by Amy Cross
Unable to contain my panic, I start struggling to get free from the chair.
"Relax," Bob says with a grin, "you haven't personally eaten any of Mr. Blake. Not yet, anyway. Henry and I have had that pleasure". He walks over to the next table, pulls the sheet away, and reveals another torso, except this one is almost picked clean, with the rib cage showing. "This is the one you ate from when you had steak a few days ago. You remember Mrs. DeWitt from upstairs, right? She was old, of course, but her meat was surprisingly tender once I'd marinaded it properly". He pulls the final sheets away, to reveal another torso, this time with most of the meat left on its bones. "And that's old Albert Carling. I didn't want to waste him, either". He reaches down, pulls a piece of meat from Albert's bones, and pops it into his mouth.
As I try to get away from the chair, I accidentally tip myself over, landing hard against the concrete floor. Despite the gag over my mouth, I try to call out for help as Bob walks slowly over to me.
"A human body gives up some good meat," he says. "And you know what? It's not bad for us. Not at all. You ate meat from Mrs. DeWitt's body, Elizabeth, several times. If I'd told you it was human flesh, you'd have turned it down, but you accepted it, you even enjoyed it, because I told you it was normal cow meat. So, you see, most of this is about perception. You perceived it to be beef, and your brain let you enjoy it". He reaches down and pulls my chair back up until I'm sitting again. "This is the food chain now," he continues. "You turn it down, you starve. Don't let your old world fears and prejudices affect how you act in the new world, Elizabeth. Face the reality of the situation. It's really not so bad".
After checking his watch, he grabs the back of my chair and turns me back to face the other way.
"There," he says. "Maybe we'll save dinner until a bit later, huh? Now, I've got to go and check the perimeter, but you're gonna sit here and think about what I've said. Be smart, Elizabeth. This doesn't have to be painful or hard. Just accept that things have changed. Think about it. This time in a year, you could be the proud mother of the next generation of the human race, and..." He laughs. "Well, that's gonna happen, really, whether you like it or not. I'm not gonna jeopardize the future of humanity just 'cause you're a little weak-willed. But it'd be easier if you're onside for this stuff, yeah? Much easier, and much more pleasant. Hell, you might even start to enjoy yourself eventually. What's the alternative? Live the rest of your life in misery?"
I watch as he heads over to the door.
"I'll be back in a few hours," he says, turning to glance back at me. "We'll get started".
Once he's gone, I sit and stare straight ahead. This room is so dark and so isolated, I feel like there's no way I'm ever going to escape. Behind me, those three dead bodies are still on display, waiting for Bob to carve more meat from the bones. After desperately struggling to get loose from the ropes for a few minutes, I start to realize that there's no way out. With the gag still over my mouth, I start calling out for help, hoping that someone - anyone - might eventually hear me.
THOMAS
Oklahoma
"They still out there?" I ask, watching as Clyde stands by the window.
"What do you think?" he replies, turning to me. There's a haunted look on his face, as if he knows that we're screwed.
"What are they doing?"
"Same as they've been doing all night. Just, like, milling about". He pauses. "It's weird. It's like they're just mindlessly loitering. It's like they're waiting for something".
"They're waiting for him," I say, feeling a sense of panic rise through my body. I still haven't worked out exactly what's happening, but one thing's for certain: it's as if all these creatures have the same mind, as if that mind can experience things through all the creatures simultaneously. How that works, and how it happened, I don't know, but I've seen it with my own eyes: what one of the creatures experiences, they all experience, and they share one another's memories. Talking to one of them is like talking to all of them, which makes it especially weird that they seem, all at once, to have suddenly gone silent.
"Waiting for who?" Clyde asks.
"The guy who's behind it," I say, immediately regretting my choice of words. Damn it, I probably sound like some kind of paranoid idiot. "I mean, the person who..." My voice trails off as I try to think of a way to explain it properly. I haven't even managed to get it straight in my own head yet, so telling someone else about my theory is pretty difficult. "You haven't talked to any of them?" I ask eventually.
"I didn't know it was possible," he replies.
"It is. They can talk, and when they do, it's like they all have the same mind. There was one here, last night, who remembered talking to me back at our farm, when I talked to one of the others. It's like they have this shared memory".
Clyde stares at me, as if I've just come out with the craziest stuff he's ever heard. I guess that's probably true enough.
"I know it sounds insane," I continue, "but I've seen it with my own eyes. They've got this kind of group mentality thing going on. They can carry on the same conversation from one body to the next".
"I don't get it," Clyde says.
"Neither do I. It doesn't make sense, but if you talk to them, that's what happens".
"So why are they just standing out there now?" he asks. "If they're so fucking organized, why are they just hanging around as if they've got nothing to do? It looks like someone flicked the off-switch on 'em all".
Hurrying around the kitchen table, I lean across the counter and peer into the street. It's still only just getting light out there, but I can see scores of the creatures, all standing around as if they're waiting for someone to tell them what to do. They're just standing in the street, like drones awaiting orders. They've been like this all night, but I'm convinced they'll spring back to life as soon as we head outside. Unfortunately, with Joe still unconscious and flat on his back on the table, there's no way we can move fast enough to escape them. Joe's injuries are too bad, and the last thing he needs right now is to be picked up and carried anywhere.
