13 Night Terrors

by D A Roach et al.

  Each other.

  About the Author

  Marissa Farrar is the author of more than twenty-five novels of several different genres. One thing her books all have in common is that they’re guaranteed to be dark, fast-paced, and filled with suspense. If you want to know more about Marissa, please visit her website at www.marissa-farrar.blogspot.com. You can also find her at her Facebook page, www.facebook.com/marissa.farrar.author or follow her on Twitter @marissafarrar.

  She loves to hear from readers and can be emailed at marissafarrar@hotmail.co.uk and to stay updated on all new releases and sales, just sign up to her newsletter! http://forms.aweber.com/form/61/19822861.htm

  The Day That…

  By Samie Sands

  The World Ended

  Miss Penley has given us this challenge for school. An essay titled “The Day That….” The rest of that sentence is up to us, as is the style of the work. Basically, we can do what we want with this project as long as we’re busy doing something. Keeping out of the way, I suppose, that’s the main job of kids these days.

  Of course, it didn’t surprise me that everyone leapt up with excitement at the idea and declared what they would write about: “The Day That The World Ended.” It’s all anyone can talk about anymore. The end of the world, the day people stopped dying and started becoming something else.

  Some say zombies, some say monsters, some call them “infected.” I don’t call them anything because I haven’t ever seen one. Or if I did see any in the beginning, before we came to this camp, then I don’t remember. My brain has successfully blanked it out completely. I can recall our weird neighbor, ol’ man Hank, insisting that we needed to go to a refugee camp and my mom agreeing with him. As a child, I had no choice in the matter, even though I didn’t want to leave my home. I argued and pleaded, only to be ignored. Then again, that hasn’t changed with the end of the world. It’s always been that way.

  Apparently, it’s “much better” that we’re here. That’s what Mom always says to me: “Gaby, it’s much better that we’re here,” like it’s some form of mantra. Sometimes I think she’s saying it to convince herself as much as me. I’m not saying it’s terrible in this camp, I’m sure it could be worse—I’ve heard all kinds of rumors about what happens “out there”—but it’s never going to be home, and no dressing it up will change that.

  Maybe I should write what the end of the world looks like to me in this place. That might be a slightly different essay idea. I might not remember the horrible bits from the beginning of the apocalypse, but I do know what’s going on around me right now. I know Miss Penley and the other children know what life’s like in this camp, so it’s a bit pointless. Still, I have to write something. Apparently grades still matter, and I’ve never liked to fail.

  The camp is big. I thought it was pretty cool at first, very organized and well laid out. There are tents for everyone to sleep in and some spares in case others join us, which they have done from time to time. Then there’s a big table set up in the middle of the field where they bring out the food rations each day to ensure the stock in the barn doesn’t run out. Some days we get good portions, other days not so much. I’ve found it’s easier not to complain because nothing can be done about it. There aren’t any places producing food anymore, so we have to live off what we can get. People come and go to get us more stuff, which is brave of them if the beasts “out there” really are as bad as I’m told. Mom doesn’t think I notice the brave people don’t always come back, but I do.

  Luke told me they get eaten, but Sara said they become monsters themselves. I don’t know if either of them is telling the truth, so I keep out of the conversations as much as possible. If Mom didn’t seem so hassled all the time, I could ask her, but I don’t want to stress her out worse than she already is. Even though before all of this, she always seemed tense, it’s worse now.

  Aside from school, life’s pretty boring within the walls of the camp. We all have to pitch in to do chores and help out, and while I understand that, I feel like I’m missing out on the chance to actually be a kid. There’s no playing, no laughter, no fun. It doesn’t help that age-wise, I’m right in the middle of all the other children. I’m almost eleven years old, and everyone else is either a lot older or quite a bit younger than me, leaving me pretty much friendless. There isn’t anyone I get along with.

  It kinda sucks.

  I miss Katie. She was my best friend in school, back when we went to proper school. We sat together in lessons, hung out at lunchtime, told each other everything. Unfortunately, we lived too far apart to play outside of school hours, but that didn’t matter too much. She was still the person I liked best in the world.

  I wonder where she is now. I don’t know, Mom doesn’t know, no one knows. It’s very scary. I think about her a lot and the rest of the people in my class. I wonder if they’re still at home or if they’re in camps like me. I don’t want to wonder what else might’ve happened to them because that’s unbearable. I don’t know if I’ll ever find out the truth. It’s weird to think this might be the way the world is now. Like, forever. This essay should be titled “The Day That the New World Started” instead. Maybe this is how things will be from now on. I don’t want it to be. I preferred things the way they were before, but I’m too young for my opinion to mean anything.

  I can’t wait to grow up. I think everything will be easier then. I can take action, change the world, fight to make things better. Adults don’t know how easy they’ve got it; they don’t seem to understand that people pay attention to them way more than anyone would me.

  I’m acutely aware that as a child, I’m more of a hindrance than a help. A pointless mouth to feed. I can’t do much now, but when I’m grown up, I’ll make up for it. I don’t know what I’ll do exactly, but I do want to be awesome.

