by Amy Cross
"You ever been to Chicago?" George asks after a moment.
"Never."
"It can be a rough place," he replies. "It's like any city, really. There are good parts and bad parts, decent neighborhoods and places you wouldn't send your worst enemy. Two and half million people living and breathing and shitting in close proximity to each other. Mankind just wasn't meant to get so close to his neighbor, that's for damn sure. When my daughter said she was coming here, I was terrified. I thought there was no way she could handle herself living in a place like this, but eventually I realized that she was much more attuned to the way a city works. Some people can handle cities and some people can't. I guess she got it from her mother."
"So you know your way around?" I ask. "I mean, you know which way to go, don't you?"
"I've been coming to the city since I was a boy," he replies, with a hint of pride in his voice. "I never wanted to live here, but I always liked visiting. There was always too much noise and commotion, so after a few days on each trip, I'd feel the need to get out again. I sure as hell wish all those people'd come back right now, though."
"I've never been to a city at all," I tell him.
"We'll go to Melissa's house first," he continues. "That's where she'd have holed herself up if she had a chance. I mean, she's a smart girl, so..." He pauses, and it's clear that he's trying to persuade himself that he might still find his daughter and grand-daughter alive. "She'll be there," he continues after a moment, "and if she's not, she'll have left some kinda note, 'cause she'd know that I'd be coming. She's a..." He pauses, and after a moment he starts coughing. Turning, he has to support himself on the hood of the truck for a moment, and it's clear that this isn't the cough of a healthy man. "She's a smart girl," he gasps, before composing himself and turning to me. "If anyone could get out of this thing alive, it's her."
"Are you sick?" I ask.
"Sick?" he replies with a forced laugh. "Me? Get out of town, boy. Come on, let's get moving."
"You've got blood on your hands," I point out.
He looks down, and as soon as he sees the blood he tries to wipe it off on the legs of his trousers. It's clear that he doesn't want to talk about whatever's wrong with him, and I wouldn't usually press someone, but right now I'm worried that his sickness might have an impact on me.
"Were you sick before all this happened?" I ask, starting to worry that he might be infected after all.
"Anyone ever tell you that you ask too many questions?" he replies, trudging toward the back of the truck. I watch as he climbs up, and it's noticeable that he's barely bothering to keep the gun trained on me anymore. After settling himself back in his old position, he turns to me. "Are you gonna stand there gawping or are you gonna get back behind the wheel? 'Cause I'm telling you, you're only useful to me if you're driving. Asking questions, that ain't something I require."
"You could easily overpower him," Joe would say.
He'd be right, too.
"You don't owe anyone," he'd continue. "The way the world is now, you have to look after yourself. Remember that Clyde guy we trusted a while back? Look how that turned out. I'd still be alive if we hadn't tried to be nice."
"No," I'd tell him. "I can't do that."
"Sucker," he'd say, and he'd probably laugh.
Maybe he'd be right about that, too. Maybe I am a sucker. Then again, there's not much hope that any of us are going to live much longer, so I figure I might as well at least try to help. I sure as hell don't have anywhere else to go.
"Lung cancer!" George shouts suddenly, clearly frustrated. "There, you happy now? Fucking lung cancer, that's what's wrong with me. Had it diagnosed nearly four months ago, so it's nothing to do with any of the rest of this bullshit. The doctor said I had a good chance of beating it, but now the doctor's gone and I guess there's nothing that can be done, is there? I just wanna find Melissa and make sure she's okay, and then that's me done. I didn't expect anything else out of this life before, and I sure as hell don't now. All you've gotta do is drive, boy, and I figure that's the easiest job outta the two of us. So come on, let's get going. The sooner we get there, the sooner we'll know where we stand."
Figuring that there's no point arguing with him, I get back into the driver's seat and start the engine again. Up ahead, Chicago stands completely still, like a monument to itself. I keep my eyes firmly fixed on the road, convinced that at any moment I'm going to see some sign of life. There's just no way that two million people could have died in the space of a few weeks, and yet the road seems completely clear. I don't even see any sign of people having panicked. It's as if the whole damn city is dead.
Elizabeth
"It's going to be okay," I tell Rachel as I finish wrapping the blanket around her little body. "Everything's going to be fine and we're going to -"
Suddenly I freeze as I realize that she's staring up at me with the most intense gaze I've ever seen from another human being. It's as if she's looking deep into my soul, and maybe even understanding what she finds. All I can do is meet her stare for a moment, as if she's holding me in place. I swear to God, it's almost as if I'm waiting for her to say something.
"Stop that," I say eventually.
She doesn't even flinch. She just continues to stare.
"Are all babies like this?" I ask, looking away for a moment. With fumbling hands, I pretend to be busy with something on the nearby dresser. My hope is that by causing a small distraction, I'll break Rachel's concentration and she'll return to being a perfectly normal baby. I mean, this whole thing is probably just a figment of my imagination. It's insane to think that Rachel, of all people, would have become infected, especially when she's so young. After pointlessly fiddling with some old pots, however, I glance back and see that she's still staring at me.
