by Amy Cross
He doesn't reply. I thought he'd leap at the chance, but instead he seems cautious, almost reluctant.
“Don't you?” I add.
“Sure,” he says, not particularly convincingly, “but what about you? Your father -”
“I'm not afraid to know what happened to him,” I say firmly. “In fact, I need to know. I already don't know exactly what happened to my mother. I want to know about Dad. Even if...” I pause, feeling as if I'm on the brink of tears again, but then I manage to hold back. “Even if he's dead,” I manage to say finally, without breaking down. “So maybe we really should just turn around and go back there.”
“You mean, go against your father's wishes?”
“Technically it was the fighting he wanted to keep me away from,” I point out. “The fighting seems to be over now.”
I wait for him to reply, but suddenly I realize that he seems to be looking past me, toward something up ahead. Turning, I see that a large, dark building has appeared from behind the line of trees. The place must be at least a few miles away, but it's the first actual structure that we've seen for a few hours and after a moment I notice that some of the windows allow the building to be seen through completely, as if sections of the interior have been gutted.
Suddenly there's a bumping sound from the back seat, and I turn to see that the little girl seems agitated as she strains to look out at the building.
“Do you know what that place is?” I ask her, but she doesn't respond. I turn to Thomas. “She doesn't seem scared. It's more like -”
Before I can finish, I hear a clicking sound over my shoulder and Thomas hits the brakes. Startled, I turn just in time to see – to my horror – that the girl has thrown herself out of the moving vehicle. For a moment I assume the worst, but then she stumbles to her feet and starts racing away across the grass, heading into the forest and clearly trying to get to the distant building.
“What the hell is wrong with her?” Thomas asks.
“She could have killed herself!” I point out, as I climb out of the truck. I immediately see that the roadside is very muddy, which I guess explains how the girl managed to avoid injury.
As I look toward the trees, I realize that she's already out of sight.
“Do you think her folks live there?” Thomas says. “Something like that?”
“Or something's wrong,” I suggest. “If her family's in that place, why was she down here on the side of the road?”
I turn to him.
“We can't go up there,” he says cautiously. “Come on, be serious, there's no -”
“She's a child,” I remind him. “Can you seriously just leave her out here?”
“She made a choice. She was safe here with us, and she intentionally left. I know she's young, but she's old enough to understand what she did.”
“I'm not leaving her.”
“Not this again,” he sighs.
“She's a child, she's not dangerous,” I point out, “and it's not like we're in a rush to get to Philadelphia anymore.”
“But -”
“And there might be supplies up there,” I add. “In case you've forgotten, we're running low on just about everything. Anyway, there looks to be a turn-off ahead that leads to the place. I'm going, but I understand you'd rather get straight to Boston. Have fun. Maybe I'll see you around some day.”
With that, I slam the door shut and start walking, although after a moment I hear the truck's engine start. Sure enough, just as I hoped, Thomas drives past me and then stops again.
“After this, no more distractions,” he says as I climb back in. “I thought you'd be desperate to check whether your father's okay.”
“Maybe there are some answers I'm scared of,” I tell him, as he eases the truck forward and I look out once more toward the distant building. “It won't change anything in Boston if we check this place out. And I want to make sure that the kid's okay. Something about her seemed really off.”
Thomas
“It's huge,” I say as I climb out of the truck and look up at the vast, dilapidated building – more like a factory, actually – that looms high above us. “It didn't seem so big from the road.”
“It's an old hospital,” Elizabeth says, and I turn to see that she's looking at a faded sign. “Judging by the state of it, though, it must have been abandoned a long time before all this stuff started happening. It doesn't look like anyone's been here for years.”
“We can't be sure that the kid came here,” I point out. “For all we know, she just wanted to get away from us. Maybe she didn't even speak English and she thought we were kidnapping her.”
“No, I think this is exactly where she came,” Elizabeth replies, and she's already making her way over to the large set of stone steps at the front of the building “This actually looks like a pretty cool place. If you wanted to hide away from the world, and stay safe, this would be pretty much ideal.”
“Sure, but we don't know what's in there,” I say, and then I watch as she starts making her way up the steps. “Hey, that doesn't seem too smart! There could literally be anything in there!”
“I don't hear anyone!”
“You're not this stupid,” I mutter under my breath, but she's already at the top of the steps and she's making her way toward the large, open door that leads into the building's dark interior. “You're going to get us both killed! Is that what you want?”
She stops in the doorway and looks inside.
“Can we leave now?” I shout, even though I don't like the idea of advertising our presence, in case some local psychos are hanging around. “This is a really bad idea!”
She says something that I don't quite manage to make out, and then she slips through the door and out of sight.
“You've got to be kidding!” I yell.
