by Rook, Rowan
The Night Plague
Rowan Rook
Chapter One: Red, Red, Rain
Within the next four years, the last human being would die. It was on days like this gray, November, Friday that Mason believed it.
Blue light filtered through the classroom blinds, still devoid of dawn’s dim glow. He sat with his elbows on his desk and observed the moment of silence, while faces he’d never see again flashed across the projector and stared at the class for the final time.
Elsie Adams, Shannon Smith, Theodore Beake – three students. The teacher, tiredness haunting her wrinkled brow, listed off two more names. Rebecca Long and Seth Ranmer had disappeared. They were dead, just like the others. Everyone knew that, but no one said it. They’d lost five students total between 3:00 PM the day before and 7:30 AM this morning.
These moments of silence, as soon to be forgotten faces flashed across the screen, had become an almost daily occurrence. Death was no longer something that happened to everyone else. It happened every day, right here in the small city of Wheldon Hill. One day, there wouldn’t be any students left to attend class. It was a wonder any bothered coming at all.
Five was an unusually large loss for a weekday, nonetheless. Such reports would usually come in after the weekend. A few students shuffled in their seats, but no one spoke. Certainly, no one cried – not anymore. The five classmates they’d lost were just another set of names that would melt with the countless others, that would become nothing but five more numbers. It happened so often that no one had time to grieve anymore.
Mason hadn’t known any of them personally. He heaved a hushed chortle. It was a good time to be a recluse.
****
It was raining when school let out. Mason stopped to drag his backpack and umbrella from his locker at the end of the hall.
A few spaces down, a girl scribbled ‘we love you Theodore’ on a newly vacant cabinet. Similar decoration adorned many others: ‘R.I.P. Jake’, ‘Say hi to your sister for me!’, ‘I’ll see you again soon, Wendy!’ He looked away. If grief did show, it was in places like that quiet hallway. The hollow pattering of his feet emphasized the emptiness of the corridor.
He didn’t see anyone else until he stepped outside, where a covered stairwell connected with the sidewalk. Other students waited for relatives to pick them up or chatted with friends before walking home. After all, it was possible that classmates they cared for might be nothing more than faces on the projector the next morning.
Mason didn’t stop to talk to anybody. He only ever really spoke with one person, and she wasn’t there.
He slunk down the slick stairs with only his umbrella to protect his t-shirt and jeans from the deluge. The wind put the meek effort to waste and plastered black bangs to his brow. He hated the rain. In some states, it snowed during the winter, but no, in Wheldon Hill it always rained. He still hoped for a white Christmas – she’d always wanted to see one, and there were only a handful of chances left.
“Is it just me, or are we losing people faster than ever? With fewer of us left, they all say the pace should slow down, but…”
“So many people are disappearing, too! And they don’t bother telling us why they’re dying anymore. It can’t all be the plague, can it?”
He paused, anxious female voices catching his ears.
“I have a friend who knew Elsie well, and you know what she said? She said that Elsie’s family found her behind the house with stab wounds in her neck. It wasn’t the disease, it was murder!”
“She was stabbed? Like, with a knife?”
“Maybe, she said the holes were small, though…”
“Wait, you don’t mean like a bite, do you? I’ve seen people talking about it online. Err, vampires, I mean. You don’t actually think that…?”
He scoffed, losing interest in their drivel, and continued down the sidewalk. Damn bus service shutting down just before the season they needed it most. His house was only a mile or so away, but in the late November rain, it seemed much farther.
****
Mason opened his umbrella as he stepped out of the small general store and back into the downpour, fumbling with the bags in his hands.
He’d been just about home when she’d called, asking him to pick up apples and milk on the way so they could prepare pie after dinner. Had it been anyone else but Merril, he absolutely, one-hundred percent would’ve said no. She’d been home sick again that morning, though, and he didn’t want to squelch whatever spark she might be regaining. At the very least, he’d snagged some Cheetos and root beer. He’d thank himself for that later.
The sky was already dimming when he left the grocer. He quickly reclaimed his space on the sidewalk in a bid to make it home before the gray horizon rotted away to black.
A car, loud rap music blaring through its open windows, sloshed dangerously close to the curb. Slurred voices hollered from inside tin, completely dead to the world. Mason grimaced as dirty rainwater splashed against the hem of his jeans.
It was one of only a handful of vehicles he’d seen since leaving the school. The roads were rarely busy – there were times when he could walk the city without passing a single car. No one cared about drunk or reckless driving anymore. Hell, no one even bothered passing out licenses. Anyone who wanted to could take up a car and go – gas prices were cheap now, after all – but the boy himself had never learned how. It was better to stay off those tar deathtraps that were the streets.
The sidewalks were equally barren. It’d been different when he was young.
Children his age running about their yards or urging their parents into the nearest toy store. Men and women in suits hurrying to the city’s tallest buildings, eyes wide like they’d consumed too much caffeine and not enough sleep. Scattered neighbors out walking their dogs. Young couples smugly coddling and kissing while perched on park benches, displaying their love for all to see.
Things weren’t like that anymore. The city was silent, as if it was asleep and refused to wake up.
