by Amy Cross
Day 108
Thomas
The truck jerks suddenly, sending my head bumping against the window and bringing me out of a light, dream-filled sleep. For a moment I'm shocked by the sight of sunlight streaming into the vehicle, but then I realize I must have finally nodded off during the night.
I turn and look out toward the windshield, and to my surprise I see that we've entered what looks like a small, deserted town.
“Where are we?” I ask groggily.
As I say those words, I realize the truck is slowing to a halt.
“Shitsville,” Carter says, her voice sounding so tired and dry. “Whatever. Some dump in the middle of nowhere. And just in time, too, because we're flat out of gas. Let's hope we can find some more.”
I look at the abandoned buildings, half-expecting to see zombies suddenly come rushing out toward us, but there's no movement at all.
Turning, I see that Polly's still asleep, and then I look down at Elizabeth. She looks pale, and she doesn't seem to have moved during the night, but I still reach down and touch the side of her neck, just in case.
Nothing.
I try her wrists.
Nothing.
“Come on,” I whisper under my breath, taking care to make sure that Carter doesn't hear me. She'd only tell me I'm deluded. “You can do it.”
Hearing a door opening over my shoulder, I turn and see that Carter is climbing out of the truck. I can't see her face, as she looks toward a nearby row of shops, but I can see her hand resting on the door and I'm shocked to see that she – like Elizabeth – looks very pale.
“Are you okay?” I ask.
I wait, but she doesn't say anything.
After checking Elizabeth one more time, I open the truck's side door and climb out. My legs feel stiff and weak, not a good combination as I find myself on a road that's pocked and marked with thick cracks. Frankly, this town looks so neglected, I can't help wondering whether maybe it had been abandoned before all the bad stuff started happening a few months ago.
Carter still has her back to me.
“Are you okay?” I ask again.
She half turns to me, then she pauses, and then she turns to reveal a withered face with darkening patches of blood around the wounded section.
“Take the cure,” I tell her, reaching into my pocket and then taking out the box that contains two vials. “You have to.”
“I'll die,” she replies calmly.
“You're dying right now!” I point out.
“So I've got a choice,” she says. “Take the cure and lose the sickness, which means the bullet wound will most likely finish me off. Or leave the cure, and let the sickness turn me into one of those things. I really don't have long left for my decision.”
“But the cure might not kill you!”
“I need to think about it,” she says, before turning and limping toward a nearby building. “I want to see if there's a pharmacy around here.”
“We need to look for gas,” I point out, hurrying after her.
“No, you need to look for gas,” she replies. “Quite desperately, in fact. I need to find a -”
Suddenly she stumbles and falls, landing hard on her hands and knees. I rush forward and try to help her up, only to find that she's trembling slightly. She seems out of breath, too, but she doesn't push me away. I thought she'd hate to be helped, but instead she hesitates for a moment before grabbing my arm and allowing me to help her up. I get her over to a set of steps and then I ease her down again, and I think she actually mutters a few words of thanks as I take a step back.
“I need,” she gasps finally, “to find a pharmacy.”
“I'll try to find one,” I tell her. “What do you need?”
“I'm not sure,” she mumbles, barely managing to get the words out. “Maybe I... I'll come up with something. I'll figure something out, a third option. There's always a third option. I just need to think.”
“But if -”
“I can't think if I'm having to listen to your bullshit!” she snaps angrily. “Shut up and let me hear my own thoughts! It's hard enough as it is, with the...”
Her voice trails off.
I pause, trying to work out what I should do next. I can't imagine what she might find useful in a pharmacy, but I guess I need to let her get on with things.
“I hate places like this,” she says after a moment, looking around at all the shuttered stores. “I grew up in a crappy little town, with nothing to do. I was by far the smartest person for miles around, but that didn't help much. By the age of ten I was smarter than pretty much all the adults. All I knew was that I had to get out of that dump and become something greater. I did that, but now look at me, back in some stupid little town.” She pauses. “I won't die here,” she adds finally. “Not in the kind of place where I started. I want to go out with a bang, somewhere bigger.”
“Tell me what you need,” I reply, “and -”
And then, suddenly, Polly screams.
Turning, I see that she's struggling to get out of the truck, and that she seems to be in a state of absolute panic. I race over just as she tumbles out and lands hard on the ground, and then as I help her up I realize I can hear a bumping sound coming from within the truck itself.
“What is it?” I ask, my mind racing as I try to figure out what's happening. “What -”
Before I can finish, I see that Elizabeth is trying to sit up on the rear seat. She's struggling, reaching out to support herself, but so far I don't hear any growls or snarls. I tell myself to get ready to fight, but then Elizabeth turns to me and I see an expression of utter panic on her face.
“What happened?” she croaks, her voice sounding so much harsher and more damaged than before. “Where am I?”
“Are you...”
I pause, before letting go of Polly and stepping closer to the truck.
“Are you okay?” I ask cautiously.
