by Amy Cross
Toad sighs. "I don't know what kind of injury your brother had. I don't know where he was shot, or what kind of gun was used. You said it was a rifle, so I figure there was more damage than I ended up with. Either way, you can't go back over every little detail and look for things you might have done differently. The past is the past, and I'm sure you would have saved your brother if there was any chance." He pauses. "I was right about you, though. I could tell you were smart, and you definitely proved it."
"I don't feel smart," I reply, unable to stop thinking about Henry. After a moment, I realize that there are tears in my eyes, and although I want to keep talking to Toad, I can feel my bottom lip starting to tremble. Putting my hands over my face, I try to hold back from crying, but it's no use. I just keep thinking, over and over, of his face as he died. He must have been waiting for me to do something. After all, I was his big sister, so he relied on me to keep him safe. He was probably hoping that I'd find some way to save him. Hell, I should have found a way. Why was I able to keep my head clear and look after Toad, but not my own brother?
"You did a good job," Toad says, reaching out and putting a hand on my knee. "What I told you out in the forest still stands. If you want to stick around after Erikson and Shauna leave, you're more than welcome."
I try to reply, but instead I just get to my feet and hurry out of the room. As soon as I'm in the corridor, I stop and take a moment to regather my composure, but instead I just end up sobbing more than ever. I know it's not my fault that Henry was killed, but I still feel as if there might have been some way that I could have saved him. I'll never forgive myself for not doing more. If I'd maybe tried to pull the bullet out, the same way I did with Toad, and then I could have disinfected the wound and tried to seal it up. In some parallel universe, maybe I'm still in our apartment in Manhattan, looking after him while he recovers. It's not fair that I survived and he died. I was supposed to protect him, and I didn't. I failed.
It takes me a while to calm down, but eventually I head through to Patricia's room, and I find her sitting at her desk, using a microscope to examine the slice of tissue she took from the creature's dead body.
"How's the patient?" she asks after a moment.
"He's fine," I reply. "He's talking." I stand in the doorway for a moment, watching as she works. "So if someone was shot in the chest," I continue eventually, "like, right in the middle of the chest, just below the collarbone, would there be any way they could survive?"
She turns to me. "Where exactly was this person shot?"
I touch my chest to show her where Henry was hit.
"What kind of weapon?" she asks.
"A rifle."
She sighs. "That kind of injury would almost certainly be fatal. Even in the unlikely event that the heart wasn't damaged, you've got the windpipe, the lungs... With proper facilities, there might be a chance, but it'd be touch and go. Why do you ask?"
"No reason," I reply. "But technically, it might have been possible?"
"Possible," she says, "but highly improbable." She pauses. "I don't have a problem with guns, but I've had to clean up two bullet wounds in the past couple of days. I don't like it."
"You're the one who shot me," I point out.
"Exactly," she replies, "and I don't like it."
Walking across the room, I look down at the sliver of discolored skin on the microscope plate.
"If you're wondering what I've found so far," she continues, "I'm afraid I don't really have anything to tell you. There's no real difference between this specimen and the kind of skin you'd find on a dead body after a few days' worth of decomposition. Basically, these creatures are just dead people who have somehow been reanimated." She smiles. "Fuck, can you believe what I'm saying? Dead people walking about. It's fucking insane, and yet..." Reaching into her pocket, she takes out her last cigarette and sniffs the end.
"You going to smoke that?" I ask.
"Not yet," she replies. "Still saving it." After taking another sniff, she puts it back in her pocket. "So Erikson and his girlfriend are talking about getting out of here in a couple of days," she continues. "Are you going to go with them?"
I pause for a moment. "I guess so," I say eventually.
"Really?"
"I came with them," I reply, "so it makes sense if I leave with them. I don't know where they're going, but, I mean, maybe..." My voice trails off as I realize that I don't really have much of a plan. Sure, I keep saying that I'm going to Lake Ontario, but I feel as if that's just some kind of pipe-dream that's never going to happen.