"They're so fucking creepy," Clyde says. "I recognize some of them. They're like rotted versions of people I used to see around town. That one over there, in the blue shirt? That's Frank Ottowitz, the guy who used to run the diner. The one next to him, that's Ginny Ladler, from the school. It's like dead bodies are wandering the streets. Do you think it's..." He pauses for a moment. "I mean, don't laugh, but do you think it..."
"What?"
"Well, do you think it's zombies?"
"Zombies?" I ask, turning to him.
"Well, I mean, they look like zombies," he continues. "They're all rotted and stuff, like zombies. Isn't that what zombies are?"
"Zombies aren't real," I point out.
"Well, those things are," he says, "and I reckon they fit the bill for zombies". He pauses for a moment. "That one you talked to, did he say anything about wanting to eat our brains?"
"No," I say firmly. "Of course he didn't".
"Then what did he want with you?"
"He wanted to kill us," I say. "He kept going on about finishing some job he'd started. I didn't really understand the whole thing, but it was as if he saw us as an annoyance".
He sniffs. "Looks like a zombie. Acts like a zombie. Sounds like a zombie. Maybe they actually -"
"They're not zombies!" I tell him. "They're just... things. They're something, but they're not zombies".
"Whatever," he replies, "we need to get out of here. We've waited long enough. I don't know why they've all just stopped out there like that, but it's not gonna be permanent. Besides, we need food and water. This situation's unsustainable. If we're quick and we plan it, I think we can make it to the truck".
"We can't move Joe," I say, looking down at my brother. Although his wound has stopped bleeding, he's still badly hurt and I'm worried that any attempt to get him out onto the truck would make things worse. "Anyway," I add, "the truck's damaged. Unless you know how to fix it, we're stuck here".
&nbs
p; "Then we'll die," Clyde says. "Simple as that. We'll starve and we'll die, or they'll decide to come after us again. Is that what you want? You want to stay around here and wait for those things to decide they want to come in and get us after all?"
"I can't leave my brother," I reply.
"I can leave him".
"Then you can go".
"I'm just saying, he's pretty much..." He looks down at Joe. "Don't get me wrong, Thomas. Your brother seemed like an okay kind of guy. A bit blunt at times, but that's not so bad. Still, we've gotta face facts. He's hurt, and he's hurt bad. Look at him. You know he's not gonna get better. You can stand around being a good brother all you like, but it's not gonna change anything. With those injuries, he'll be lucky to last another day".
"If you want to run, then run, but I have to stay here until he gets better".
"You're insane. Look at him. He's not gonna get better, not now, not ever. Even if we could get him to a state-of-the-art hospital, he'd struggle to pull through. I think you're gonna have to face facts, kid. Your brother's not gonna get out of this, and we -"
"He just needs time," I say, although I know it's not true. Clyde's right: if we just sit around here like this, Joe's going to die. The gashed wound in his side isn't the kind of thing that'll just heal by itself. We need to come up with a better plan, but it's looking increasingly as if there's no way out. I keep thinking that if I just wait long enough, I'll come up with a new idea, but deep down I know that's not gonna happen. I guess I'm just delaying the inevitable moment when I have to leave him behind.
"I'm gonna look for some more towels," Clyde says. "You're gonna need 'em to deal with the bleeding if it starts up again. But after that, I'm out of here. I already made one mistake by agreeing to stay an extra night with you guys. I'm not gonna do the same thing again, okay? If you don't come with me today, you're on your own".
"How are you gonna get away?"
He shrugs. "I'll outrun the fuckers if I have to. Whatever. I'd rather die fighting than just sit around here, waiting to be picked off".
Once he's gone upstairs, I take another quick look out the window and see that the creatures are still just loitering as if they're awaiting orders. There's something not quite right about this whole situation; I don't get why they aren't trying to get inside, and I don't get why the voice doesn't seem to want to talk anymore. Yesterday, it seemed as if they were determined to get in here, and then they just stopped. There's enough of them out there that they could just rush the building and break in, if they all attacked together, but they're clearly waiting for something.
Sighing, I walk over to the kitchen table and check on Joe. The wound in his side is caked thick with congealed, dark red blood, and splintered pieces of bone are protruding at several spots. Reaching down, I check his forehead and feel a slight temperature. If he's getting an infection, there's nothing else we can do for him apart from trying to make him comfortable. He hasn't woken up since the accident, and I feel like he's sinking deeper and deeper into a sleep from which he'll never wake up. His pulse seems weak, and his breathing's shallow. He's slowly dying, and right now I can't think of a single way to help him.
Deciding that I need to see if Clyde has anything I can use for antiseptic, I head through to the back-room, hoping that maybe Clyde has a liquor cabinet. There's nothing there, of course; the most I can find is an old, half-finished carton of orange juice, but I doubt that's gonna be much use for Joe. In fact, Clyde's whole house seems to be strangely bare, as if the guy just lived alone and didn't have much need for things like furniture. He's got the bare essentials, but the place doesn't really feel as if anyone lived here. I can't shake the feeling that the whole house was a mess long before all of this stuff started to happen.
