by Cross, Amy
I don't dare.
For one thing, I don't have anything to offer her. For another, I'm slightly worried that she might mention something about Pentham. I have no idea how much she understands about what happened to me, but I'm scared that she might blurt out something about the fact that I was briefly a zombie. So for my sake, as well as her sake, I choose to stay away. It's just better for everyone that way.
Turning, I start making my way along the street. The crazy thing is, I used to walk this way sometimes in the old days, before everything went crazy. Back then, the street was usually pretty busy and buzzing with activity. I remember a guy who used to busk sometimes near the entrance to the subway station, and now – as I pass his old spot – I can't help wondering what happened to him. I guess that's one of those things that I'll never find out, but I hope that maybe by some miracle he managed to survive.
Then again, I know the odds of that are low.
I head down some steps and walk toward an underpass that'll allow me to cut through the park. Here's another crazy thing: in the old days, I'd never have dreamed of taking this underpass, since there were always some pretty sketchy people hanging about. Now, however, there aren't nearly so many people around, and the people who are around tend to be far too busy to waste time loitering in the streets. That's one of the strange things about the new world, and I find myself thinking back to something that Doctor Carter said a few months ago when we'd stopped in that weird little abandoned town after leaving Pentham.
“The biggest change in the world now,” she explained, “is that there are no spare people around. Everyone's necessary. Everyone's needed.”
At the time, I thought she was just being her usual cynical, nihilistic self, but now I think I'm starting to understand what she meant. In the old days, if a hundred people were killed in a disaster, it was horribly sad but you never heard anyone say “What are we going to do without those people? We really needed them.” Now, however, a hundred people would be a big chunk of the workforce we've got here in the city, and it'd be a real challenge to deal with that sudden loss. No matter who you are, these days you're needed.
Or am I just letting Carter get into my head? Did she influence me and make me more pessimistic about the world?
Hearing a shuffling sound as I make my way through the underpass, I turn and look over my shoulder, and I bristle as I see that someone has come down here after me. The underpass itself is dark, and the space outside is bright, so all I can really make out is the person's silhouette. After a moment, however, I realize that there's something strange about the way this person is walking. It's almost as if...
I turn and hurry on, keen to get out the other side.
It's not a zombie.
I know that.
Zombies are gone, and the person being me is not a zombie.
So why we he walking like one?
Why was he shuffling along, as if he was slightly dragging one leg? I know it sounds crazy, but zombies tended to walk a certain way and I came to recognize them even from a distance, even before I saw their rotten faces. Now, as I glance over my shoulder again, I can't shake the feeling that this guy is walking the exact same way.
For a moment, my mind fills with awful images. I imagine a zombie chasing me down and biting my neck. In my mind's eye, I see a lurid, blood-splattered scene in which I'm dragged to the ground and devoured, and I imagine my bones being torn out of my body. There's blood everywhere, and the entire scenario is like something from a low-budget zombie movie. I try to tell myself that none of this is real, but at the same time I'm starting to get out of breath.
And then I see her.
Rachel.
She's in my head, snarling at me. I feel a rush of panic at the thought of her having become one of those creatures, and I want to scream at her, to tell her that I'm sorry and that I'll find her one day.
I quicken my pace, and finally I make it back out into broad daylight, at which point I hurry up a grass verge and then stop behind a tree. Peering around the side of the trunk, I watch the exit of the underpass and I wait for the figure to emerge. At the same time, my heart is pounding and I'm starting to feel that old urge to run, the same urge that kicked in so many times in the past when I saw a zombie in the distance.
Finally the figure emerges into the sunlight, and I feel a rush of relief as I see that he's definitely not a zombie.
I turn to walk away, but at the last moment I linger a moment and watch the figure. He's clearly suffering with his left leg, which is turned slightly to one side, and even from up here I can see that he's painfully thin. I want to call out to him and ask whether he's okay, yet for some reason I keep quiet. The guy shuffles past and heads off along the path, and I stand silently and watch until he's disappeared around the far corner, at which point I realize that I've been holding my breath.
I think I just had a panic attack.
I lean against the tree for a moment, and I tell myself that there's no time for panic attacks. I just have to get on with things, and I have to trust that my father was telling the truth when he said that Rachel was safely evacuated to Philadelphia. He wouldn't have lied to me, would he?
And then, just as I'm about to turn and walk away, a single white feather floats down right in front of me, brushing my nose before falling to the ground. I generally try not to get carried away with these things, but the feathers are starting to come more and more often.
Elizabeth
By the time I get back to the building, night is fast approaching and there are long shadows running along the street. Not many people are out now, because most – like me – have been busy all day. Shuttered shops and bars are all around, but I doubt they'd be busy even if they opened. Everyone just needs to work.
“Elizabeth!” a voice calls out as I enter the building and head toward the stairs.
Turning, I see Julius Wade hurrying toward me. I instantly feel a flicker of regret that I've run into him, and then I feel bad for that. Julius is a good guy, and he's helped me a lot since I came here. I force a smile as he reaches me, and I remind myself that I should be nicer to him.
