The Life Beyond (The Other Life Saga)

by Winnacker, Susanne

“Yeah, it’s not as bad as it looks.”

  Quentin looked doubtful.

  It seemed like forever since we’d crawled through the tunnel. How long would it take to get to the other side with Bobby? We would have to drag him the entire way. But we had no choice. It was the only way to the other side – back to the Void.

  Bobby let out a moan. I bent over him and touched his cheeks. The feel of the rough patches of fur and damp secretion almost made me want to pull back but I somehow couldn’t do it. He was still my brother.

  “Bobby?”

  Nothing.

  “Bobby, wake up.”

  “Maybe it’s better if he stays unconscious,” Quentin said. The implications of his words send a shudder down my spine.

  Joshua squeezed my arm as if he could read my thoughts. “Let’s get through the tunnel. The sooner we get away the better.”

  1 hour and 55 minutes. That’s how long it took. But it felt like forever. Quentin had to move backwards to pull Bobby along and Joshua pushed from behind. Although in a way, I was glad that we could only move slowly. I don’t think my body could have handled more.

  We sprawled out the other side, drinking in the fresh air. It was dangerous to stay but I doubted I could walk or crawl much further. I tried to fight the tiredness weighing down every inch of my body. “We have to get away,” I said finally.

  I stumbled to my feet, and Joshua and Quentin hauled Bobby up. I looked around. There was a cluster of bushes a good distance ahead of us. The trunk of a car peeked out behind it.

  “The others got through,” I said. “Tyler left the car where we agreed.” Relief loosened the knot of anxiety in my stomach. Joshua and Quentin followed my gaze, and I could see them relax, too.

  “Let’s hurry,” Quentin said.

  “Wait!” Joshua said. “We have to film the fence!”

  With a nod of understanding, I headed toward the bushes, Quentin and Joshua behind me, dragging Bobby. Once we were by the car, Joshua took a few minutes’ footage of the fence using the zoom on the lens while Quentin helped me hoist Bobby into the backseat. When Joshua had finished, he sat in the front while Quentin slipped into the driver’s seat. The key stuck in the ignition, and when he turned it, the car purred.

  I sat beside Bobby in the back. He was slumped forward and I put his head in my lap.

  “Do you think they’ve made it back yet?” I asked.

  Quentin shook his head. “I don’t think so.”

  The twigs scratched over the windshield as Quentin pulled the car backwards. The heat soon dragged me into a slumber.

  The kitchen smelled of cinnamon, cloves and ginger.

  Mom took a baking sheet out off the oven and another wave of warm smells flooded the kitchen. I inhaled, hoping the cookies would cool off soon. I couldn’t wait to bite into their spicy sweetness.

  “Your gingerbread men are frowning,” Mom said, pointing at the little dough people on my sheet.

  “They are sad because we’ll eat them,” I said.

  Mom laughed. “It’s Grandma’s recipe. I hope we did it justice.”

  “I’m sure you did,” Gran said as she came into the kitchen, carrying supplies for German lebkuchen and vanille kipferln. “Give it a try.”

  I picked up one of the gingerbread men and split it between Mom, Gran and me. I kept the head for myself and bit into it. The taste of honey and ginger exploded in my mouth. We exchanged smiles.

  We had done the recipe justice.

  Delicious.

  Chapter 15

  Nobody had expected us to return to Santa Barbara alive. At once we were surrounded by questions, hugs and words of welcome. But seeing Mom’s face when she saw Bobby and me was all that really mattered. I’d thought she’d be angry with me for leaving for the fence but she just clutched my hand and told me how glad she was that we’d returned.

  Joshua and Karen carried Bobby into a room on the first floor of the mission where the new infirmary was situated, and Mom and I followed. He already looked much better. His eyes had stopped oozing secretion and some of the fur had fallen out. But he hadn’t woken up yet. The tests they’d done to him in the lab had weakened his body. He moaned and his eyes fluttered.

  “What happened to him?” Karen asked as they lowered him onto a bed.

  “They infected him with the rabies in a lab beyond the fence,” I explained. Shock followed by terror flashed across her face. “But we gave him the cure,” I added quickly. “We know it works. I’m feeling absolutely fine since I took it. He should be fine too. Right?”

