13 Night Terrors

by D A Roach et al.

  I have to try.

  My World Came To An End

  I don’t want to write anymore. I don’t want to make a note of any of this. I’m only doing it because Mia asked me to. I guess she doesn’t want this time of her life to go unrecorded, even if it’s only going to be written in an essay that probably won’t even be read. Miss Penley could be out there as dead as the rest of them, for all I know.

  It was worse than I thought it was going to be when I pushed the barn door open. I expected it to be bad, I didn’t go out there totally naïve, but I didn’t think everything was going to be torn apart already. The camp I’ve lived in ever since the end of the world came is gone. The tents have been destroyed, the food table smashed, and dead bodies litter the ground as far as the eye can see.

  Death is something no one should ever have to see. It’s horrible; it affects you in ways you don’t think possible. I can’t imagine anyone coping well with such a sight, but it reminded me again of how young I really am. My brain can barely comprehend that image, and I have no idea if I’ll ever be able to move forward.

  Maybe I’m not in such a hurry to grow up after all…

  Despite the horror surrounding me, I put my head down and ran, thinking only of the people who needed me. I didn’t stop for even a second, thinking if I did, one of them would get me, and that was the last thing I wanted. I moved until finally I found Mia.

  I can’t keep writing this. I’ll have to tell her. It isn’t right.

  Okay, I’m back. Mia won’t let it drop. She’s insistent this is a story that needs to be told however much I don’t want to. Even my tears don’t seem to matter anymore, but I suppose my pain pales compared to what she’s going through, so I need to suck it up and do as she’s asked.

  I don’t know how to write any of this, so I’m going to get the facts out in the best way I can.

  When I found Mia, she had blood dripping down her tummy. I didn’t see it at first. I was so focused on trying to get her to come with me to the barn, the blood didn’t register. I didn’t like watching her fight, so I begged her to hide with me, to keep herself safe.

  As far as I was concerned, she’d been the hero already, too many times. She didn’t need to do it anymore. It wasn’t even that I wanted my shot; I just wanted her to be safe.

  Me: “Mia, we have to get out of here. It’s too dangerous. Come with me. We’ll hide until it’s over.”

  Mia: “No, Gaby, you hide. Look after yourself.”

  Me, with tears in my eyes: “Please, Mia, I can’t go anywhere without you.”

  “They” were everywhere, but I was purposely ignoring them. I knew as soon as I started looking at them, I would panic.

  Mia: “I can’t stop fighting. I have to carry on.”

  That was the moment I noticed something different about Mia. Her skin was paler than usual and slick with sweat, her voice was shaky, and she looked unsteady on her feet. My heart stopped. I felt sick.

  Me: “You’re panting. What’s happened?”

  I didn’t want to ask her because I wasn’t sure I wanted to know the answer, but at the same time, I had to be grown up enough to learn the truth.

  And that’s when I saw it. Mia twisted her arm around, and blood gushed from her wound. When it became obvious I didn’t fully get what was going on because my brain didn’t want to accept it, Mia pulled up her shirt, and I spotted a gaping, disgusting bite wound on her skin. The teeth marks were instantly obvious, but still I didn’t register what that fully meant for Mia. I was so scared to see my friend hurt at all. I dangled the gun downwards on my finger and grabbed onto her to pull her into the barn. She wasn’t going to keep fighting in that state. That was the one thought keeping me going.

  Me: “What happened?”

  Mia: “I got bit.”

  Me: “What does that mean?”

  I’m not stupid. I knew it meant something. I’d heard all sorts of things, but I needed to have it confirmed by Mia. I wanted her to tell me exactly what was going to happen and what she needed me to do about it.

  Mia: “I’m going to turn into one of them.”

  She said it so calmly, like it didn’t matter. Even thinking about losing my friend makes me want to scream, cry, and claw at my heart. It hurts me all over to know she’s going to die.

  Or not die, become one of “them.”

  How can Mia take that news like it’s normal? It kills me. I don’t even know what to do with myself, and I’m not the one who will lose my life.