“Tired?” he asks.
“You know how it is.”
“Absolutely,” he replies. “I was down at the pier again today. I swear, every time I think I've finished with one of the main tasks, something else pops up. The place is crazy. This afternoon, I finished preparing the ropes that I need to hang, and then I found that one of the boards – a board that I fixed a while ago – has come loose again. I swear I sorted that thing out last week, but it's up again. So then I had to find a hammer, but I'd loaned my only hammer to a guy named James who works in one of the gardens. So I had to go and find him, but he wasn't where he usually is and then I had to ask around, and -”
He stops suddenly, and then he sighs.
“And I'm boring you to death, aren't I?” he says with a sigh. “Elizabeth, you should always tell me when I'm doing that.”
“You're not boring me at all, Julius,” I lie. “I'm sorry, I'm just very tired.”
“You should go and get some sleep,” he tells me. “It's not right that a young girl such as yourself has to do all this back-breaking work. You're a kid, you should be having fun. When I was your age, I used to go to the cinema all the time, just to relax and get away from the world. It's impossible to do that now, isn't it? Just get away from everything...”
“There'll be time for fun later.”
“I hope you're right,” he says, nodding earnestly. “Well, have a good sleep.”
“You too.”
I turn to go up the stairs.
“Oh,” he adds suddenly, “I almost forgot, someone came by earlier, asking about you.”
I glance back at him.
“Thomas something,” he continues, furrowing his brow for a moment. “Edgewater, I think. Yes, that's right, Thomas Edgewater.”
“What did he want?” I ask, feeling a sudden lift in my spirits. “How long ago was he here?”<
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“It was early this morning,” he replies. “I tried to find you, but I think you must have already left. Anyway, he just came to say goodbye to you. He was heading off on one of those trains that are going out west, and he dropped by to let you know, but he said it was no big deal. He asked me to tell you that he's not planning on coming back, and that you should really not worry about him. He's going to be fine.”
“He left?” I say, trying not to let myself feel too sad. “Are you sure?”
“That's what he said. He seemed very excited about going off on some big new adventure.”
I pause for a moment, shocked that Thomas is gone. I've been avoiding him lately, because I didn't want to think about Toad, but I was always planning to go and find him some time. I just needed to get my head together first. I guess I left it a little too late.
“Did he say anything else?” I ask.
“No. Just what I already told you.”
“He didn't leave a note or anything?”
“Sorry. No note.”
“Huh.” I pause again, still trying to come to terms with the idea that Thomas is gone.
“You look sad,” Julius says after a moment. “Was he someone you cared about?”
“No,” I reply. “I mean... I didn't know him that well, he was just this guy who I traveled with for about two weeks. We were in Boston together for a while, before we came to New York.”
“A fleeting friendship,” he says with another sigh. “I suppose friendship isn't really the right word, though, is it? He sounds like more of an acquaintance.”
“I guess so,” I say, although somehow that suggestion doesn't seem to sit right. I guess I should just accept that Thomas is gone. It was nice of him to come and try to say goodbye, and I'm sorry I wasn't here. I shouldn't expect anything more. “I'm really tired,” I add finally, taking a step back. “Thank you for letting me know about Thomas.”
“Anything for you, Elizabeth,” he replies. “You know that. Sleep tight.”
With that, he turns to walk away.
“Do you ever see feathers?” I ask suddenly.
He glances back at me.
“This is going to sound nuts,” I continue, “but quite often now I see these feathers that seem to come from nowhere. Sometimes they're black and sometimes they're white, and I just don't quite understand what's happening. I was wondering whether the same thing ever happens to you.”
“Feathers?” He stares at me for a moment, before shaking his head. “I can't say that it does, Elizabeth. Sorry.”
“Sometimes I think I'm going properly loopy,” I tell him with a smile. “It's not like I'm expecting angels to drop out of the sky suddenly, but these feathers just keep turning up. They're not particularly big. And sometimes they show up when I'm inside, which doesn't seem like it should be possible.”
“Sounds pretty odd to me,” he replies, “but I'm sure there's a perfectly reasonable explanation. Maybe you're being stalked by a seagull.”
“Maybe,” I mutter. “Sorry. Please don't mention what I said about the feathers to anyone else, I don't want them to think that I'm losing my mind. I'm sure it's just some kind of weird coincidence.”
“Don't worry, Elizabeth,” he says with a wink. “Your secret is safe with me.”
He walks away, and this time he makes it all the way out the door. Conversations with Julius can sometimes go on and on, but – again – I should be more grateful. He's a nice guy and he goes out of his way to look after me. I guess I just wish that he hadn't given me that bad news about Thomas, because I always thought that I'd go and find Thomas again some time soon. I guess in a way I was being a little vain; I didn't want to go back and find Thomas until I was sure that I was more myself, because I didn't want him to see me when I'm like this. Plus, whenever I think about Thomas, I end up thinking about Toad as well.
And now Thomas is gone, and I guess that's the end of that. Finding a specific person again in this messed-up world is pretty much impossible.