"What's the point of traveling," Patricia says after a moment, "if you're not trying to get anywhere? Especially when things are so bad."
"What's the point of staying anywhere?" I reply.
"Because it's marginally easier to stay alive," she points out. "Only marginally, but still..." She waits for me to say something. "We could use you around here. You're smart. You learn fast, and you've got initiative. I'm not saying you should settle here forever, but would it be so bad? What can Erikson and Shauna offer that you can't get here?"
"I don't want to stay still," I tell her. "I want to keep moving."
"Take a look," she replies, standing up and indicating the microscope. "Tell me what you see."
I lean closer and look into the eyepiece. Magnified several hundred times, the creature's skin is beautiful, and for a moment I just stare mindlessly at the folds of yellow and purple. It's as if there's a whole different world down at that level, and it's hard to believe that something could be so hideous when seen with the naked eye, but so gorgeous when examined more closely.
"Those things are out there," Patricia says after a moment. "Lots of them. More than we can imagine. If they're still decomposing, they should pretty much fall apart within the next couple of weeks, but until then, we need to stay safe. Toad has ammunition here. Not a limitless supply, but hopefully enough to keep this place defended if we get attacked. I don't really know much about Erikson and Shauna, but they don't seem particularly smart. If I had to choose between going with them or staying here, I know what I'd do."
"It's not that easy," I reply, stepping back from the microscope.
"You're scared to stand still?" she asks.
I nod.
"Toad wants you to stay."
"That's nice," I reply, even though I can't deny that I'm pleased to hear that he likes me. Still, it's not enough of a reason for me to stick around.
"I can even make sure that Thor backs off," she continues. "The guy's an oaf."
"I feel as if I have to get somewhere," I reply. "I don't even know where, but staying here at the farm would just be wrong."
"Don't make the mistake of assuming that you have a better chance of staying alive if you're on the move," she says. "Sooner or later, you'll run into more and more of the creatures, and as far as I can tell, you don't really have any supplies. I mean, what have Erikson and Shauna got in their van? Enough to keep the three of you going for the next few weeks? Have they got weapons? If you ask me, they're woefully under-prepared for any kind of journey, especially since she's almost full-term."
I pause for a moment. I know she's right, and I know that staying here at the farm would be the smartest move. At the same time, I have this insatiable urge to keep moving, as if I'm scared that I'll die if I stay still. Maybe I'm being irrational, but I feel physically sick every time I think about sticking around. I guess I'm secretly hoping that if I keep moving, eventually I'll find a place where things have started to get back to normal.
"I'm going with them," I say eventually. "I've made my decision."
"I guess so," she replies, sitting back down and turning her attention to the microscope.
As I leave the room, I can't shake the feeling that I'm making a mistake. Then again, I guess any choice right now is a mistake. Whether I stay here or leave, those creatures are coming, and I don't see that the world is going to set itself right any time soon. There's nothing I can do to fix things, but
staying at the farm would feel like accepting the inevitable. I can't face the idea of staring at the horizon every day, waiting for those things to appear. I'd rather keep moving, and hoping that maybe around the next corner, there might be something that makes everything okay again.
Thomas
Missouri
"Let me out of here!" I scream, staring up at the ceiling.
No reply.
"I'll do anything you want!" I shout. "I'll be your slave for life, but you have to let me out of here!"
Silence.
"Please!" I scream, before dropping to my knees. I can't take this any longer. My body feels weak, and I think I've seriously damaged my shoulder after all those attempts to break the door down. After a moment, I roll onto my side and stare at the nearby wall. I have to work out how to get out of here. I can't die in this hellhole. Not now. Not like this.
"Fuck you!" I scream, filled with anger. "What's wrong with you, you fucking pervert? Why did you leave her down here to die? Why are you doing this to me?" I wait. "Why won't you fucking answer me!"
No reply.
"Fuck you!" I scream again, and even though I'm starting to taste blood in the back of my mouth, I can't stop. "Fuck you!"
