by Cross, Amy
"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."
"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 himse
lf, 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.
Chapter Three
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.
"I came back because of you," I continue. "I came back because you're my brother, and because I know you're not gonna let Bob do this. You heard him. He wants to sleep with me and get me pregnant so we can start a new generation. The guy's crazy, Henry. There are rats all over the place. There's gonna be disease everywhere soon, and the city's gonna become like a cesspit. If we stay here, we'll die a slow, horrible death. Bob's crazy. He thinks he's the king of this castle, but he's got nothing. What's he gonna do when he finishes eating those bodies? Where's he gonna get his next meat from? Rats?"
"Bob's got everything under control," Henry says, sounding a little defensive. It's as if I've finally started to get through to him.
"Bob's an ass," I say. "He doesn't understand. He thinks he's got the world sorted out, but he's just living on this island that's getting smaller and smaller. He thinks he's justified in hurting people and killing people and eating people, but it's all in his head. If we get out of here, we can go follow the others, Mallory and the others, and we can maybe find somewhere we can really start over. Mom and Dad aren't coming back -"
"They might," he snaps back at me.
"No," I say. "Really not. You're just saying that because it's an excuse to sit here and hope for a miracle. They're gone, Henry, and we have to do what's right for us. We have to get the hell out of this place."
"Bob said you'd say that," he replies. There's definitely a new sense of uncertainty in his eyes, as if he's starting to doubt the things he's saying.
"You know what Bob's gonna do to me?" I ask, deciding it's time to really ram things home. "He's gonna torture me a little, just to soften me up, and then he's gonna have sex with me so he can -"
Henry shakes his head.
"So he can get me pregnant with his little Bob spawn, and he thinks we're gonna build this new civilization, and all the while we're gonna be eating those dead bodies behind me -"
"No," Henry says, his voice faltering. "That's not what's gonna happen."
"It's exactly what he said he's gonna do!" I reply, raising my voice a little. "You heard him! Word for word, that's what he's gonna do! Think about it, Henry. He's gonna get on top of me and have sex with me on the pretext of somehow saving civilization, and we're gonna stay in this building while a rising tide of filth and disease surrounds us, and eventually we'll be stuck here like we're on an island, except the filth and the rats are gonna start coming higher and higher up the building until we'll be up on the roof with nowhere to go!"
"No," Henry says again.
"Yes!"
"Why?" Henry replies. "Why would Bob do that? Why would Bob do something that's gonna end up like that? He wouldn't. He's got a plan -"
"Because he's unhinged," I say. "Because he thinks he's the leader of some new, brave world that's go
nna rise from the ashes of what we used to have. It's not gonna work, Henry. Look at this place. It's been one week since everything started. The people I met, Mallory and the others, are setting off to start a new life outside the city. Bob, meanwhile, has already got you eating human meat, with a gun in your hand, while he plans to hurt your own sister." I pause for a moment, hoping my words might sink in. "Bob's right when he says things have to change," I continue eventually, "but his version of that change is totally, completely wrong."
Henry stares at me, as if he's finally starting to really think about what I'm saying. I hate seeing him like this, lost and confused, but it's the only way I'm ever going to get him away from Bob.
"Untie me," I say firmly, "and we'll get out of here. We won't hurt Bob. We won't even take any of his food or his other supplies. We'll just leave, and we'll go catch up to the others. There's still time, Henry. You're not locked into this."
"I can't leave Bob alone," he says. "I can let you go, but I have to stay."
I shake my head.
"Why not?" he asks.
"Because you're my brother," I tell him.
He sighs.
"I'm sticking with you," I say. "I'm not leaving you with this madman. If I have to, I'll..." I pause, as I realize that I might be forced to take drastic action if I'm gonna get Henry away from Bob. After all, if Bob died, there'd be nothing to keep Henry here. I hate the idea of killing someone, but if that's the price I have to pay in order to get Henry out of here, then I guess it's something I'll have to do. "Untie me," I say. "We'll stay, at least for a couple of days."
He stares at me.
"Henry, we -"
"I'll let you go," he says, suddenly, hurrying behind me and starting to loosen the ropes.