  Although it isn’t all good news for me.

  Me: “What can I do? Is it the bite? Maybe I should…cut it off.”

  I don’t even know why I thought that. It just popped weirdly into my brain. I figured if I could strip her body of the wound, the virus would go with it…maybe. It was probably desperation talking.

  Mia: “You can’t. It’s too late.”

  Me: “No, I won’t accept that. I’m going to get help.”

  Mia: “Please, don’t leave me.” She sounded like she was going to cry. Her voice became quiet and childlike. “I don’t want to die by myself.”

  Me: “Well then, what should I do? I can’t just do nothing. I need to help somehow.”

  Mia stared at me intently. The powerful look she gave sent a shiver down my spine. I knew whatever she was going to ask next wouldn’t be what I wanted to hear.

  And boy was I right!

  Mia: “You have the gun, right?” My heart stopped dead in my chest. “You can use that to help me. That’s what I need.”

  Me: “Yeah, sure, here you go.”

  I handed it to her, even though I was terrified to see what she was going to do with it.

  Mia: “No, you. You have to do it.”

  Me: “Do what?”

  Mia gave me a pointed look. “You know what I need to do.”

  Me: “You want me to kill you?”

  Mia: “Eventually.”

  That isn’t the sort of thing one friend asks another to do. It just isn’t. How can she assume I’m okay with this? I’m not. I’m just a child. I’m too young for this sort of responsibility. I shouldn’t have it put on my shoulders.

  I want someone else to do it, but there isn’t anyone else.

  Me: “Mia, I don’t want to do this. I can’t.”

  Mia: “You have to, Gaby. I’m your friend. You’re my friend. The only one I have. You’re the only person I can trust to do this.”

  Me: “I can’t, Mia.”

  Tears flooded my cheeks. I couldn’t even glance down at the gun in my hand anymore. How did she expect me to raise it toward her and pull the trigger?

  Mia: “Not now. You don’t have to do it while I’m living. I’m too scared for you to shoot me while I’m alive, but maybe once I’ve turned, you can do it.” She said this like her death would make it easier for me. “You have bullets, and you remember our lesson, don’t you? Just take the shot and kill me.” She gripped onto my hand and stared deeply, blindly, into my eyes. “I’m scared to die now, but I don’t want to be left as one of them, either. That’s my worst nightmare. There’s no way I can stand it.”

  I haven’t answered her yet, and I think that might be why she wants me to write it all down, so I can work out in my mind what I’m going to do. All I want to do is rush out there to find someone else to take control of this horrific situation for me, but I can’t leave Mia afraid. I’m not that sort of person.

  It’s getting dark now. Night is coming. I don’t know how much time has passed, and that terrifies me too. Why hasn’t Mom come back for me? She knows where I am; I’m still in the barn where she left me. She better not be dead, too. I can’t lose everyone. I can’t be alone.

  I Wrote My Suicide Note

  To think when I started writing this essay, I was annoyed over petty things. I didn’t like doing chores, I was sick of school, I hated everyone around me, I was annoyed at Mom…

  How easy it was then. If only I’d known that I was blessed, that I was lucky. What a fool I was. I
t’s a shame it’s taken for me to lose absolutely everything for me to learn what I once had.

  I had no idea this dumb “The Day That…” project would turn into me saying goodbye to the world, but that’s what happening right now. Witnessing my best friend die the most agonizing death ever, to see her turn from a human into a monster, was horrific. I can’t even think of the words to describe it. She transformed; she became this horrible, ugly beast, all while screaming in sheer pain. She wasn’t Mia anymore. As it happened, she lost every aspect of herself and became a terrifying monster that wanted nothing more than to kill me and everyone else left alive. Her teeth bared, her skin lost some of its color, she couldn’t do anything but growl.

  I don’t want that for myself.

  The darker the room gets, the more I can see myself becoming the same. The more the image of “zombie me” becomes ingrained into my mind, the less I can cope with being alive anymore. I just want an end to it before the end is forced upon me. I can’t deal with any of this anymore. It’s too damn hard.