Eventually, I go back to the corner and wait. I don't even know what I'm waiting for, but I figure that I've got no other option. Time passes, and finally I notice that it's getting dark again. As I stare at the window, I see that the light is getting low, which means the sun is starting to set. I've spent another day down in this basement, and for most of that time I've simply been watching the window, trying to watch as the light's subtle changes become evident.
Damn it, I think I'm losing my mind.
No, I'm definitely losing my mind.
My throat hurts. I've spent the best part of the past two days screaming for help, and eventually I started to taste blood. When I try to speak now, my voice sounds harsh and gravelly. There's no way that old bastard didn't hear me, and I doubt there's anyone else around for miles. Barring some kind of miracle, I'm not getting out of here. There's certainly nothing more I can do to save myself.
There's been no movement upstairs. No sound of the old man doing anything. As far as I can tell, he hasn't done anything at all, and I can't help wondering if maybe he died in his sleep. After all, he explicitly told me that he was going to put me to work, but now he seems to have forgotten about me. He seems so excited at the prospect of having a little slave to push around, and it's hard to believe that he would have changed his mind. I guess there's still a chance that he might suddenly open the door and start giving me orders, I'm becoming more and more certain that he's dead.
And if he's dead, then I guess I'm as good as dead too.
After all, there's no way out of this place. The door is way to strong, and the glass in the window is unbreakable. The walls of the basement are made of concrete, as is the floor, and there's no way to break through the ceiling. I'm starving, and I desperately need water, and as a result I'm starting to feel weaker and weaker. It's as if my body has already started to accept the inevitable. I barely have the energy to move, so all I can do is stay right where I am and stare at the window. As the sun continues to dip, I realize that I might not make it through the night. This might be the last light I ever see.
I can't help thinking about Joe. Given everything that has been happening over the past couple of days, I haven't really had time to process the fact that I killed and then buried my own brother. In the space of a week, I've lost my mother, my father and finally my brother. The only remaining member of my immediate family is my sister Martha, but she lives in California and even in the unlikely event that she's still alive, I don't think I'll ever be able to find her. I just hope that while he's determined to make me die in pain, God can find it in his heart to help Martha. The only hope I have left is that somehow she's still alive out there.
Time passes. How much time, I don't know, but enough for the last of the sunlight to disappear. There's nothing but darkness now, all around me, and while there was moonlight last night, this time I guess there are too many clouds. I'm starting to feel cold, too, and for the first time I feel as if death might actually not be such a bad thing. If it meant that this pain and misery would be over, maybe I'd welcome the end. Anyway, it seems totally inevitable, so why delay things any longer? Death always used to scare me, but now it feels like an all-encompassing nothingness that would soothe away all my fears.
But there's one thing I've got to do first.
Getting to my feet, I stagger unsteadily across the dark basement. I can't see where I'm going, but it's not as if I can get lost. My mind feels weak and vague, as if I can't quite put my thoughts together properly, so this is probably going to be the last thing I do before I drift away. Maybe I'm insane, but I don't care. All that matters, now, is that I'm not alone with I die. I need someone, anyone, to be close to me. If that means I have to lose my mind a little, I don't care.
Slowly, still fumbling in the dark, I manage to find the pile of cloth sacks in the corner of the basement. I lift them aside, and seconds later my hand brushes against the dead girl's withered corpse. Instead of withdrawing, I lie down next to her. I can't see her, of course, but I can feel my feet touching hers, and when I put a hand out into the darkness, I feel one of the cloth sacks that has been left over her torso. Right now, she just feels like another person, albeit one who isn't breathing. It's enough. I guess one day, if someone finds our bodies like this, they might think we were friends. That's fine by me. Closing my eyes, I wait for the inevitable. I just hope that death comes quickly.
Day Thirteen
Elizabeth
Pennsylvania
"Do you know how to use this thing?" Bridger shouts, holding a rifle out toward me.