  “I don’t know. His temperature is okay and his heartbeat and pulse are almost normal,” she said uncertainly.

  Tyler entered the room. I’d seen him only briefly outside when we’d arrived.

  “Where are the vials with the cure?” I asked him now.

  Karen attached a drip to Bobby’s arm, before looking up at me, her lips tightened.

  “We stored most of it in the fridge. Geoffrey said it’s safer to keep it cooled,” Tyler said. “He wants to try to reproduce it.”

  “What about my Dad?”

  Tyler shook his head. “We only got back about six hours ago. Karen said we should rest before setting off.”

  Panic flooded me. It had been seven days since Dad showed the first symptoms. “Then we need to look for my dad right now.”

  Karen let go of Bobby’s drip. “I know you’re going to do what you want anyway. But please listen to me.” She walked up to me and Joshua. “You are both exhausted. It’s a miracle that you’re alive. You both need rest. You won’t help anyone in your current state. Wait until tomorrow.” She looked like she hadn’t slept in days, either.

  But Dad was at our home in LA waiting. And we had the cure. We couldn’t stay. Every hour counted.

  Joshua’s brows dipped. “Maybe she’s right, Sherry. We’ve come this far. I don’t want anything to happen to you.”

  Mom gripped my hand, her expression pleading. “Sherry, you risked your life twice. Pleae don’t leave again. I can’t stand the thought of losing you.”

  Her hand felt cold and small. “What about Dad? We can save him. I know we can.” I wasn’t sure how I managed to sound so sure when inside doubts were eating away at me. I didn’t know if I could save Dad but I’d try. I owed it to him.

  “I want your father back more than anything! But I almost lost two of my children. I can’t face the prospect of losing you again,” Mom said weakly, squeezing my hand. She looked at Joshua expectantly. “Can’t someone else go?”

  I shook my head. “I want to go, Mom. I can’t just sit here while I know Dad’s still out there.” I softened my voice. “After I’ve eaten, I’ll set out to look for him. Joshua will come with me, won’t you?”

  “Of course,” Joshua said. “Come on, let’s eat.”

  “I’m starving. I’ll come with you,” said Karen. “Bobby needs some rest. There’s nothing I can do for him at the moment.”

  Mom took Bobby’s hand. “I’ll stay in case he wakes. Mia will be so happy to see you. I’m sure Marie will have woken her from her nap by now.”

  I followed Joshua, Karen and Tyler into the kitchen. The room was crowded with people. I spotted Alexis, Quentin, Marty, Larry, Marie, Emma and – Mia. With a squeal she threw herself into my arms. I patted her wild hair and pressed a kiss on the top of her head.

  The scent of basil and tomatoes lay in the air and steam rose from a big pot on the old stove.

  “Good to see you,” Alexis said. We settled around the long wooden table, chairs scraping over the rough floor. Marie set the pot down in front of us. My stomach grumbled. It had been too long since we’d eaten. Quentin and Joshua eyed the food like hungry wolves.

  “I talked to Geoffrey,” Karen explained as she dished up the tomato-soup. “He said the cure will last for maybe ten people if we administer it sparsely. But he’s hopeful that he’ll manage to produce more of it. We’ll just have to wait and see.” Something on Karen’s face changed and her tone s
oftened. “Tyler told me about your dad.”

  Joshua’s face hardened as he took one of the still warm loaves from the basket on the table, tore it apart and started munching on it. Why did Karen have to bring it up in front of so many people? Now everyone was watching Joshua curiously.

  “If you want to talk about it —”.

  “I’m fine.” Joshua glared at his bowl.

  Larry straightened his glasses. “So he’s a scientist for the government?”

  I glanced at Joshua. He nodded, keeping his eyes fixed on his food.

  “He’s responsible for the virus and creating a Weeper army,” I explained.

  “An army?” Karen asked.

  “Yes,” I said. “The military breeds Weepers —”

  “Breeds?” Larry’s eyebrows shot up. I knew it sounded ridiculous. If I hadn’t seen it with my eyes, I wouldn’t have believed it either.