That was why the sudden scream brought his heart into his throat. A shriek broke the stillness, rising to the sky before choking off.
Mason’s slick umbrella nearly slipped from his hands as he spun in the direction of the noise. The voice had come from the alley behind a nearby a gas station, and…and well, it hadn’t sounded good at all. He crept a few steps closer. What the hell?
For a while, he simply stared, waiting for any sound. His heart pulsed against his ribs, beating at the bone with heavy unease. Had someone fallen in the wet weather and hurt themselves? Had a fight broken out between dealers? Or…?
He looked around, wondering if anyone else had heard, but the streets were empty.
He should run. He knew he should run. Nothing good ever came from screams echoing from dark, lonely alleyways. If there were life lessons to be gleaned from all the media he consumed, that was one of them. But…
He inched just one more step closer, peering around the corner of the gas station.
It was one step too many.
Red.
A man was there, leaning limply against the cement wall. The lamppost’s metallic glow was just enough to illuminate his features and the crimson liquid oozing from his neck.
Red.
A girl was there, her lips pressed against the man’s throat. Her fingers dug into his shoulders while scarlet welled up beneath her nails. Her eyes were closed, her face almost white in the false light. Her figure shivered and shuddered.
Red.
A pleasured coo left her mouth. The man slipped to the ground, and she knelt to keep her lips to his neck. His eyes opened when his head collapsed backwards, staring blankly
at Mason with mouth wide in the scream that he’d never gotten to finish.
Red. Red liquid seeped towards the alley below. Red liquid stained the man’s collar. Red liquid joined the rainwater as it dripped down his neck.
Blood.
Time froze. Cold. Wet. Hollow. It was a dream. It wasn't real.
A chill stirred the soles of Mason’s feet, crawling up his thighs with sharp, frigid little fingers. They tightened his stomach, sending nausea up his throat. They reached for his lungs, tying them shut to take his air away. They dug into the back of his head, yanking his mind out of his body.
Then his senses snapped back to life. His limbs jerked. His brain pulsed and twisted. He stumbled away, struggling to get his legs to work. They wouldn’t move. Why wouldn’t they move?
His eyes never left the alley. Murder. It was...a murder. The man had been murdered!
Mason unwittingly backed off the edge of the sidewalk and barely managed to keep his footing. A splash sounded as his boot connected with the gutter.
The girl’s face shot up, her mouth leaving the man’s neck for the first time. In its place were raw, red puncture wounds. Blood gathered at the corners of her lips and dripped from her chin. Had she heard? How could she have heard? But she had. She was staring right at him.
Shit.
This time, Mason screamed, fear ripping from his throat as he whirled and took off down the sidewalk. Sudden adrenaline powered his legs, forcing them to function, to move, to run. When he looked back, the man’s body lay flat on wet cement. The girl wasn’t there.
His wavering vision danced frantically around the street. Where had she gone? Was she following him? Had she seen his face?
There was a loud smack – like something thrown from above landing on the street– and a second set of footsteps rose up behind his. They were faster, tapping through the rainwater in a swift, steady rhythm.
He glanced over his shoulder. There was nothing there. At least…nothing that he could see.
The footfall started again as soon as he turned away. He scanned the road as he ran, his breath weakening in his lungs. Old buildings. Dormant cars. Mailboxes. Trees planted along the sidewalk. So many places to hide. He could sense eyes boring into the nape of his neck. She was there. Somewhere, she was there!
He kept running, panic carrying him blindly through the rain.
Then it happened. Something shifted – the pattern of her footsteps or the prickle along his spine – he was never quite sure what it was, but his body reacted before his mind could. He whirled, the heavy bag in his hands smacking into a figure just as it leapt from behind an abandoned car.
The plastic slipped from his slick fingers. An apple landed with a clunk and rolled away into the gutter. A second smack followed as the figure stumbled into an inelegant mess of limbs.
It was her.
A new shriek escaped his lungs, urging his legs to propel him as far away as possible with the sparse seconds he’d earned.
But she was faster. Her footfalls returned, pounding behind his. Something sharp sunk through his jacket and into his arm – her fingernails. He spun, the sudden resistance nearly toppling him over. And for one brief beat, he came face to face with her.
Cold, grayish blue eyes bore into his. Long brown hair framed a face of narrow features. The rain washed away the blood from her chin. For the faintest instant, something familiar flickered in the edge of his mind.
Then her nails tightened over his elbow and yanked him back to reality.
He thrust the umbrella towards her face with all the strength he had. Its pointed tip dug into her cheek, earning a pained yelp. Her grip fell away. He released the parasol and pushed his feet over the wet tar.
He ran. And ran. And ran.
The footsteps were still there, but so was his house.
He was in his neighborhood now, the familiar beige building waiting for him on his left. Warm yellow light peeked through its drawn green curtains. His dog howled from behind its brown door. Normal colors for normal days.
It was only now that he realized he’d led her right to it.
He whirled around a final time, searching for any sign of her. He shouldn’t have brought her to his home. He should’ve fled further into the city. He should still keep running. She’d never know.