I could leave, of course. Or at the very least, I could just stay here and wait for her to (hopefully) come back. I actually take a step toward the truck, figuring that there's no need for me to risk getting into trouble, but then suddenly Melissa and Katie flash back into my mind and I realize that I've made of habit of leaving people behind. I always convince myself that I'm doing the right thing, and that I'll come back for them, but that's not how things tend to work out. And as I turn to look back over toward the building, I realize with a growing sense of dread that I really only have one choice here.
***
“It must be decades since anyone was here,” Elizabeth says as we stand in the hospital's grand entrance hall and look at the abandoned desks. “Who would leave such a beautiful old building to rot like this?”
“What makes it beautiful?” I ask, wandering over to one of the desks and wiping away a thick layer of dust, before spotting a long-legged spider scuttling into a crack. “It's just old.”
“Don't look at what it is now,” she replies. “Look at what it could be, one day.”
“How can I not look at what it is now?” I ask. “It is what it is now.”
She turns to me.
“I know you've got more imagination than that,” she says. “Everyone does.”
“Someone was probably planning to knock it all down and build something new here,” I suggest. “Why would anyone want a hospital out here in the middle of nowhere, anyway? Wouldn't you want a hospital to be near people?”
“Depends what kind of hospital it was,” she says, walking around one of the desks and looking up the long, steep staircase that leads up into the higher parts of the building. “Maybe it was for people who needed to be quarantined. Or maybe it was some kind of psychiatric hospital.”
“Sounds great,” I mutter. “Are we going to find that kid, or not?”
“This place is huge.”
“I know. That's why I think there's no point being here. If she doesn't want to be found, she can hide here forever.”
Elizabeth pauses, before cupping her hands around her mouth.
“Hello!” she yells, and her voice instantly echoes all around us. “We're here to help you!”
/> “Brilliant,” I say with a sigh. “Now any stray murderer or zombie will know that we're here.”
“You look downstairs,” she replies, “and I'll go up. Meet back here when you're done.”
“No, I'm looking upstairs,” I say, and I hurry past her before she has a chance to contradict me. After making my way up the first few steps, I stop and turn to look back down at her. To be honest, I only wanted to do the upstairs section so that she'd realize she's not in charge. “It might be dangerous.”
She raises a skeptical eyebrow.
“Let's just get this over with,” I tell her, as I turn and make my way up to the next floor. “It's going to start getting dark soon.”
Reaching the top of the stairs, I stop and look along a gloomy corridor. There are doors on either side, and just a single window at the farthest end. I stop and listen for a moment, and there's nothing to suggest that anyone is waiting to leap out at me. At the same time, I turn and look the other way, and suddenly I think back to the basement of that weird house in Missouri. A few months ago, I actually encountered something that seemed like a ghost. I managed to mostly put it out of my mind since then, but now...
No.
Ghosts aren't real.
I pretty much lost my mind for a while in Missouri, I even hallucinated Joe speaking to me from another body. At least, that's what I've been thinking lately. It's difficult to be sure, but I'm less and less sure that Joe actually found a way to move from body to body, and I can't quite get myself to believe in ghosts. Not anymore, not when there are far more pressing dangers in the world.
“Hey!” I call out, in case the little girl is nearby. “Let's stop messing around, okay? Just let us know that you're okay, and then we'll leave you here if that's really what you want.”
I wait.
“Does that sound like a good deal?”
No reply.
Sighing, I start making my way along the corridor. I know Elizabeth won't leave until she's certain that the girl's safe. Either that, or she'll insist on tearing the entire hospital apart first to make sure that she's not here. Honestly, I'm starting to think that this Elizabeth girl might be more trouble that she's worth. Once we get to Boston, I think I'll try to ditch her. Then again, I'm getting the feeling that she's scared to go to Boston, that she's scared to learn the truth about her father.
This whole detour and search of the hospital is her way of stalling.
“Anyone here?” I ask, as I stop in the corridor and look around at the closed doors.
I step over and push one of the doors open. The hinges creak as I peer through and see a dank, dirty room with just a metal-framed bed over by the window.
“Just like I thought,” I mutter under my breath. “There's no-one home. Hasn't been for years.”
I carry on along the corridor, occasionally calling out, but deep down I already know that this is a waste of time. Once we're done with this search, I'm going to insist that we move on. And if Elizabeth doesn't like that, I might just be willing to leave her behind.
Elizabeth
“There's no-one here,” Thomas says as I walk back through to the abandoned reception area. He's sitting on the bottom step of the staircase, but he quickly gets to his feet. “There's nothing more we can do.”
“Did you check everywhere?” I ask.
“She's not here. Or if she is, she's too good at hiding. I think you have to accept that we're not going to find her again.” He pauses. “I'm sorry, but she obviously doesn't want our help so I figure we just have to move on.”
I want to argue with him, but deep down I know that he's right. And as I look around at the old desks, I can't help but realize that this place feels like a dead-end. I don't understand that little girl, or why she was out there on the road, but I guess she did seem like she was managing to survive. Maybe, with the way the world is right now, there are some things that we'll just never get to the bottom of.