  “Yes, the military has found a way to control them. Remember the Weepers with collars that attacked the other Safe-haven?” I asked. “They can give them orders through the collars around their necks. It’s sick.”

  “That’s horrible,” Larry said. “Are they using them in wars?” By now everybody knew about the conflicts going on in the world beyond the fence.

  Quentin cut in. “I don’t think so. They’re still in the testing phase but I’m sure they won’t wait much longer.”

  “There has to be a way to stop them,” Larry said.

  “We have an idea. We’ve filmed inside the lab where we found Bobby and have a little bit of footage of the fence. We’re thinking we could try and broadcast it to people beyond the fence – show them what’s really going on,” I said.

  Quentin nodded. “I’ll cut the film and put my commenting in the background in the next few days. And I think every survivor should record a message to the other side. People won’t dismiss our suffering that easily if they see our faces and hear our stories.”

  “That’s a great idea. Will you wait until we’re back?” Joshua and I couldn’t stay to record a message today. We needed to set out soon.

  “Sure. You and Joshua are an important part of this. You need to be on the tape.”

  Mia leaned her head against my shoulder, her small hand in mine.

  “You’ll stay, right? You won’t leave again?” she whispered.

  I stroked her hair, guilt burning my insides. “Eat your soup. It’ll get cold,” I said, ignoring her question.

  She picked up her spoon and didn’t press the matter.

  Joshua gave me a sad smile. As soon as Mia went back upstairs to play, we’d leave.

  Mom stood on the steps of the mission, her arms wrapped around herself, watching our car disappear. The wind tousled her long hair and made her dress billow like a flag. Tears glistened on her cheeks.

  Larry had picked up a new car while we were beyond the fence. The seats were more comfortable than the Lincoln’s and it didn’t smell as stuffy but I could tell Joshua missed his old ride. Alexis and Tyler had offered to join us but I was worried about the state we’d find my dad in and wanted to handle things alone. More people would only increase the risk of someone getting hurt. And I doubted either of them would hesitate to kill my dad to protect themselves. Besides, I didn’t think it was fair on Tyler. I knew that deep down he must still be haunted by Rachel’s death. He deserved some time and space to grieve properly.

  It felt weird to be heading back to L.A., to my old home, and as we pulled into the street I’d lived on the majority of my life, my chest tightened. Memories resurfaced at the sight of the Smiths’s house. My best friend Izzie had been my neighbour since we were toddlers and I hadn’t seen her since we’d sought refuge in our family’s bunkers. 1164 days since we’d said our last good bye. Happy times from my other life seemed so far away now.

  Joshua stopped the car in the middle of the road in front of our home. Soot covered the windows and cladding but the front door was ajar. We got out of the car, guns drawn. We crept closer. It was silent. In the distance, the bombed silhouette of L.A. rose into the sky. I pushed past Joshua, not able to bear it any longer, and opened the door. Dust danced before my eyes and the air was stuffy. Slowly I walked into the entrance hall with our family photos still hanging on the wall. I peeked into the living room. Muffin, our cat’s scratching post waited in the living room for his return. But there was no sign of Dad.

  “He must’ve been here,” Josha called. “There are empty cans in the kitchen.” I hurried toward him. Cans of baked beans and meatball sauce sat on the table in the middle of the room, a dirty spoon beside them. Dad must have been out to search for food – there hadn’t been any in the house when we’d left weeks ago.

  “Maybe he’s still close by,” I said, moving to the back of the house where the entrance to the bunker was. I hesitated at the top of the stairs leading down. I’d spent 1141 days within these walls and they’d felt like a prison. In the last few days before Dad and I’d left to search for food, I’d thought they’d be our grave. I crept down the steps, Joshua behind me.

  Everything was the way I remembered it. Our beds pushed against the walls, the freezer where we’d kept Grandpa after he’d died, our improvised kitchen. My eyes lingered on the curtains guarding the pantry from view. Raspy breathing sounded behind them.

  I took a step closer. “Sherry?” Joshua hissed.

  I held up my hand to shut him up. Hesitantly, I inched toward the pantry. “Dad?”

  No answer. I pulled out my gun and reached for the curtain.

  Dad cowered against the shelf at the back of the small room. His arms were wrapped around his legs and his hands … were no longer hands. They were claws.