  Unfortunately, that can’t start yet because Mom’s calling me. It’s time to wash some clothes.

  The New Girl Arrived

  I’m trying not to get too excited, but I can’t help myself. This might be the best thing to happen to me since all of this started. I feel all happy and funny just writing it down.

  Today, a new girl turned up at camp. She’s been “out there” for a very long time, and she wants somewhere to stay. That isn’t so much a shock in itself, we often have new arrivals, but this one’s different. Mainly because I like her, way more than anyone else here. Her name’s Mia, and I’d say she’s about fifteen or sixteen years old. Older than me, there are others closer to her age, but for some reason it was me she decided to talk to first. She has long, dark hair and very pale blue eyes. They could probably pass for white if you weren’t looking close enough. Her skin is soft and pale, and her lips are a dark pink. She looks like she’s wearing lipstick, but I don’t think she is. She’s very pretty. I want to look like her when I grow up.

  I won’t, though, because my hair’s blonde and frizzy and I’m short. Even for my age, I’m tiny. I don’t think I’ll ever have that sleek, glamorous look all truly beautiful women do. I suppose I’ll have to be better in other ways.

  But that’s not everything. The most impressive thing about Mia is that she’s blind. She’s survived “out there” with the monsters for months and months without even being able to see. Everyone whispered about her when she first came in, but not me. All I wanted to do was talk to her. She’s the sort of strong I want to be when I grow up. She’s given me something to aim for.

  “I’m Gaby Ward,” I told her proudly as I held out my hand for her to shake it. That was a little embarrassing when I remembered she couldn’t see it, but it didn’t matter because she gave me such a lovely smile I instantly forgot my error.

  “I’m Mia,” she told me. “It’s nice to meet you, Gaby. Thank you for coming up and speaking to me. I appreciate it. I’m sure it’s hard for you to trust new people.”

  I didn’t know what she meant by that, so I decided to say nothing about it.

  “Please, tell me more about this place.
It’s a relief to finally be somewhere safe, I can tell you that much.”

  “Didn’t anyone tell you?” I was shocked the adults had been so insensitive. Maybe they aren’t so perfect after all!

  “Not really. I think they were so busy trying to welcome me they forgot!”

  We shared a giggle, and that was the moment I knew I finally had a friend.

  I bypassed all my daily chores to sit with Mia and talk to her all afternoon. For once, I didn’t get yelled at about it. Mom must’ve seen I was doing a nice thing, or maybe she noticed the first smile on my face since we got here. At first, I talked a lot about me. I explained the layout of the camp to Mia and vented some of my frustrations about the things we have to do here, then eventually I started to get some information from her. I’ll write down the conversation as best as I can remember it, because I think it’s important to my essay now that I’ve changed the subject title.

  Mia: “When the virus first kicked off where I live, I was home alone. I didn’t understand what was happening. It was all so confusing because it was something very new, and I couldn’t see to help me with it. All I knew was that it was called the Brownsville Virus.”

  Me: “Brownsville? Huh. I heard it was called AM…something. Thirteen, maybe?”

  Mia: “It’s probably called different things everywhere. Same thing, different title. Anyway, I never would’ve gone anywhere if it hadn’t been for my mom. She works at a hospital, so I wanted to get to her before she got hurt.”

  Me: “Was that terrifying?”

  To me, it sounded horrifying. It made my “bad time” not seem so awful after all. Perhaps I’m luckier than I allow myself to believe.

  Mia: “It was, and I was weak. My weakness almost killed me more than once.”

  Me: “What do you mean?”

  Mia is already an inspiration. I couldn’t imagine her ever being weak. She’s one of those people who holds their chin high and commands respect. I want to be the exact same way one day.

  Mia: “I’ve always been weak. I’ve always allowed my blindness to rule me, to make me behave in certain ways. I was never well behaved in school; I wasn’t kind to the people around me. I guess I judged other people before they judged me. It sounds silly now, but I got so down because I was different that it made me weak and horrible.”

  Me: “Really? I can’t imagine you ever being like that.”

  Mia: “Well, I was. Even when I first left the house after the outbreak, I was so afraid, and I felt like I couldn’t last long because I can’t see, which was only confirmed when a couple of people found me, and they refused to take me with them because of my eyesight.”

  Me: “That’s horrible. How can people be so cruel?”

  That’s something I want to change when I’m old enough to be in charge. People should just be nice and caring to each other. I don’t know why that seems to be so hard.

  Mia: “It is, but in a way they did me a favor because I grew stronger and more determined after being rejected. Having other people see my blindness as a disadvantage made me want to be better, to prove them wrong. It must have done me good, because I made it all the way here by myself. I can’t see, but I’m still alive!”

  I wanted to tell her then I thought she was the coolest person ever, but I was too embarrassed to say it.

  Me: “Where’s your mom? Did you ever find her?”

  I could instantly tell I’d said the wrong thing, because Mia’s head dropped, like she had a big weight hanging off her shoulders.