I know I should just go upstairs and head to my bunk, but at the last moment I hesitate. It's getting late, and I genuinely am exhausted, but right now I think I want to go to the one place in the whole city where I actually feel safe. I look around, to make sure that nobody's watching me, and then I hurry back out and along the street.
If I'm quick, I can be there and back before the curfew monitors even know that I'm gone.
Elizabeth
“Okay. Well, I'm just gonna head off. I hope things work out for you, Elizabeth. Stay safe.”
Those were the words Harrison Blake said to me several months ago, when he left New York. I liked him, he seemed a lot calmer than people like Bob, and I was sorry when he left. But then he left a key behind, and the key allowed me to get into his apartment, and that's when I first found this library. At first, I managed to keep the place secret, but the books were eventually taken by Bob. He even got Henry to help him. They were put in the storage rooms at the bottom of the building, which is where I found a bunch of them recently.
And now here I am, sitting in Harrison Blake's old library, reading one of the few surviving books. There's a candle burning next to me, and I actually feel safe in here.
Of course, it's a miracle that this building hasn't been cleaned out yet. The teams will get here soon, but for now I have a place to hide away. The books are a total mix of topics, and right now I'm reading about the Napoleonic Wars between Britain and France. I don't really know much about history, but it feels good to learn something – anything – and the books really help me to stay settled. I can't stay here for too long tonight, in case I'm caught breaking curfew, but right now I actually feel pretty secure.
Eventually, after several hours have passed, I fold the corner of a page over and then I close the book. My eyes are sore from reading in such bad light, and I figure I should head back and get some sleep. Getting to my feet, I blow the candle out before starting to pick my way out of the apartment. That candle isn't going to last for many more nights, but it's hard to get here during daylight hours. I really need to figure out where to get another candle, although finding pretty much anything is difficult these days. Candles are highly-valued in the current world, so I'm not sure I can even afford one.
It's crazy to think that I'm so hung up about a candle. As I gently shut the front door to Blake's apartment, I realize that in the old days I never really gave a damn about candles. Now look at me.
I hesitate for a moment, listening to the silence of the building, and then I realize that there's one more place I have to go before I leave tonight.
***
Home.
I don't know why, but every night – after leaving Harrison Blake's place – I come here, back to the apartment where I used to live with Henry and Mom and Dad. It's like I'm torturing myself, because every time I feel the same raw, painful sensation in my chest. The apartment is a complete wreck, with dirt and debris everywhere. The main window was shattered long ago, and now a strong wind is blowing into the room, causing a faint whistling sound. There's no light in here, so everything's shrouded in darkness, but I force myself to think back to happier times.
That awful birthday party that Mom threw for Dad, which ended up with one of his work friends getting completely wasted.
The time Henry knocked over a cabinet and sent glasses and plates crashing to the ground.
The night I managed to sneak through after everyone else was asleep and watch some late-night comedy shows. I wonder what happened to all the celebrities when the world collapsed? I guess some of them must have survived.
Why do I do this to myself? Taking a deep breath, I finally realize that being here is too painful, but at the same time I come here several times a week. I always tell myself that this is the last time, that I'm going to learn to say goodbye properly, but deep down I already know that I'll be back soon. I guess maybe it'll be a good thing when the clean-up teams get here and gut the place, because at least then it'll finally be off-
limits. For now, I'm like a ghost haunting my old home, and I'm really not getting anything done.
I turn to walk away.
“Elizabeth.”
Stopping in the doorway, I realize that I heard it again. And in an instant, I understand once more that this is why I come here so often.
To test myself.
To prove that he's not really here.
“Elizabeth,” the voice whispers again, except that this time it might just be the wind.
Slowly, I force myself to turn and look over toward the far side of the room. It's so dark in here, I can barely see anything at all, but after a moment I'm just about able to make out a shape slumped in the shadows.
Bob.
In an instant, I think back to those final moments. They play in my head, as if they're happening all over again. I remember the sensation of pulling the trigger, and I remember the crunching sound as one side of his head exploded.
Why can't I forget about Bob? He was nothing, he was a loser, yet somehow I seem to carry him around wherever I go. I hallucinated him in Boston, and now he seems to be gnawing at the edge of my mind, trying desperately to find some way back in. The real Bob would love this, he'd be laughing at the sight of me, he'd feel as if somehow he'd won.
And maybe he'd be right.
“Elizabeth,” the wind seems to say again, except that this time I know it really is the wind. Maybe it's whistling through the gaps in Bob's broken skull, but it's just the wind.
“Hey, Bob,” I whisper, before turning and walking away. “Enjoy rotting in Hell.”
Except this time, I know that I really won't be coming back here ever again.
Day 197
Thomas
The train roars out of a tunnel as I open my eyes and sit up, and when I look out the window I see vast empty swathes of land stretching as far as the eye can see. For a moment, I feel like one of the old settlers who first colonized America all those hundreds of years ago. All I see is emptiness and desolation, and opportunity.
