Mass Extinction Event (Book 3): Days 46-53

by Amy Cross

  Pausing for a moment, I realize that it actually feels better to be saying these things. For the past few weeks, I've lived in constant fear of these creatures showing up again, but now I'm starting to think that the threat might be over. After all, if they've all started to rot away, there's a chance that nature might just have taken care of the problem. Then again, there's probably an element of wishful thinking about this scenario, and I try to focus on the fact that things can't be so easy.

  "This is for my brother," I say finally, holding the rag up and lighting the gasoline-soaked bottom half. "It's also for the other people who've died since all of this began, but mainly it's for Henry, and for my parents, because I miss them and because I'm never going to get them back. I don't know how many other people have also died over the past few weeks, but I'm sure it's a lot, and it's all your fault."

  The creature stares up at me. For a moment - just a moment - I almost feel sorry for it, but then I remember some of the things it said when we spoke last time, and I realize that even this quick death is too merciful.

  "Go to hell," I add, before dropping the rag. The gasoline at the bottom of the pit immediately ignites, and I have to take a step back as the heat becomes unbearable. Staring into the flames, I try to imagine the creature's body being burned to ash, and I can't help but hope that there's still enough of its mind left to allow it to feel real pain. This is a whole new side to me, but I swear to God I want every damn one of those things to die in the most agonizing manner possible. I don't care if that makes me a bad person.

  After a moment, I realize I can hear a noise in the distance. Turning and looking back at the house, I'm surprised by the fact that suddenly Rachel seems to be crying. More than crying, maybe; it's almost as if she's screaming.

  Thomas

  "I can hear you!" the man shouts from the next room. "Don't think you can keep down and trick me! I know you're there! I saw your skinny ass ducking out the way! What's up? Did I get you?"

  Squeezed into the corner behind the cash register, I try to work out how to get away from here as fast as possible. The problem is, I have no way of knowing if this madman has another shot ready to fire off, and I'm pretty sure he wouldn't have much trouble blowing a hole through the wall if he thought he had a chance of hitting me; there's also the fact that he could lean out through the hole at any moment, so I need to be careful. Wiping some blood from my cheek, I look up at the counter and try to work out of I could jump over and get to the door.

  "It's been a while since one of your lot was here," the man continues, "but I blew the other bastards away and I'll finish you too!"

  Pausing, I realize that he thinks I'm one of the creatures. I want to call out to him and tell him he's wrong, but I might just end up helping him get a better shot at me. All I can think about is that I have to get the hell out of here, but I'm terrified to make a move in case he catches sight of me and fires again.

  "What's wrong?" he asks. "No more gloating? You lot normally have a hell of a lot to say, even when you're in a bad way. Aren't you gonna tell me all about how I'm gonna get picked off eventually? That's what you usually do, isn't it? I've lost track of the number of your lot I've taken down, and I'm still here! I was starting to think you'd given up on me. Frankly, I was feeling a little insulted."

  "I'm not one of them!" I shout, although I immediately regret the outburst.

  "Bullshit!" he shouts.

  "I'm not!" Taking a deep breath, I figure that now I've started talking to him, I'd be crazy to stop. "I'm just passing through! I thought this place was deserted!"

  "I'm onto you!" he replies. "I know what you're like! You're trying to trick me!"

  "I'm not!" I shout back at him. "I swear, I'm just looking for food! I'll put it all back, I promise!"

  "And how the hell am I supposed to believe you?" he asks. "For all I know, you're probably lying your goddamn rotten mouth off!"

  "I've seen them," I reply. "The creatures, I've seen them, but not in the past few weeks. I've been driving, I'm trying to find other people, or..." I pause as I realize that I'm not really sure why I'm driving, except that I keep hoping I'll somehow stumble across something that helps all of this chaos make sense. "I'm like you," I continue, "or at least I think I am. How do I know you're not one of them?"

  "Do I sound like one of them?" he shouts.

  "No," I reply. "Do I?"