As I continue to explore, I find a small door that leads into a large lock-up garage. To my surprise, I see that there's a truck parked in here, which seems more than a little strange, seeing as Clyde's been going on and on about how a working truck is exactly the kind of thing we need to find. I wander over to the truck and look through the window; there are some maps strewn on one of the seats, and an old paper coffee cup is sitting on the dashboard. There doesn't seem to be any obvious reason why this thing isn't up and running, though I suppose there could be some damage under the hood. If this thing works, it's our ticket out of here, but I guess there must be a problem with it. After all, there's no way Clyde would have failed to mention a working truck. Not unless he's hoarding it for himself, after all. Then again, if that was the case, why did he try to steal our truck the other day?
Pausing for a moment, I realize that nothing about Clyde really makes sense. I still don't quite understand why he tried to take our truck, and I still don't quite get why he's still here. After all, he keeps going on about how he's got no loyalty to Joe and about how he's ready to make a run for it, yet he's still here; still bitching and complaining, but still here. It's like he's just hanging around for no particular reason; at the best of times, none of this would make much sense, but the urgency of the situation makes Clyde's behavior seem particularly weird. He's not acting like someone who's genuinely terrified of what's happening; in fact, he seems as if he's determined to hang around, despite having plenty of opportunities to get away. Something's not right about him, and I feel like it's time to find out if I can really trust him.
ELIZABETH
Manhattan
It's taken a couple of hours, but I feel as if I've finally managed to get one of my hands loose. Partially loose, anyway. I've pushed and pushed and pushed against the rope, and finally I've created a little extra room, in which I can turn my wrist. It's not much, but it's a start. In the process, I've managed to give myself a slight rope-burn around the side of my hands, but I don't care about that right now; I just need to get free.
"You're doing okay," a voice says suddenly. "Another couple of days and you might actually get somewhere".
I stop moving. Footsteps approach me from behind, and finally Henry walks in front of me.
"Sorry," he says. "I've been watching you for a while. I just wanted to see what you might be able to do".
"Get me out of here!" I try to say, although the gag turns this into little more than a blurred collection of murmurs.
"Bob was right," he continues. "You need to face reality. You're living in the new world, but with the same mind you used in the old world. You need to transition from one mindset to the next, and it'll take a while for you to complete that... to complete that process of change and... transformation".
I stare at him, as he struggles to remember every word of the spiel he's learned from Bob. It's like he's been brain-washed, to the extent that he seems to totally accept everything Bob does and says. He doesn't seem to be bothered by the dead bodies on the tables behind me, or by Bob's collection of saws and other torture devices. I'm starting to seriously wonder whether my little brother's head is in the right place, and whether there's any hope that I might be able to bring him back to a more rational place.
"Where'd you go?" he asks after a moment, and finally I start to see a little of his real personality shining through. "You were gone, like, more than a day. Where the hell were you?"
I mumble something under the gag.
"I can't..." He pauses, and then he checks over his shoulder before stepping behind me and starting to untie the gag. "If you shout, I'll put it back on," he says quietly. "If you call for help, same. You have to speak quietly, okay? Bob doesn't want me doing this". He slips the gag away.
"Get me out of here," I say, quietly and quickly.
"I can't".
"Henry!"
"I can't! It's Bob's decision!"
"Bullshit. Untie me, Henry. Please. The guy's insane. You saw what he did to Mallory. He's gonna do the same to me, or worse. You didn't hear what he told me earlier. He wants to -"
"Yeah, I heard," he replies.
I take a deep breath. "You heard?"
"I was here".
Sighing, I
realize Henry was skulking in the shadows the whole time. I'd hoped that I could appeal to him by making him understand the truth about Bob's intentions, but now I realize that Henry already knows the truth. It's not that he doesn't see what's happening; it's that he sees what's happening, and he's accepted it. I don't know quite how Bob has done it, but Henry seems to have been persuaded that black is white and right is wrong.
"Those steaks..." I say. "They're human".
"I know," Henry says. "The food chain has changed, Elizabeth. You have to -"
"I heard," I reply firmly. "Bob said the exact same thing. The exact same thing. You're like a little fucking robot, parroting everything he says. Don't you ever think for yourself these days?"
"Bob's right," he says. "I can't help it if what I think happens to be the same as what he thinks. It's natural that two intelligent people should reach the same conclusion".
I sigh, realizing that I'm getting nowhere with this approach. "What's he offered you, Henry?" I ask after a moment. "A gun? A uniform? Unlimited food?" I pause for a moment. "I met some people. They're heading west to start a new life by Lake Ontario. I could have gone with them, but I chose to stay behind because I wanted to come back and get you. We can still follow them, though. You and me, away from this place. The city's dangerous, Henry. We don't need Bob!"
"We can't just go wandering off across the country," he replies. "That's suicide".
"No," I say, "staying here is suicide".
"Then why did you? You had a chance to leave, so why didn't you take it? If this is so bad, why'd you come back?"
"Because of you!"
He stares at me, as if he can't quite believe what I'm saying.