But the fear tightening his chest and the heat pulsing up his calves refused to let him leave. His breath whimpered shallowly from his lungs. He didn’t see her. Maybe she was gone. Maybe he’d lost her. Either way, he couldn’t run anymore. If he tried, she’d catch him.
He bounded up his porch and with a last, breathless glance over his shoulder, yanked open the door.
Chapter Two: A World without Hope
Mason slammed the door and bolted it shut. He jiggled the handle, just to assure himself it wasn’t going to budge, and peered through the living room window. Nothing. A dark, empty street. No girl with bloodstained teeth. He closed the curtain after checking the lock.
It was quiet – he knew he was the alone in the room without turning around. The only noise came from Molly’s lolling pants, but the dog seemed to sense his tension, watching him with perked ears instead of offering her usual enthusiasm.
He sucked in a deep breath, trying to gather his nerves and still his shaking limbs before surveying the rest of the house. Like always, the lights were off in every room but the living area, and the shadows painting the corners seemed less inviting than usual. His skin prickled while he made his way to the kitchen, checking the back door and locking every window he passed.
“You’re late.”
He jumped, before his muscles stiffened with irritation. Martin. “So?” He grimaced, not in any mood to deal with the twenty-six-year-old brother who stood waiting behind him.
Martin ran a hand through buzz-cut black hair. “You can’t keep doing this. You need to be back before dark, and if you aren’t, I need a phone call.”
Something accusatory in his voice ground Mason’s teeth together. “I’m an adult. I can do what I want.”
“An irresponsible eighteen-year-old kid is hardly an adult.” Martin stared with those glowering blue eyes of his. “You live in my house; you live by my rules. It’s not a hard concept.”
Mason watched the wall. If only Martin would just go away. He didn’t want to talk. He didn’t want to argue. He wanted to go to his room and lock his door. But Martin was always there when he wasn’t wanted, like an itch that he couldn’t quite scratch. His head told him to consent and let it go, but his mouth moved almost on impulse. “This isn’t your house.”
Martin’s hand closed around Mason’s shoulder. It was a tight grip, the older brother’s nails digging in through the younger’s t-shirt. The touch sent chills down Mason’s spine, echoing the feel of bloodied fingers and evening rain. He fought the urge to shove his brother off.
“Tell me, then, whose house is it? A dead woman’s?” Martin leaned closer. “I’m the one who works to pay the bills while you waste away in your room.” He laughed. “Adult, my ass. I’m not sure how someone who stares at a screen all day can call himself that.”
Mason’s nostrils flared. It was Mom’s house. It always would be Mom’s house. “She never gave it to you. I go to school. I don’t get into trouble. It should be mine as much as yours.”
“Do you really think you and Merril would’ve survived these last four years on your own?” Martin chuckled. “Get enough money to pay off half the rent. Then we’ll talk.”
Mason said nothing, staring at the same white wall. “Let go.”
Martin heaved a long sigh, and then finally relaxed his grip. “You’re shaking. Why? Where were you?”
“Nowhere,” Mason spat almost too quickly. “I stopped at the store to pick some stuff up for Merril and lost track of time. It was nothing!” Nervous fingers covered the rip in his jacket.
“The store?” Martin’s brow arched over icy irises. “Forget your bags, then? I don’t see any.”
Mason tensed. Wha
t a stupid oversight. He’d always been a terrible liar, and that he could barely hear himself think didn’t help. His heart pounded between his ears and blocked out the contents of his head.
“Where were you?” Martin demanded, pointed features firm and creased. There were times when he looked much older than twenty-six.
Mason didn’t answer. He couldn’t deal with his brother, not now. He turned and headed for the stairs.
“Hey, you can’t just –” A callused hand reached for his sore left arm.
“Let go!” He shoved his elbow into his brother’s ribs, using the moment to break free and dash upstairs.
“Mason!”
He didn’t stop, the carpeted steps creaking beneath his feet.
“Mason!”
He threw himself into the bathroom and locked the door. He did the same to the shower window before collapsing against peeling wallpaper. His legs shook, aching with weary heat that sent him slipping to the blue linoleum below.
Pound. Pound. Pound. Martin banged on the cheap wood door. “Mason, get out here now, or you’re not going anywhere this weekend! Do you hear me?”
He ignored the noise. Images of red and gray darkened the corners of his eyes and the beat of swift footfalls echoed in his ears. He held his knees to his ribs, fighting to catch his breath.
He was fine. Everything was fine. If she were going to break in, she would’ve already. He must’ve lost her. He’d made it. He was fine.
His lungs slowly subdued, muscles relaxing with each deep breath he forced through them. The struggle got easier and easier. He wasn’t sure how long he stayed like that before the world came back into focus. He dragged his head from his jeans.
Martin had surrendered. The clock ticking in the hall and the relentless dripping of the faucet colored the otherwise quiet room. The damn sink had been broken for years. A drop fell into the basin with a small splash and crawled towards the drain.
Liquid. Red.
He straightened, forcing himself to his shaky feet. No. It was only water. He walked to the faucet and splashed his face. His features were nearly as pale as hers when his eyes caught the mirror, red and bloodshot.