  "That ain't no proof!" he yells. "Maybe the damn things are just getting smarter!"

  "No-one can prove anything!" I tell him. "We're in this together. I don't know how many of us are left, but everyone I've met so far has either been dead or they died right after. I don't know what the hell's going on, but I'm just trying to get somewhere safe. Please, you have to believe me. Do I really sound like one of those creatures?"

  I wait for an answer, but he seems to have fallen silent.

  "I'll get all the stuff I took," I continue, "and I'll put it back. I swear to God. You can come out and keep that damn thing aimed at me the whole time if it makes you feel better, but all I want is to get going."

  I wait, but again he seems to have no intention of answering.

  "So I'm going to get up now," I say finally, figuring that the guy could probably have shot me through the wall by now if that was his plan. Getting to my feet, I stare at the hole in the door, convinced that at any moment the guy is going to come out.

  Silence.

  "My name's Thomas," I say after a moment. "Thomas Edgewater. My parents and my brother were both killed by this virus thing, whatever the hell it is, and as far as I know my sister's dead too. I'm just trying to get somewhere safe. I don't know where, but I figure I'm going to head toward Chicago and see if there's any sign of life. I don't know what the creatures are or where they came from, not really; all I know is that I haven't seen one for more than three weeks, but I'm not convinced they're gone just yet."

  Silence.

  "Two weeks," he says suddenly.

  "Two?"

  "That's how long it's been since I saw one of 'em," he continues, sounding noticeably less abrasive. "Damn thing was nearly falling apart as it hobbled toward me. Hell, I waited 'til she was right close before I blew her head clear off her body. If you ask me, they're starting to rot and when that happens, they ain't no good at holding together." He pauses. "Okay, Thomas Edgewater, why don't you step into view? Let me get a good look at you and make sure you're not falling apart."

  I take a deep breath, staring at the hole in the door.

  "I know what you're probably thinking," he adds. "You're thinking you could vault the counter and I probably couldn't get a shot in. You're right. However, I've got a little window here and it gives me a very nice view of that truck of yours, so even though you'd make it to the door, I wouldn't give you much chance of getting away. So if you've really got nothing to hide, why don't you come and let me see you, huh?"

  Figuring that this is my best bet, I make my way cautiously toward the door. I'm still worried that this is a trap, that even if this guy isn't one of the creatures, he might still be dangerous. Finally, however, I reach the door and look through, and to my surprise I find myself staring at an old man with a huge white beard, aiming his shotgun straight at me. Damn it, it's like Santa Claus versus the zombies.

  "That's right," he mutters. "You just stand there and let me get a good look at you. Hold your hands up."

  I raise my hands obediently, even though I'm trembling with fear. If I was in the old man's place, I think I'd probably shoot me.

  "You don't look like one of 'em to me," he continues. "I swear to God, though... If you so much as look at me wrong, I'll blow your goddamn head off. And if you're thinking I've only got one shot left, you're wrong. I already reloaded and I'm a damn good shot. I don't usually need two goes, and I sure as hell never need three."

  "Please," I reply, "I just want to get out of here. I'll put all the food back -"

  "No," he says, interrupting me, "you won't be putting nothing back." He pau
ses. "You got enough gasoline to get to Chicago?"

  "I think so, but -"

  "The pumps here are dry," he continues, "otherwise I'd have taken off myself. I didn't really have much of a plan, but now fortune seems to have dropped you into my lap so I figure I might as well make use of you. Then again, I'm a fair man, so here's the deal. I don't know if Chicago's a good destination, but I figure it's better than sitting around here. That truck of yours looks pretty decent, so I'll sit out on the back and you can drive. When we get to Chicago, that's where we part ways. Deal?"

  I stare at him, and somehow I get the feeling that I don't really have much choice.

  "Sure," I reply, "but -"

  "Don't think you can try anything, either," he adds. "I can blow your head off through the window in the back of that truck's cab, so you just concentrate on keeping us moving forward. The alternative is that I'll blow your head off right now and take the damn truck anyway. I could do that, you know. I'm being very kind here, letting you live."