  I killed Mia, and now I need to kill me, too.

  Tears poured down my face, a scream lodged itself in my throat, and my hands shook wildly as I aimed the gun toward the zombie that used to be my best friend. I knew in that moment I was no badass. I couldn’t take one small gun lesson and become someone strong, someone who could defend myself. I was as weak and cowardly as I had been before.

  But it was what Mia wanted. She would do the same for me. Anything I asked of her, she would’ve done. It was her last request from me as she lay on her deathbed, and I felt compelled to do it.

  I missed the first time.

  I pulled the trigger in the way I thought was right, although my memory wasn’t great considering it was so swallowed up with shock. I don’t think I got the foot position right, and the gun flew wildly in my hand. That one miss could’ve stopped me from trying if I let it, but Mia’s contorted, gross face convinced me to carry on.

  The second time, I hit her arm with the bullet. It didn’t help, but it did stop Mia from getting up for a moment, giving me a second to compose myself.

  Deep breaths, in…out.

  The third bullet surprised both of us by smashing through her brain, practically exploding her head all over the wall behind her. I don’t even know if that’s what I wanted to do. I suppose I had to, but it felt far too barbaric. I never wanted to kill Mia at all, but I did, and now I’m all messed up over it. Mia’s death is an image I’ll never be able to get out of my mind, no matter what happens next. It’s stuck there until the day I die, which is going to be sooner than I originally planned.

  And now I’ve been sitting on my own in the dark, in the barn with Mia’s corpse, for long enough to know everyone else is dead too. They have to be. It’s almost silent outside. My mom hasn’t come back for me, and I don’t think she ever will, and if no one else had come into the barn either, then it’s safe to say everyone is gone.

  It’s time for me to go, too.

  I keep putting the gun up to my head and imagining myself pulling the trigger. There’s one bullet left, just enough to take me out of this scary world. The camp has protected me; it’s shielded me from everything. Now I know too much, and it’s a world I don’t want to face. Especially not alone.

  I just need to work up the courage to pull the trigger.

  Goodbye, Mia. I’m sorry you died.

  Goodbye, Mom. I wish I knew what happened to you.

  Goodbye, Miss Penley. I’m sorry my essay turned out to be so depressing.

  Goodbye, world.

  I just need to pull the trigger.

  About the Author

  Samie Sands is the author of the AM13 Outbreak series–Lockdown, Forgotten, and Extinct. She’s also had a number of short stories published in very successful short story anthologies. To find out more about her and her work, check out her website at http://samiesands.com.

  Facebook:

  http://www.facebook.com/SamieSandsLockdown

  Twitter:

  http://www.twitter.com/SamieSands

  Goodreads:

  https://www.goodreads.com/SamieSands

  The House on Tabott Hill

  By D.A. Roach

  “Jessica, are you sitting down?”

  My literary agent, Tabitha Richards, had phoned past my work hours, which she had only done once before when she misplaced my manuscript and almost missed a submission deadline. Only this time, she sounded excited instead of worried.

  “Actually, I’m lying in my bed. Have you looked at the time?”

  “3:23, sorry! The email came through, and I had to share it with you.” She squealed.

  “What email?”

  “‘Dear Jessica, We are interested in your recent submission of A Violent Breath by Ellie Layton. We believe it would be a good fit for our City Press imprint. However, we have a few concerns regarding a few plot points and the genre you listed. We’d like to discuss our ideas with you before making a decision and offering a contract. We hope to connect with you before the month concludes as we are closing submissions at that time. Please phone me at 555-735-6501. Looking forward to speaking with you, Jenna McCormick.’” Tabitha read it fast. I needed a moment to process the information. “Are you there? Did I lose you? Hello?”

  “I’m here. I can’t believe they are considering it.” While this was the closest I had come to the big six publishers in my short writing career, the contract was not in my hands. They wanted to discuss plot and genre, and I’d have to decide if this opportunity was worth changing my ideas.