"What?" I ask. "What do you want?"
She doesn't respond at all. She just keeps staring.
"I've never really been around a baby before," I tell her, trying not to let my fear show, "so I only know about them from movies, and maybe that's why I'm making a lot of mistakes. But there's something about you, I swear to God, that just seems..." My voice trails off as I stare at her. Deep down, I have this dark, bubbling fear, but I don't want to give it a voice, not yet.
Then again, what if I'm right?
But I'm not.
I can't be.
But what if I am?
After looking over at the door to make sure that there's no sign of Toad, I walk toward Rachel and stare down at her once again. I can't even handle the idea that she might be infected, but at the same time, she sure as hell isn't behaving like a normal baby. She's less than a month old, so I figure she should be crying and gurgling and laughing, all the stuff babies do in movies. Sure, she's had a rough upbringing so far, and I know I've made a few mistakes, but it's still hard to believe that I could have caused so much damage in such a short period of time. This weirdness seems to be coming from somewhere inside her, and that's why I'm worried that she might have somehow been struck down by the infection that has already killed so many people.
"Is it you?" I ask eventually, keeping my voice low so that there's no chance of Toad overhearing.
She stares back at me.
"Is it? Are you in there somewhere? Are you so sick and disgusting that you'd take over a child like this? Is that the kind of world we're living in now?"
She blinks a couple of times, and I can't help wondering who is really watching me through those eyes. Is it just the mind of a child, trying to make sense of the world around her? Or is it the mind of that thing, of that creature that seems to be able to look through the eyes of every body it infects? It's hard to believe that such a young child could have been affected, but then again, I guess it's perfectly possible. I just really, really don't want to believe that it's true.
"So we're going to walk," I tell her, trying to find some semblance of normality in the situation. "It won't be easy, but it's the only option. We have to get the hell - I mean, we have to
get out of here." I pause, realizing that I need to watch my language around children. "I don't even know where we're going," I add, "but Toad knows the land, which means we should be okay. I know it's kinda weird to put our lives in some other guy's hands, but he's pretty trustworthy. I've started to get to know him lately, or at least as much as anyone can get to know someone who's so closed off, and I'm comfortable with this decision. I just..."
I wait, desperately hoping that she'll stop staring at me.
"Don't stare at Toad," I tell her. "He's harsher than me. If he thinks something's wrong with you, he won't hesitate to..."
My voice trails off as I try not to imagine precisely what Toad would do to Rachel if he genuinely thought she was infected. I have no doubt that he'd decide it was too great a risk to bring her with us. I can't let that happen, though. As long as there's at least some hope, I want to keep this beautiful little girl with us, and to make sure she survives. After everything that has happened over the past month and a half, I need to believe that a new life can grow. It's probably foolish, but I see Rachel as a symbol of the future. If I can keep her alive, and keep her healthy, and if she can actually grow up and become a proper person... If all of that can happen, then maybe there's some hope for the world after all.
And if she dies...
"So just stop being weird," I say, forcing a smile as I gather Rachel up into my arms and carry her to the door. I know she's still staring at me, but I figure that's just something babies do. Anyway, if she was really infected, surely the creature would try to pretend to be a normal baby? Why would it make its presence so obvious? There are plenty of reasons why I'm probably just worrying over nothing.
I can hear Toad downstairs, getting ready for the journey. My right foot is hurting a little from where I cut it on the barbed wire yesterday, but it's just a scratch. I'll fix it later.
"It's going to be okay," I tell Rachel. "Everything's going to be fine."
Taking a deep breath, I start to carry her down to the kitchen. Every step feels heavy, as if I know that it's a risk to let Toad see Rachel right now. At the same time, I know I need to be brave. Toad wouldn't actually do anything to Rachel, even if he suspected she'd become infected. I mean, sure, he's harsh, but he's not a monster. There's no way he'd murder a month-old child just because she's acting a little strange.
It's going to be okay, I keep telling myself. Everything's going to be fine.
Thomas
"I don't think there's anyone here," I say as we walk toward the house. "I don't think there's anyone much anywhere these days."
It's been a couple of minutes since we pulled the truck up by the side of the road, and now we're making our way to the house that used to be occupied by George's daughter. All around us, there's nothing but abandoned buildings and abandoned cars, and the only hint of life comes from flies that are buzzing around an open dumpster. I was expecting there to be some sign of looting, maybe some damage, but it's almost as if everyone just vanished.
George has been very quiet since we arrived. I think he knows, deep down, that we're not going to find his family here, but I understand that he has to be certain.
"Do you think many people got out?" I ask.
"And where would they go?" he replies as we cross the lawn and reach the porch of a little white house that looks identical to all the other little while houses on this block. "If the shit goes down, where would they go other than the safety of their own home?"
"Maybe their home wasn't safe?"
"Melissa's a resourceful girl. She'd do anything to keep Katie safe, even..." He pauses. "She'd do anything, that's all I'm saying. She's a good mother."
"So maybe someone organized something," I point out. "Maybe the government took charge."
