks, still shielding her eyes as she looks up at me. “Are you sure you're okay?”
***
There are two men guarding the storeroom where the contamination suits are kept. They look pretty relaxed, and I'm not surprised. I doubt anyone really wants to steal much from a dusty storeroom filled with old boots and suits, so for the most part the two guys just get to sit around and talk. As jobs go in this city right now, that's not too bad.
But I need one of those suits.
I need to be sure that the girl in the white dress is in the pit. If I see her body, I'll know for certain that she's not miraculously up and walking around.
On my way here, I told myself that I'd simply distract the guards and slip into the storeroom, but now that plan is starting to feel a little flimsy. Exactly how am I supposed to distract them, and then how am I supposed to sneak inside without getting seen, and then how am I supposed to sneak out again in a suit? What seemed like an easy idea is rapidly turning out to be fraught with complications, but I know I have to find a way.
Okay, maybe if I -
“I think we need to talk.”
Startled, I turn and see that my father is standing right behind me.
“I got a report that you were seen acting strangely,” he continues. “Elizabeth, I think I know what this is about.”
“I talked to Diane,” I stammer, feeling a flicker of anger. “I know the truth.”
“I shouldn't have hidden it from you,” he replies. “That was wrong of me. Come on, let's go find somewhere a little more private. It's time for me to tell you what really happened to your mother.”
I open my mouth to tell him that I'm fine, but then that final word hits home. Why's he suddenly talking about my mother?
1pm
Thomas
I watch as two of the creatures tear the arms from a blood-soaked figure, while a third creature is already tearing at its torso. The figure is staring at me, and suddenly I realize that I recognize the wide, terrified eyes.
“Quinn,” I whisper.
I take a step forward, but before I can do anything I see her intestines being torn out, and although she's still staring at me, I know it's too late to save her. She opens her mouth, as if she's trying to say something, but finally her head drops as her guts spill out onto the mud. I freeze for a moment, unable to stop staring at the glistening meat as two of the creatures start tearing at it with their hands, forcing it into their mouths as fast as they can manage. After a moment, I spot movement and I realize that one of Quinn's hands is reaching up, almost as if she's still -
Suddenly feeling a sharp pain on my shoulder, I turn and find that one of the creatures has bitten into my flesh.
“No!” I gasp, suddenly opening my eyes and leaning forward.
I'm sitting on the ground, around the back of one of the buildings. I just came here to rest my eyes for a moment, but I guess I took a quick catnap. I don't remember the last time I actually slept properly, and I've been surviving on these short, sharp bursts of sleep. Unfortunately they usually come with vivid nightmares, and this time I was reliving the moment a month or so ago when I got bitten.
Reaching up, I touch my left shoulder and feel a twinge of pain. When the bite happened, I was so sure that I was going to die. Now I know that I have this rare immunity, which Carter reckons is shared by less than 1% of the population. I guess that makes me lucky, but nothing can take away the memory of teeth grinding through my shoulder, or of the fear that I felt when I left Melissa and Katie behind.
I should be back with them already.
Suddenly I feel something on my left hand. Looking down, I spot a couple of ants nonchalantly making their way toward my wrist, so I raise my hand and blow the bugs off. I swear, every day there are more and more ants around this place. If we don't move out soon and actually make the move to Boston, we're going to be overrun.
Hauling myself to my feet, I realize that my mouth is dry. Besides, if I sit here any longer I'll only doze off again, and I don't much feel like having any more nightmares right now.
***
“The current plan is to reach Boston next week,” Taylor is saying as I enter the old gas station, which has now been re-purposed to function as a general rec room. “The way I hear it is, we're meeting up with several other groups to take the place by force. Apparently some assholes in Boston think they've got the right to take charge of everything.”
I loiter near the doorway, hoping to glean some information. There have been so many rumors swirling around, it's hard to make sense of exactly what's going to happen next.