I nod.
"Then take it," he spits, thrusting it into my hands. "And for God's sake, don't blow any of our heads off."
All around me, people are running and shouting. A couple of minutes ago, just after sunrise, Bridger raised the alarm. He'd been on sentry duty all night and he swears that as the sun came up, he spotted a distinctive, lurching figure on the horizon, stumbling toward us. In other words: one of the creatures.
"Are they smart enough to go around and try to come in through the back?" Thor asks.
"It's possible," Patricia replies, loading two cartridges into her shotgun. "We need to form a defensive perimeter. I'll take the north, Bridger takes the south, you take the east and..." She pauses, before glancing over to me. "You take the west, Elizabeth."
"Where are the others?" Bridger asks.
"Toad's too badly hurt to get up," she continues, "and Shauna's a liability in her current state."
"Eriksen was wasted last night," Thor points out. "The guy's probably still sleeping it off. There's no way in hell I'm giving that dick a rifle."
"We don't have time to stand around talking," Patricia says, heading out the door. "Everyone get ready."
We all follow, making our way onto the wooden porch that runs along one edge of the farmhouse. The whole world seems to be bathed in a warm orange glow, but there are plenty of shadows in which a creature could be lurking. As the four of us fan out and take our positions on different sides of the building, I can't help wondering whether I was right to say that I know how to use the rifle. I mean, I've used one before, but I'm no expert. I have no idea, for example, whether there's any kind of safety catch on the damn thing, although I can't find one. Taking up my position on the west side of the farmhouse, I stare at the nearby trees and look for any sign of movement.
"Anyone see anything?" Bridger shouts.
"Shoot on sight," Patricia replies. "Don't let the damn thing get close to you. As soon as you see it, blow its fucking brains out. Aim for the head or the chest. Remember, we don't have a whole lot of spare ammunition, and it's totally possible to finish one of these bastards with a single bullet. Aim for precision and efficiency."
My heart racing, I keep my eyes glued on
the trees. I keep expecting one of those creatures to come stumbling toward me at any moment. Since I doubt I'm a very good shot, I figure my best option would be to let it get a little closer before firing straight at its face, although I'm worried that maybe the creature might be able to move faster than I'm anticipating. Every time I even look at a gun, I still think about Henry, but at least I'm no longer scared of the damn things. The rifle feels heavy and substantial in my hands; I respect and I know it's powerful, but I'm not terrified. It wasn't a gun that killed Henry. Not really. It was Bob.
"They can't run, can they?" I shout.
"What do you mean?" Patricia calls back to me.
"They're slow-moving," I continue. "Aren't they?"
"We don't know enough about them to be sure," she replies after a moment. "Don't make any assumptions."
"Are you sure you saw something?" Thor calls out.
"I'm not an idiot!" Bridger replies. "I looked toward the northern perimeter and I saw the damn thing lumbering along, headed this way. It was just like the other times we've seen them. It's definitely out here somewhere."
"Calm down!" Patricia continues. "Everyone just keep your head straight, okay? If Bridger says he saw something, that's good enough for me!"
"It should be here by now," Thor replies. "They just come straight for us. Why wouldn't it be here yet?"
"Maybe it's watching us," Bridger suggests. "Maybe it's planning something."
"Simmer down!" Patricia says. "Just stay calm, cut the chat, and focus on the task at hand! We'll have time to talk about the possibilities later."
Taking a deep breath, I adjust my grip on the gun. So far, I haven't seen a damn thing to suggest that one of the creatures is anywhere nearby, although I don't doubt Bridger for a second. He seems like a very down-to-earth, very sober kind of guy, and I'm sure that when he says he saw one of the creatures in the distance, he's telling the truth. The problem is, based on my limited encounters with the damn things, I'm convinced that they're pretty smart. The others seem to be expecting it to come lumbering mindlessly toward the farmhouse like some kind of zombie, but I'm worried that it might be out there, planning something.