"I don't think anyone had time to organize anything," he says as he tries the front door, only to find that it's locked. Pausing for a moment, he knocks gently. "Melissa!" he shouts. "It's me! Are you in there?"
"There's -" I start to say.
He turns to me.
"Nothing," I add.
"Melissa!" he shouts again, banging more loudly on the door. "Katie! Are you in there?"
Glancing over my shoulder, I stare at the empty street. I know we haven't see any signs of life since we hit the city, but I'm still worried about attracting attention. It's hard to believe that there isn't someone, or something, close enough to hear us.
"I'm gonna try round the back," George mutters, hurrying down off the porch and making his way around the side of the house.
Figuring that I don't want to be left alone out here, I follow, although I can't help glancing at the windows of the house next door, just in case anything might be watching us. It's been a long time since I saw one of the creatures, and I'm tempted to think that maybe they've all just died off, but there's no way I want to take a risk.
"Jesus!" George says, stopping suddenly.
It takes me a moment to realize what he's seen; there's a dead body in the yard next door, with most of the meat having been eaten away to reveal bone. Flies are buzzing around the carcass, and there's a hint of movement under what's left of the flesh, which I guess means that maggots are at work. I'm no expert, but it's pretty clear that this guy has been dead for quite some time, probably a few weeks.
"Wally Baxendale," George says after a moment. "I recognize the shirt. The most boring man who ever walked the planet, and..." He pauses, staring at the dead body for a moment. "It's a goddamn miracle, isn't it? One man's death has given life to all those flies and bugs. Nothing ain't ever really wasted, is it? I mean, sure, to old Wally, this has been a total disaster, but to the critters that are feeding off him, it's a miracle. When Wally died, he probably thought God had forsaken him. And now those bugs are probably chewing on what's left of him, and thinking how great it is that God gave them such a bountiful harvest."
I force myself to keep looking at the body. Even though it's about twenty yards away, it's still disgusting, and I can't help wondering if that's what's going to happen to all of us eventually; we'll just be left to rot somewhere. Then again, that'd be better than being infected.
"I guess old Wally isn't boring now," George adds, turning to me. "Maybe some other species is gonna benefit from all this shit." Glancing at the house, he seems much more nervous before, which I guess is understandable; until this moment, he's been able to hold out hope that his daughter and grand-daughter might be alive and well, but now there's a chance that we're going to find their bodies.
"I can go look if you want," I say after a moment.
"Huh?" He turns to me, having clearly been lost in thought.
"If you don't wanna look in the house, in case they're..." I pause, my throat suddenly feeling dry. "I just mean, I can look for you, and tell you if I find anything."
"No," he says with a sigh, turning and making his way toward the back door. "I should do this."
"There aren't that many bodies," I point out as I follow him. "If everyone had just died, there'd be loads more, wouldn't there? It's like, they all kinda went somewhere else."
"Or they're all in their houses," he replies, trying the back door but finding that it's locked. Without giving me any warning, he takes off one of his shoes and slams the heel against the glass, shattering a small pane. Reaching through, he manages to turn the key from the inside, and finally he pushes the door open. After putting his shoe back on, he steps into the gloomy house.
"Doesn't smell bad," I point out, although I immediately realize that maybe I'm not being very tactful.
"That's a good point," he replies, stopping in the middle of the kitchen. "There's no power, so no air-conditioning. If anything'd been rotting in here for the past month, we'd sure as hell know about it by now."
"That's something, right?" I continue.
"It's something. Doesn't mean they're okay, though."
I watch as he walks over to the kitchen table. He seems to be searching for something, anything that might give him a clue about his fami
ly's fate. I guess that if I was in their position, I'd have left some kind of a note, just in case someone happened to come along later; the lack of a note makes it pretty clear that George's daughter didn't have time to plan her departure properly, which in turn makes me think that something pretty awful must have happened to them. Still, I don't want to voice those fears yet.
"Her phone's here," George says suddenly, picking up a cellphone from the counter.
"There's no signal anymore," I point out. "Why would she take it?"
"In case the signal comes back?" He turns to me. "I've still got mine rattling about in my pocket. You never know if the damn things might be useful again. It's instinctive."
"Maybe she didn't want to carry the extra weight?"
"She took this thing everywhere," he continues, turning the phone over in his hands. "She must have been home when everything went to shit. If she'd been out, she'd have had the phone with her."
"That's a good sign, isn't it?" I ask.
He shrugs, and it's clear that he's trying to weigh up the possibilities.
"Isn't there somewhere else she might have gone?" I continue. "It's like... Me and my family, we were out at the farm, so we didn't know what was going on. But someone living in a big city, they'd be able to get information. Someone would've come and told them what to do, or people would've come up with a plan together, or -"
"Or she and Katie walked out the door," he says, interrupting me, "like goddamn zombies."
I want to argue with him, but I can't deny that it's a possibility.
"Then again," he adds, "the doors were locked. Why would they have bothered doing that if they were all zombified, huh? A zombie wouldn't stop to lock the goddamn doors, would it?"
"You shouldn't give up."
"What about you? Where'd you say your family's gone, again?"