“These people in Boston have set themselves up as the saviors of the universe,” Taylor continues. “Of course, they want to be in charge, too. Funny that, huh? They've managed to get a nice little collection of guns and food, and they'll only share with people who agree to bow down and lick their boots.” He sniffs with derision. “When we all get there, they'll learn a pretty fast lesson about who's really in charge.”
Suddenly he glances toward me.
“Did you come here for something, Edgewater, or are you just eavesdropping for fun?”
“Sorry,” I mumble, turning and heading across the room.
“We can't have people setting themselves up as boss just 'cause they feel like it,” Taylor says with a sigh. “I think some folks need a refresher about how democracy actually works.”
“I heard we might be moving out much sooner than they're letting on,” Greer suggests. “That they're gonna spring it on us. Maybe even today or tomorrow. Apparently they're way more advanced with their plans than they've admitted, and they've been in contact with other guys who are also headed to Boston. When we're told to get going, it's going to be real sudden.”
“Water, please,” I say to the guy at the table where the rations are being kept. “Thomas Edgewater.”
He checks my name on a list, and then he hands me a bottle of murky-looking water.
“One left after that,” he mutters, “for the day.”
“I know.”
Turning away, I unscrew the top and take a drink. The water doesn't taste particularly nice, but it's the best we can manage right now. Patterson's got a team working on extracting and cleaning water from a local mud-pit, and mixing it with what little rainwater we've managed to collect. It might not be much to look at, but at least it's water
“I can't wait to get into action,” Taylor continues, before glancing at me again. “How about you, boy? You're not exactly the most promising specimen. Have you ever been in a real fight before?”
“I used to fight with my brother,” I tell him.
He immediately starts laughing, as do the other men sitting around with him.
“My brother was tougher than any of you,” I add, although I know I sound pretty desperate. “He always knew what to do in any situation.”
Well, that might not be entirely true. But these assholes don't know that.
“Is there really going to be a big fight?” I ask cautiously.
“They say there are a few hundred people in Boston right now,” he replies. “By the time we've met up with the other units, we should outnumber that, but obviously Boston'll have a strategic advantage. We should be able to take 'em, though. Apparently Carter and the others have got some kind of top-secret trick up their sleeves that the rest of us aren't allowed to know about.”
“Like what?” I ask.
“Like who knows? Must be something pretty crazy, though. There have been messages running from our camp to a couple of others, coordinating something. I also heard that one of the other camps managed to capture a scout party that had been sent out from Boston. They got a lot of information out of those folks before they killed them.”
“We're gearing up for war,” adds Stiles, one of the other men. “Those idiots in Boston won't know what's hit 'em.”
“Why do we have to fight at all?” I ask. “Can't we all w
ork together? I know that sounds weak, but we don't have the resources to waste fighting each other.”
“Tell that to the people in Boston who've been appropriating all the supplies in their area,” Stiles replies. “They think they're in charge of everything. They've got this group of leaders, they call them the Council, and apparently they sent word that we can all go and work for them if we like. And if we don't like it, then we all have to leave the area. Very friendly, right? So we're going to spring a bit of a surprise on 'em and then maybe offer them our own terms. See if they like that.”
The others let out a murmur of approval. They seem so keen for this war to get started, but I'm not so sure that I agree. As I take my bottle of water outside, I can't shake the feeling that we should be finding a way for everyone to cooperate. Instead, it seems like all the surviving groups are starting to turn on one another.
“Hey, Edgewater!” a voice calls out, and I turn to see Symons waving at me from one of the other buildings. “Carter wants to see you!”
“Tell her I'm busy,” I reply.
“She says you're gonna want to hear this,” he continues. “It's about your sister.”
***
“Where?” I ask, my heart racing as I try to process what I've just been told.
“Southern California,” Sarah Carter replies with a smile, as she peels off a set of plastic gloves. “I told you I'd try to help, Thomas, and I did that. There's a group in Southern California that's already well advanced with plans to get things back up and running, and one of their first tasks was to create a database of survivors. Only about five hundred people survived in the entire state, but it seems like the Edgewater luck has held out. Martha Edgewater is listed as one of those survivors.”