  “Ha! I never doubted it. That story is amazing and unlike anything else out there.”

  “Yes, but I don’t have a contract. She wants me to call her. Wait, what day is it?” I asked, looking about my childhood bedroom for a calendar.

  “October twenty-ninth. You’ll have to call her by tomorrow and get those changes to her. But it’s the weekend, so that should be easy.”

  “I’m not in Seattle, and the internet here sucks. I’m heading home this afternoon and should be there by dinner. I promised my parents I would help them pack.”

  My parents had decided to downsize to a townhome. They wanted to see the world but had felt tied down to their perfectly manicured acre of land and hoped that trading it for a townhome would allow them time to travel before they retired.

  “Don’t miss this chance,” Tabitha warned.

  “I don’t plan to. Now let me get back to sleep. I may have a long night ahead of me depending on what they ask.”

  We hung up, and I managed a few more hours of sleep before I awoke to help my parents.

  My mom padded around the kitchen making a delicious-smelling big breakfast. “Have you given any thought about Thanksgiving?” She and my dad planned to spend Thanksgiving driving to the Grand Canyon. It was over seventeen hours to drive there, and they planned to spend three days hiking around before driving home. It sounded exhausting.

  “I don’t think I will be able to go. As much as I’d love to spend time with you and Dad, I just don’t think I can swing it.”

  “Oh.” She looked disappointed and turned her focus to the pan of eggs.

  “Mom, I would love to see you and Dad at Thanksgiving, but that’s a far trip. And honestly, I’ve already seen the Grand Canyon. The thought of driving twenty hours there and twenty hours back to hike around a giant hole does not top my list of best Thanksgiving plans.” I poured a few glasses of orange juice and kissed her on her cheek as I passed her. “I love you, but the adventure gene that you and Dad possess did not get passed down to me.”

  She laughed as she plated the eggs. “I just feel bad that you won’t have someone to cook you turkey and fixings.”

  “Yeah, it’ll be me and my microwaved Hungry Man turkey dinner, crying over the football game on that cold November day.” I laid the drama on thick.

  She pouted. “Stop! You’ll make me cry.”

  “Sorry, sorry.” I laughed. “By the way, you might wanna put
that bottom lip back before a rooster comes to perch on it.”

  She threw her dish towel she had draped over her shoulder at me. “Oh poof! Leave me be and let me have my two-second pity party.” She set the empty pan in the sink and filled it with soapy water to soak before coming to the table to join me. “Henry!” She yelled for my dad to join us. “Sorry for yelling. What time are you leaving today, sweetheart?”

  “I wanna help you guys pack a few boxes. As long as I’m out of here by four, I’ll be home with plenty of time to get my work done.” I shoveled a forkful of eggs into my mouth.

  “You don’t have to do that. You are busy enough. Besides, the weather is supposed to be a mess. We can manage on our own.” Mom struggled with accepting help from others, yet she was the first one to show up and lend a hand when someone needed help.

  “Do you think I trust you both to pack up my old stuff? I don’t think so.” It was a lie but also something nearly impossible for her to argue against. “I’m staying till four and highly suggest you utilize my mad packing skills.”

  “We gotcha till four, ya say?” My dad bounded into the kitchen and pulled up the chair next to me. “What kinda hardcore manual labor can I assign to you?” He tapped his forefinger to his lip.

  “Hush up, Henry. Jessica will do no such thing.” Mom waved her hand at my dad. It was cute how he ruffled her feathers with his jokes and she put him in place.

  The afternoon passed quickly as we went through old boxes, packed new ones, and shared our favorite moments from last night at their thirtieth wedding anniversary. My Aunt Laura and Uncle Mitch hosted a small gathering of friends to celebrate their years together, and it was the primary reason I had come down for the visit.

  Tabitha sent me several “Are you on the road yet?” “Don’t forget!” and “X more hours till midnight” texts where “X” changed depending on the time. Having an agent helped boost my career and, at first, also took some of the pressure off. But with success comes more demands, and lately my schedule was jam-packed.