“I -”
She stops, and then suddenly she starts retching. She leans forward, and a trickle of brownish sludge runs from her lips. Then she starts coughing, until her shoulders shudder and she falls down to the floor of the truck and starts gasping for air.
“It's okay!” I say, clambering inside and trying to help her. I pat her hard on the back, and after a few tries I hear her taking in a few big gulps. “You're going to be okay,” I continue, even though it's still hard to believe that she's actually alive again. “You've got the cure. You're going to be fine!”
She tries to reply, but for a moment she can't get any words out.
“You were sick,” I explain, as I help her lean back against the bottom of the seat. “More than sick. It's been a few days, but Carter developed a cure and she gave it to you and now you're going to be okay.”
I lean down and take a look at the side of her face, and I'm shocked to see that she actually looks healthier now. She has a little color in her cheeks, which seems insane considering the fact that she seemed to be dead earlier. I don't understand how either the sickness or the cure work, but at least she's back. I guess sometimes miracles do happen.
“You just need to rest,” I tell her, before looking out the window and seeing that Carter has wandered off. “I need to find Carter,” I explain. “She'll know what to do. Just wait right here.”
I start to crawl past her, but suddenly she reaches out and grabs my hand, clamping it tight.
Turning, I see that she's staring at me with a look of pure fear. There are some brown sludges caked around her lips, and her eyes are still reddish – albeit with hints of yellow now at the edges.
“I'll be right back,” I say, squeezing her hand slightly. “I promise.”
She pauses, before nodding and letting go.
I want to say something else, something profound that'll maybe help her feel better, but frankly I've got nothing. Instead, I simply slip away and climb out of the truck, and then I try to figure out which way Carter went. She must have heard Polly's scream, so why wouldn't she have
stuck around to find out what was wrong?
I can only assume that she must be getting sicker. I need to find her and force her to try the cure, before it's too late.
Elizabeth
“Help!” I sob.
I lift my head, trying to get my face further away from the darkness, but already I can barely even feel my mouth. And finally, as the bottom of my mind starts falling away, I find that I can no longer even sob. All I can do is try to remember who I am, try to remember how I ended up here, try to cling on to some sliver of hope as everything fades. The last thing I hear is a loud, angry snarling sound.
Then nothing.
Not even nothing.
An absence of everything.
Suddenly the entire world comes rushing back and I tilt my head back, letting out a dry gasp as light floods back into my eyes. I try to cry out, but all that emerges from my throat now is a dull croaking sound.
And then I hear a scream.
For a few seconds, I assume the scream is my own, but finally I realize that it's coming from somewhere else. I reach out and – although I can't really see properly – I manage to grab hold of the back of a seat, and I pull myself up just as someone climbs past me and rushes out of what seems to be some kind of truck. She's still screaming, and my vision is slowly clearing now as I turn and see two figures nearby.
“What is it?” a voice calls out. “What -”
I blink a few times, and finally I'm just about able to make out a familiar face staring back at me. It's Thomas, the guy I met after the car crash a few days ago, and he's standing in front of that creepy kid from the hospital. The last thing I remember is being at the hospital, whereas now we seem to have moved and I don't understand how any of this can be real.
“What happened?” I ask, shocked by the sound of my own voice. I sound sick. “Where am I?”
“Are you...”
Thomas stares, and then he steps toward me.
“Are you okay?” he asks.
“I -”
Suddenly a sharp pain rises up from my chest and I fall forward, retching heavily. After a moment I feel something hitting my back hard, clearing some of the slime, and I can hear Thomas saying something even if I can't quite make out any of the words. Right now, the pain in my chest is overwhelming, threatening to burst and tear my body apart, and all I can think is that I need this pain to end.
Now.
***
“I'll be right back,” Thomas says a few minutes later, once the worst of the pain is over. “I promise.”
I pause, still not wanting him to go, but then I nod slightly before releasing my grip.
Sitting in fear of the pain returning, I watch as Thomas walks away, and then I turn to the little girl. Did I ever know her name? My mind is racing and I'm starting to feel a dull ache in the back of my skull, pounding harder and harder with every beat of my heart. Looking down at my hands, I see that they're thin and discolored, but I'm able to clench and then un-clench both my fists. Every inch of my body is either sore or throbbing with pain, and I swear I can feel each breath as it enters and fills my lungs.
And that creepy girl is still staring at me.
“Hey,” I say, somehow managing a faint smile. “Are you...”
I try to remember what I was about to say, but for a moment my thoughts feel very muddled.
“Damn it,” I mutter, struggling to regather my mind.
Figuring that I need some air, I start crawling out of the truck. My arms and legs are stiff and painful, but they seem to be slowly moving a little more easily.
The girl steps back, as if she's scared of me.
“It's okay,” I tell her, before climbing out onto the road, where I find that my trembling legs will barely hold me up. “I mean, I think it's okay. I'm not actually sure. I don't suppose you know, do you?” I start looking around, but all I see is a desolate town that looks like it's been left to rot. “There's no -”
Suddenly I spot my own reflection in the truck's window, and I freeze. I look sick. No, worse, I look dead. I instinctively reach up and touch the side of my neck, just to make sure that my heart is beating, and to my relief I'm quickly able to detect a faint pulse.