  "I... okay," I say finally.

  "Wise choice," he replies. "The name's George, and that's really all you need to know about me. I'm not intending to become friendly with you, boy, even if you look like a decent type. We're just two people who happen to be going in the same direction, so we might as well help each other out. You're helping me by driving, and I'm helping you by giving you food and by not blowing your head off. One more time, do we have a deal?"

  I nod.

  "Say it."

  "We have a deal," I tell him.

  "You'll be walking ahead of me," he adds. "Five paces at all times, and I'll have this gun aimed right at your goddamn back, you understand?"

  I nod again, even though I'm desperately trying to think of a way to get away from this guy. It's clear that he's not quite right in the head, and after everything that happened a few weeks ago, I sure as hell don't want to end up being pushed around by yet another madman.

  "So what are you waiting for?" he asks, taking a step toward me while keeping the gun aimed at my face. "Move!"

  Elizabeth

  "It's okay," I say as I hold Rachel in my arms, "there's no need to cry. Everything's going to be okay."

  I've been pacing around the room for the past few minutes, desperately trying to get her to stop screaming. After several weeks of almost preternatural quiet, she seems to have suddenly erupted into a bawling fit that shows no sign of stopping. If I'd perhaps allowed myself to start thinking that I had a natural touch when it came to babies, those beliefs have been completely swept away now that Rachel seems to be turning almost red in the face as she screams. In fact, if she doesn't stop crying soon, I think I might lose my mind.

  "Come on," I say, forcing a smile as I walk to the window and look out at the fire burning in the distance. "It's all fine," I continue. "I burned the nasty monster, see? He's gone. We should be happy, not sad."

  Looking down at Rachel, I see that her face is screwed up in a fit of absolute despair, and tears are rolling down her cheeks. It's a horrible sight, and I can't help feeling that if her real mother was here things would be very different. Shauna might not have been the most reliable person in the world, but I'm convinced she would have at least known how to look after Rachel. I figure that along with motherhood, there must come some kind of instinctive knowledge when it comes to looking after babies. Plus, Shauna would have been able to provide breast milk, whereas so far Toad and I have been having to feed her water, normal milk and pureed vegetables. I have no idea if we're doing the right thing, but I'm starting to wonder if her diet is the cause of her problems.

  "No luck?" a voice asks from nearby.

  Turning, I see that Toad is standing in the doorway, watching us.

  "She started up a few minutes ago," I tell him, even though Rachel's ear-splitting scream shows no sign of abating. "I don't know what's wrong with her, but it's like all of a sudden she's desperate about something. I don't think she's in pain, at least not from anything I can see. I'm worried it might be something internal."

  "Seems a bit unusual," he replies. "Is it normal for babies to change so suddenly?"

  "I don't know," I tell him, gently rocking Rachel in an attempt to get her to calm down. "What if we're not giving her the right food? You have to be careful what you feed to babies, don't you? We're probably giving her all the wrong things."

  "That noise is driving me crazy," Toad continues. "Maybe you should take her outside or something. It's gonna drive me over the edge if she just keeps on screaming."

  I turn to him, and for a moment I actually feel as if I want to hit him.

  "What's that look for?" he asks. "Can't you just take her outside for a bit 'til she calms down?"

  "Now who's making assumptions about roles?" I ask, feeling as if Toad's finding it very easy to put all responsibility for Rachel on my shoulders. "You said I needed to stop thinking like a child," I continue, "and that's fair enough, but you need to stop assuming that I automatically know how to look after a baby. I don't have a clue what to do with her. I mean, hell, nothing seems to be working. I've tried singing to her, talking to her, rocking her, leaving her alone... Short of dumping her in the woods, I don't know what else to do."

  "Have you checked she's not soiled herself?" he asks.