  “Sherry, step back. Now.” Joshua gripped my arm and tried to pull me away but I couldn’t move.

  “Dad? It’s me, Sherry.”

  Slowly he lifted his head and I had to stop myself from gasping. His eyes were milky and the skin over his cheeks was shedding, strips of it clinging to the fur that had started sprouting from his neck and chin.

  His gaze went through me. He shook himself and briefly his face showed recognition. “Sher —” The rest of my name was swallowed by a groan. He darted forward with a snarl and barrelled toward Joshua and me. I landed heavily on my back as Joshua fell, smacking his head on the edge of the table. He groaned, but didn’t get back up.

  Panic pounding through my veins, I sat up. “Dad, it’s me. Please listen to me. We can help you.”

  But Dad wasn’t there – only the Weeper. It threw itself at me. My face smashed against the filthy carpet. Claws dug into my shoulders, hot pain searing through my body. I bucked my hips and lashed out with my arms but the creature pressed me to the ground. Claws pressed into my back like razors, burying into my skin. I cried out in pain.

  Warm liquid hit my neck. A gooey droplet trailed over the curve of my neck and into the hollow of my throat. Dad — it was drooling on me. Salivating.

  I screamed. I tried to push myself up but the weight of him pressed me down. He sunk his claws deeper into my back. His breath felt hot against my neck. He would rip my throat out. I knocked the gun against his chin and something cracked. With a yowl he released me. I rolled on my back and sat up but before I had the chance to stand, it attacked again. The back of my head hit the ground. “Dad, please!” I cried.

  I used one arm to keep its face from my throat but it was too strong. I tried to free my other arm but it was wedged between my back and the floor, still clutching the gun. I brought my knee up, claws ripping at me as we tumbled. My arms started burning and warm liquid soaked my shirt. I managed to free my arm holding the gun, but I could barely feel it, save for the tingling of pins and needles. The creature snarled and tightened its hold. Our bodies smashed against each other. Suddenly a shot sounded. The claws released me and with a shudder the creature fell off my body.

  I stumbled to my feet, feeling blood run down my back. The creature lay in front of me. I staggered back, my stomach churning, my hand clamped
over my mouth to stop the choked sobs from bursting out.

  I’d killed my own father.

  Slowly, Joshua was getting to his feet. “Sherry? Oh my god, what happened? You’re bleeding.”

  “I killed him,” I whispered.

  He pushed past me and turned my dad over, so he was lying on his back. Blood matted the fur around his stomach.

  Joshua pressed a hand against Dad’s throat and turned to me, his eyes wide. “He’s alive.”

  I staggered toward them and fell to my knees. I felt for the pulse until a soft thud-thud knocked against my fingers.

  “We have to get him back to Safe-haven as fast as possible. Karen will be able to help him,” Joshua said, injecting Dad with the cure.

  I nodded, not trusting my voice. Quickly, Joshua gripped Dad under the armpits while I took his legs. He was heavy, his backside dragging over the ground as we carried him up the stairs. More blood oozed from his stomach wound, coating him and spilling to the ground. A trail of blood marked our path to the car. We heaved him onto the backseat. He didn’t even stir as Joshua started the engine.

  I perched beside him and tried to still the bleeding. My hands shook as I pressed them against the stomach wound. Blood trickled over my fingers.

  It was my fault. I had shot him. So close up the Weeper’s face looked like Dad. The same strong jaw and high forehead. The blood flow from his wound slowed.

  “You can’t sit with him. If he wakes, he might attack,” Joshua warned from the front seat.

  “But —”

  “You can’t help him.”

  I slipped into the passenger seat, reaching out with one hand behind me, trying not to flinch at the feel of the shedding skin on his arm. Dad – the Weeper – didn’t stir.

  I sagged against my seat. As fast as we were driving we’d be in Santa Barbara in an hour. But would that be fast enough?

  Dad and Grandpa dragged in the Christmas tree, leaving a trail of fir needles on the plush carpet. Mom clucked her tongue but didn’t comment as they put up the tree. Mia clung to her neck.

  Our Christmas decorations were waiting in boxes on the living room table and Bobby and I sat beside them, ready to move if we got the signal.