I take a step forward and turn the truck's mirror so that I can see myself properly, and then I let out a shocked gasp as I realize that I really do look dead. There are rings under my bloodied eyes, and my skin is strangely pale. I've honestly seen corpses that look better than this, and I can't help panicking as I realize that I look a lot like the zombie creatures I've seen over the past few months. Maybe not quite as awful as them, but definitely pretty bad.
“No,” I whisper, “this can't be right. I must be imagining it.”
I turn to the girl again, and then I step toward her.
“What -”
“Don't touch me!” she gasps, pulling away.
She turns to run, but I grab her by the arm and force her to stay with me as I drop to my knees. She starts struggling wildly, but I refuse to let her go.
“I'm not going to hurt you!” I say firmly. “Now tell me what's been happening!”
She's terrified, and I don't blame her. She twists and turns, and finally I relent and let go of her. She immediately runs away, racing past a set of steps before stopping and looking back at me. It's almost as if she doesn't believe that I'm real. I want to call out to her, to tell her that everything's fine and that I'd never hurt her, but I'm starting to think that maybe she has a good reason to be scared of me.
I remember being hungry for blood.
I remember attacking Thomas.
I remember feeling as if I was disappearing into my own body.
It feels like a dream, but I'm starting to remember a kind of illness that overtook my mind. And I remember running along featureless corridors, too, as a void chased me into a corner. It's almost as if...
I died.
That's not possible, of course, but it certainly feels as if I died, at least for a short time. I reach up and check my pulse again, only to find that it now feels a little stronger, as if my body is slowly coming back up to full speed.
“Was I dead?” I whisper, before turning to the girl again.
She looks so scared of me.
“Was I dead?” I shout, before starting to limp toward her. “Tell me!” I scream. “Was I dead?”
Thomas
As soon as I get near the pharmacy's broken door, I hear the sound of someone bashing about inside and I realize that I've found her. I step into the gloomy store, and I immediately spot Carter as she frantically examines everything on the shelves.
“Thieving locals,” she's muttering apparently to herself. “Looks like they stripped the place of anything useful. Then they probably ran off and died somewhere in the dirt, like a bunch of pathetic animals.”
“What are you doing?” I ask.
She turns to me, and I swear she already looks worse than before.
“I need epinephrine,” she stammers, “or something similar. I need to -”
She pauses, and then she hurries toward the counter at the far end of the room, while mumbling to herself.
“You need what?” I shout, running after her, struggling to get past the overturned shelving. “If you tell me what you need, I might be able to find it for you!”
By the time I catch up to her, she's in the pharmacy's rear office, where she's already started going through several cupboards.
“Elizabeth's awake,” I tell her.
“Great,” she says un-enthusiastically, before turning to me. “Actually, that is good news. It means the cure is stronger than I'd anticipated. Now, if you don't mind, I need to find some epinephrine and I'm in something of a hurry.”
“Epine-what?” I ask.
“Epinephrine is used for various conditions,” she explains, sounding a little breathless now as she resumes rummaging in the cupboards. “If I'm right, it might help delay the onset of the sickness while I figure out what to do next. It's not much of a hope, but at
least it's something. Unfortunately, it looks like a bunch of vandals have been through this place. My only chance is that maybe they were too dumb to know what to take and what to leave behind.”
“What would this stuff look like?” I ask.
She doesn't reply, and after a moment she takes a bottle from one of the cupboards and holds it up to the light.
“This might do,” she says finally, before turning and setting it on the counter. “It's not exactly what I was after, but it's the best I'm going to manage. Good job I'm a genius and I can figure these things out.”
With that, she tries to open the bottle, although after a moment I notice that her hands are shaking badly. I wait a few seconds more, and then I step over and take the bottle from her. She lets me. I unscrew the lid and then I set the bottle back down onto the counter.
“Thank you,” she says, and I can hear the resentment in her voice. She hates having to be helped.
She tips some pills into the palm of her hand, and then she stares at them for a moment. I wait for her next complaint, but instead she seems frozen and when I look at her face I see a trace of confusion, as if all her thoughts have come grinding to a halt.
“Are you okay?” I ask.
She pauses, and then her eyes flick to look at me.
“What was I doing?” she replies.
“You were going to use those,” I tell her. “Something about being a genius and using that stuff instead of... epidrine? Epinedine? Epinephrine? Something like -”
“Of course,” she says, snapping back to her old self. “I remember. Just leave me alone, okay? I don't work very well when I'm being observed.”
“Sure.”
I turn to leave.
“Actually, Thomas...”
I stop in the doorway and glance back at her.
“You might as well stick around,” she continues, sounding a little uncertain now, “just in case I need...”
“Prompting?”
“Someone to yell at,” she says. “Sometimes it helps to call somebody else stupid, and you're pretty much perfect for that role.”