Hearing a clicking sound, I turn to see that Thomas has picked up the receiver on an old phone and is holding it against his ear.
“Just thought I'd try,” he says, before setting the receiver back on the cradle. “Worth a shot.”
“Do you have a pen?” I ask.
“No. Why?”
“I just thought we could leave her a message,” I explain, but I already know that even simple things like pens and paper aren't going to be very easy to find. Finally, figuring that I should at least try something, I head over to one of the desks and use a fingertip to write the word 'Sorry' in the dust.
She probably won't even see this, but I guess it's all I can do.
I pause for a moment, trying to think of something else I might be able to try, and then I take a step back as I realize that Thomas is right. We're wasting our time.
“So are we going to Boston?” he asks.
I turn to him.
“Sure,” I say, even though the thought fills me with dread. “We have to find out what happened yesterday.”
With that, I turn and head out of the building, and then I make my way down the steps. I head over to the nearest corner and look along the side of the hospital, just in case by some miracle I might spot the girl, and then I walk back to the truck as Thomas climbs in and starts the engine. Or rather, as he tries to start the engine. As I reach the passenger-side door, I'm starting to realize that something is wrong.
“Is it that part you took from my car?” I ask.
“I don't understand,” he replies, still trying the key in the ignition. “Everything should be fine.”
Looking down, I see that there's some liquid pooling near one of the tires.
“I think something's leaking,” I tell him.
He climbs out and comes round to take a look, and then he gets down and starts crawling under the truck. Stepping back, I listen as he mutters to himself.
“It's leaking gas!” he calls out.
“Why would it suddenly be leaking gas?” I ask.
“It wouldn't.” He crawls back out, and I can see the expression of concern on his face. “There's a clear cut, almost as if someone did it deliberately.”
“Why would anyone do that?” I ask. “Who would do it?”
He looks back along the driveway.
“There's no sign that it was leaking as we pulled up,” he points out.
“Maybe you hit something.”
“I'd have felt it,” he says, turning back to me. “I think someone sabotaged us.”
“You're jumping to conclusions.”
“Go under there and look, then!” he continues, and it's clear that he's starting to get agitated. “There's a proper cut!”
“You must have hit something and you just didn't notice,” I reply. “You were unlucky. So maybe instead of standing around coming up with conspiracy theories, you should focus on fixing it.”
I wait, but he doesn't reply.
“You can fix it, can't you?”
“It wouldn't do much good,” he replies. “All the gas has drained out and I don't have any more. Unless we can find some more, we're stuck here.”
Turning, I look up at the abandoned hospital, and I can't help but notice that the sky is starting to noticeably darken.
“I don't know about you,” Thomas says after a moment, “but I really, really don't like the idea of spending the night in this place.”
Day 102
Thomas
Barely able to see a thing, I fumble along the pitch-black corridor until I reach the fourth door, and then I push the door open to reveal Elizabeth sitting cross-legged on the floor with her hands close to our makeshift fire. She's shivering so badly, she doesn't even notice at first that I'm back, although she finally glances at me as I take another step into the room.
“Anything?” she asks, and I can hear her teeth chattering.
“It's too dark,” I explain. “Even the moonlight's not enough. There'll be some gas around here somewhere, though. There must be.”
“Why must there be? It's
a hospital. Why would they have been stockpiling gas?”
I carefully shut the door and head over to join her. The heat of the fire is welcome and I hold my hands close as I kneel. For a moment, I try to think of an answer to her question, but deep down I know that there is no answer, not really. She's right.
“Are you sure we can't make the fire bigger?” she asks. “There's more wood out there.”
“It'd be seen for miles around,” I remind her. “We'd be advertising our presence here. At least in this room there are some old wooden blinds on the window. A fire this small shouldn't show, but anything larger would be like -”
“Okay, I get it!” she snaps. “I just wish we could find some way to get warm.”
“Then there are the zombies,” I point out. “I'm pretty sure there are still a few out there, at least, and I don't know whether they're attracted to fire and heat. That's definitely not something I want to find out tonight.”
“I know you're right!” she hisses. “That's not the problem! The problem is that I feel like I'm freezing to death! Aren't you the same?”
I pause for a moment, not wanting to admit that she's got a point. I feel like it doesn't matter what I do or say; everything is failing.
“I'm alright,” I say finally. “We really can't risk a bigger fire.”
“What are we going to do in the morning?” she asks.
“I'll finish fixing the truck and then I'll find some gas.”
“From where?”
“There'll be some around here somewhere.”
“Thomas -”
“I don't want to have this conversation again,” I say, allowing my irritation to show. “We're just going round and round in circles. Talking never fixed anything, not really.”
“Talking is the only way to fix things!” she replies. “You have to talk about things so you can figure them out!”
“No, you have to shut up and get on with practical stuff,” I tell her. “If we sit around talking the whole time, we'll die here.”
We sit in silence for a moment, with only the noise of the fire between us.