  "Of course," I reply. "I guess she'll calm down eventually. I don't know if maybe she's teething or something like that. She's only a month old, though... I thought things like teething took longer." Looking down at Rachel again, I can't help but wonder how much longer it'll be before she runs out of energy. "I hope she's not sick," I add. "If something's wrong with her, I won't even know where to begin. I know Patricia had some medical books, but still, I'm not a doctor." After a moment, I lean down and kiss Rachel's forehead. "Then again," I mutter, "I guess I'll just have to learn."

  "I'm sorry about earlier," he replies.

  I look over at him.

  "I was trying to make a point," he continues. "It was a valid point, and I'd been thinking about it for a while, but the way I put it across... I acted like an ass, and I'm sorry." He pauses. "You know, I think that's the first time I've properly apologized to anyone for a long time."

  I force a faint smile, but I'm sure as hell not going to thank him.

  He stays in the doorway, clearly wanting to say something.

  "You were right," I tell him eventually. "I have been thinking of myself as a child. I have to be more independent. I have to stop waiting for you to make decisions. Before all this started, I just spent my time in Manhattan, arguing with my parents and my brother, trying to have fun. It's hard to believe it's only a month or so since all of this started, and I'm pretty sure I've already changed a lot. I know I've got more to do, though, and I'll get there. I also figure, when we get to wherever we're going, Pittsburgh or whatever, there's no need for us to stick together, not if you don't want to. If we find other people, maybe we'll go different ways."

  He stares at me, and it's clear that he wasn't prepared for me to say anything like that.

  "Sure," he replies finally. "I mean, totally. It's not like we're..."

  I wait for him to continue, but he seems lost for words.

  "I'm just guessing," I tell him. "Right now, even getting to Pittsburgh feels like a huge challenge. I don't even know if we'll make it."

  "We can try," he replies. "I have maps, and I'm hoping the weather turns in our favor. There's a lot of farmland to the west of here, which hopefully means we don't have to go through a whole load of towns along the way. If we get to Pittsburgh, we'll have to see how things are. There might be other people like us, or there might be no-one. We can't plan ahead too far."

  I force myself to smile, even though Rachel's continued crying is starting to drive me crazy. I know it's an awful thing to think, but I can't help wondering if maybe I should just put her on her bed and then go out of the house for a few hours. If there's nothing I can do for her, I might as well just let her keep crying, but at the same time I feel as if that
would be a cruel way to treat her. The poor little thing is probably just scared, and I'm convinced she must be able to sense that Toad and I aren't her parents.

  "I'll let you get on with it," Toad says finally. "Remember, we're setting off bright and early tomorrow, so we need to be ready."

  Once he's gone, I continue to pace the room with Rachel in my arms. After half an hour or so, I happen to pass by the window and see that the fire in the pit has finally begun to go out, probably thanks to the fact that the rain has returned. Still, there can be no doubt that as the last of the flames die down, the creature must have been completely destroyed. I'll go and check later for sure, but I imagine there's nothing left but a pile of charred bones. In a strange way, it feels good to have destroyed that thing.

  Suddenly, as if a switch has been flicked, Rachel stops crying.

  I look down at her and find that she's staring up at me with a look of wonder in her eyes. I can't help but smile as I realize that somehow, miraculously, her crying fit has come to an end.

  "Okay," I say with relief, carrying her across the room and setting her down on the bed, "just for that, I'm going to give you something to eat, okay? Some of that vegetable puree you like so much. Just please, please try not to get sick, okay? I have no idea if I'm doing this right, and I know I'm not your Mom, but I'm trying as hard as I can. If you don't like something, try to give me a hint, okay?"

  Reaching over to the bedside table, I start pouring out some of the pureed vegetables I prepared earlier. It takes a moment to stir them, but finally I turn back to Rachel and find that she's staring at me with an expression I'm not sure I've ever seen on her face before. Usually, there's a hint of curiosity in her eyes, as if she's trying to understand who and what I am, but this time she seems to be almost frowning. I stare at her, feeling a little disturbed by the look in her eyes, and finally I realize that a faint smile is slowly creeping across her face.

  "Rachel?" I say, trying not to panic. "Are you okay?"