Mass Extinction Event (Book 2): Days 9-16

by Amy Cross

  Chapter Three

  Pennsylvania

  The room is dark, with curtains drawn to keep out as much of the day's light as possible. For a moment, I feel completely lost. I keep expecting to find myself back in my family's New York apartment, with the windows shattered and cold air blowing into the room; I can't help but feel that Henry might burst in at any moment and tell me some crazy story about Bob. Finally, however, I start to remember that those days are gone. My mind races through more recent events, right up to the moment when I was standing facing the farmhouse and...

  I pause.

  I was shot?

  When I try to sit up, I immediately feel a sharp pain in my left shoulder. I take a deep breath, but the pain won't go away, and finally I grit my teeth and force myself up. Damn it, I always thought I had a high pain threshold, but this grinding sensation in my shoulder is too much to handle. It's almost as if two damaged bones are pressing against one another. I manage to sit up properly in the end, but the pain is intense and I let out an agonized gasp.

  "You're awake," says a female voice nearby.

  I freeze. Did I imagine that?

  Moments later, there's the sound of someone moving across the room, before a silhouette appears in front of the window and finally the curtains are pulled apart. I have to shield my eyes for a moment as I get used to the light, but eventually I realize that there's a middle-aged woman walking slowly toward the bed, with a faint smile on her face. She has short brown hair, and she's one of those people who look effortlessly friendly, which immediately makes me worry that she might be dangerous.

  "How are you feeling?" she asks.

  I stare at her.

  "You should be fine," she continues. "It was only a flesh wound, really. The bullet didn't do any serious damage. You passed out through shock more than anything else. You're going to have some soreness, some stiffness, and some pain, but the wound isn't infected and it'll heal over eventually. There'll be a scar, obviously, but I'm afraid plastic surgery is a little beyond my skill-set right now, especially with the rather limited resources we've got here. Still, at least you'll have a good story to tell people in future. You can tell them you were gunned down by a psychopath when you strayed onto his property shortly after the end of the world began." She sits on the side of the bed and reaches out a hand for me to shake. "Dr. Patricia Connors," she adds. "Pleased to meet you."

  I swallow hard, trying to work out what's happening.

  "I understand why you might be a little dubious," she continues, reaching into her pocket and pulling out a twisted, black piece of metal. "This is the bullet that hit you. It actually went straight through, but it glanced a piece of bone so there were some pieces of shrapnel that needed to come out. Again, I want to stress that it wasn't anything too serious. You lost some blood, but you'll produce some more soon enough. You were lucky, though. A few inches further toward your neck, or down toward your collarbone, and it would have been much harder to get you through this. In fact, I don't know if I'd have been able to do it, so you should be thankful that you were shot by someone with a good aim."

  I look over at the window.

  "Your friends are downstairs," she adds. "After the little misunderstanding, everything was worked out. Toad apologized to them, but the truth is that we can't afford to take any risks. There aren't many of us here, and we've already seen the consequences of making a mistake. We had to be absolutely certain that you were who you claimed to be, otherwise the results could have been catastrophic. I know this probably doesn't make too much sense to you right now, but I promise, soon you'll understand." She pauses. "Are you hungry? Thirsty? There's no reason for you to stay in bed. In fact, it might be good if you get up and get a bit of a stretch. You can come downstairs and meet everyone -"

  "Everyone?" I ask, interrupting her.

  She smiles. "I'm afraid there are a few of us here. Toad's very kindly agreed to let us stay for a while, although he's being a little grumpy about it. From what Carl said, I get the impression that you haven't actually met Toad yet, have you?"

  I shake my head.

  "He's..." She pauses. "How can I put this? He's a complete ass. Seriously. Just keep out of his way as much as possible. He's not around too much, anyway. He tends to go off into the woods at first light, and he comes back late with his catches. He doesn't say much, and most people have learned to leave him be. Don't be offended if he basically just ignores you. Human interaction isn't really his strong point. The rest of us are friendly enough. We don't bite, although we do expect people to pull their weight around here. You'll get cut a little slack because of your injuries, but fundamentally, if you don't pitch in, you'll be asked to leave. Is that clear?" She waits for me to reply. "I'm serious. No freeloaders are allowed around here. You do your share, or you fuck off."

  "I only came here because Erikson and Shauna brought me," I tell her, feeling as if I'm being talked down to a little. "I'm on my way to Lake Ontario."

  "Lake Ontario?" She frowns. "Why the hell are you going there?"

  "I just..." I start to say, before I realize that maybe she's got a point. Once I accepted that there was nothing left for me in New York, I just assumed that Lake Ontario was my only option, since that's where Mallory and the others went. Now, however, I'm starting to wonder whether there might be a better option somewhere else. I mean, I can't even be sure that they ever made it all the way over there. There's a chance that they changed course, or maybe they ran into trouble. For all I know, they might be dead, and even if I make it all the way up there, I might never find them. "I don't know," I continue after a moment. "I'm still trying to work things out."

  "You got any family left alive?"

  I shake my head. "I don't think so," I add.