  Mia: “I didn’t make it to the hospital, but from what I’ve heard from the few people I’ve talked to here, all the hospitals quickly got overrun, so I guess there isn’t much chance she’s still alive anyway.”

  That made me feel awful about all the times I’d acted badly toward my mom. She might make me do stuff I don’t want to, but we’re both still alive. I have to be grateful to her for that.

  I won’t let that happen again. I’ll be better for her from now on.

  Me: “I’m sorry. That’s terrible.”

  Mia: “I’m not thinking about the bad things anymore, only the good.”

  Mia’s determined and positive. I think that makes her a role model. We all should be writing our essays about her. I feel like I’m always ignored because I’m a child, yet I do nothing about it. But Mia had people be mean to her face about her eyesight, which is something she can’t change, and that only made her stronger.

  Mia: “So what is it you do around here all day?”

  Me: “Chores, mostly. It’s boring. School too. It gives my mind something to do, but it isn’t always fun. I think I like school better the way it used to be.”

  Mia: “It’s got to be better than being surrounded by the horrible stink of death! I’d much rather be bored than scared I’m going to die every moment.”

  Again she’s right. Mia has already opened my eyes to a lot of different things. Maybe if I’d met her sooner, I wouldn’t be so moody all the time.

  Me: “Yeah, I’m sure you’re right. I just wish I had a purpose. I hate feeling like a burden. I think people see me as this kid who needs feeding with our limited supplies. I wish I could be important.”

  Mia: “I know what you mean, Gaby. It isn’t easy, but you’re alive for a reason. You do have a purpose. You just need to figure out what it is.”

  Her inspiration burned bright in me, and that’s a fire that hasn’t dulled even now.

  Me: “Will you help me?”

  Mia: “Only if you help me find mine! I feel out of place here. I’ve been out there, concentrating on survival. I don’t know how I’m supposed to be in a place like this. I want to do something important too; I just don’t know what yet.”

  Me: “We’ll figure it out together. It can be our mission. Something fun, something we want to do, not washing, folding, cleaning.”

  Mia: “Something useful too. We both have a lot to offer…let’s show everyone what we’re made of.”

  So now I feel much better about things. I feel like I have something to focus on. A goal to achieve. It’s not that I don’t like having my school work to do, but I need something more. I need to become better. If I can’t be a kid anymore then I need to grow up. I need to start acting older, then maybe, finally, I’ll matter.

  I Finally Saw One

  I know this is becoming a collection of “The Day That…” essays now, and I hope that’s okay. I’m sure it’ll be fine. Miss Penley pretty much said we can do what we want with this project. Hopefully this counts as “taking the initiative” or “thinking outside the box.” Any of those words adults use to call something “different.”

  Anyway, I’m getting off point. Mostly because I don’t know how to describe what happened today in the right way. I guess I need to start at the beginning.

  Today started like every other. Mia and I were folding clothes after school and grumbling about how little action we’d taken on our plan to finally become something useful. The funny thing is I don’t mind being useless anymore. The longer I spend planning with Mia, the more I realize I don’t need it. I have all I need in my friendship with her. That’s what my life has been lacking.

  Mia does have to have it, though; I can see it in her eyes. So I continue chatting to her about it, acting like it’s what I want too for her benefit. I have a horrible feeling that soon, she’ll get so bored with the menial tasks and all the talking, she’ll ask about going on supply runs. That scares the living hell out of me. I won’t be able to relax if Mia goes “out there” again, even if she did survive it. What if she’s one of those who doesn’t come back? I wouldn’t be able to cope without her in the camp now. Her upbeat and strong attitude keeps me going. I’m hoping if we keep talking about it, that’ll be enough.

  We were working and talking, talking and working; nothing was out of the ordinary. There were no signs anything crazy was going to happen at all, no weird crow cries or eerie atmosphere. It wasn’t even a scream alerting us to the horror facing us, simply a m
ere whimper from Betsy, who sorts the food.

  “What was that?” Mia was far more alert to the sound than me. “Someone’s in trouble.”

  She took off running, and I wasn’t far behind. I had no idea what was going on. I don’t think I was totally convinced someone was facing danger, but I went with her to see. I think by this point I’d go about anywhere with Mia.

  Although, maybe not. If I knew what I was running into, I might have stayed far away. I never, ever want to see anything like that again. I wish I hadn’t seen it at all. I don’t think it’s an image I’ll ever be able to get out of my brain.

  A monster.

  Somehow, one of the monsters from “out there” got inside our camp. I don’t want to ask how. I’m scared to find out the answer. We’ve gone for months with no sign of trouble, and I’m terrified to know what’s changed.

  To be honest, I don’t even know if “monster” is the right word to describe the man. Or “infected.” I suppose “zombie” is the closest to what describes what he’s become, but even that doesn’t feel totally right. They don’t look like I always pictured zombies in my mind. This one had dark gray skin with black parts all over him, a bit like an apple with bruised skin. He had holes in his body too: one in his chest I could almost see right through and another through his leg, just below the knee. He had to drag his leg along with him as he walked, which made him look funny.