  "That's rough," she replies. "Everyone's lost someone. Most people have lost everyone. That's just how it's been going lately. You're in good company, kid. We're not sure how many people are dead, but it seems to be north of 99%, maybe 99.5% or higher. You know what that means?" She waits for me to answer. "It means there might be just a few hundred people left in the entire country, or even in the entire world. I don't know if that makes us lucky or unlucky, but I can tell you one thing for certain. You're not the only one who's alone. Everyone here has lost loved ones, family members, friends... And that's before you even get to some of the other craziness that's been going on."

  "Like what?" I ask, still feeling as if I don't really understand what's going on here.

  "You not seen them?" she asks.

  I stare at her.

  "You're lucky," she continues. "There's something going on. Something we haven't managed to figure out yet, but it's the reason you ended up with a bullet in your shoulder. There are creatures... things... They're dead people, but they're a danger. They're not zombies, before you start getting too excited. They're something else, and there aren't many of them, but they're dangerous and we think they might be massing slowly."

  "I've seen one," I tell her.

  "Where?"

  "In New York. In a car. My brother and I found one. We killed it."

  "You did, huh?" She pauses. "Where's your brother now?"

  "Dead," I tell her.

  "Did the creature get her?"

  I shake my head.

  "Accident?" she asks.

  "He was shot," I continue, "by a guy in our apartment building."

  "Sorry," she replies.

  "It's okay," I say, hauling my legs over the side of the bed and slowly getting to my feet. I have to ignore the sharp pain in my shoulder, but eventually I feel as if I can at least get about. The last thing I want to do is sit here and have some kind of deep conversation about Henry, so I figure I need to change the subject. "Are you sure you took everything out?" I ask, convinced that there's more metal in my shoulder. "It feels like there's something sharp in there."

  "It's clear," she says. "Don't worry, it's just a small amount of damage from where the bullet grazed some bone. If we had a proper hospi
tal, I'd have fixed that too, but in the circumstances I couldn't help. You'll get used to it eventually, and it'll pass in a week or two. Until then, if you want my advice, try not to complain too much. People around here won't like it too much if you act like a martyr. That might sound harsh, but the truth is, everyone's carrying aches and pains, so you're hardly special in that regard."

  "I got shot," I point out.

  "And you're going to be fine," she replies as she walks across the room and opens the door. "Trust me, there are people here who aren't going to be fine. Not at all. Toad, for example, has seen some things. He doesn't talk about it, but I know something traumatized him. He used to be better at talking, but he's started to withdraw into his shell, and now he barely manages to communicate. Some things cause a lot more damage than a bullet. I guess we're all dealing with shock in our own way, right?"

  "This Toad guy," I say, walking over to join her at the door. "He's the one who shot me, right?"

  "Oh, no," she replies with a faint smile. "Sorry. That was me. I shot you." With that, she heads out of the room, leaving me standing alone for a moment. Taking a deep breath, I realize that whether I like it or not, I've ended up in some kind of group situation, which is exactly what I wanted to avoid after everything that happened back in New York. Figuring that I just need to be polite and start planning my next move, I head out the door and follow Patricia downstairs.

  Chapter Four

  Missouri

  When I wake up, the first thing I notice is that my head is pounding. There's a heavy, sharp pain right on the back of my skull, and when I feel around to check, I realize that the skin is broken and sticky with blood. I take a deep breath, and for a moment everything seems kind of dizzy, before finally I take a deep breath and decide that my only option is to get to my feet. As soon as I try to sit up, however, I realize that there's something wrong with my legs, and when I look down at my feet, I see that my ankles are chained together.

  "That's to stop you running," says the man from nearby.

  Turning, I see that he's sitting in a chair on the other side of the kitchen, with the rifle laid across his knees.

  "I don't want you getting the jump on me," he continues, "and since I'm getting on, I figure I need to give you something of an unfair disadvantage. Don't be angry. It's just the breaks." He pauses. "I also don't want you running off any time. Just remember, if you cause any trouble, it's easier for me to just blow your goddamn head off."

  I reach down and pull at the chains, but they're attached too tight, and there's some kind of manacle around each ankle.

  "You won't get them off," the guy says. "No point trying."

  "You don't need to do this," I say, trying to get the manacles loose. They seem pretty old and rusty, so I'm hoping that maybe they're not as strong as they look, although so far I'm definitely not having much luck. "I just came here to look for help. My brother was hurt."

  "So you shot him."

  I take a deep breath, trying to stay calm.

  "I took a look under that tarpaulin," he continues. "You got him good, right in the face."

  "He was dying," I say bitterly. "You don't understand."

  "Maybe," he replies, "and maybe not. All I know is that I saw you shoot a man, and that makes you kinda untrustworthy in my eyes, especially since you also broke a window in my place. Tell me, what am I supposed to think, huh? You're a murderer and a thief, so how do I know you're not a liar too?"

  "I'm not a murderer!" I shout, getting to my feet.

  "You're not?" he asks, smiling as he aims the rifle at me. "Well, it seems to me that you shot a man in the face when he was still alive, and I don't think he was begging you to kill him, was he? You're not an executioner, are you?"

  "He was in pain!" I shout, feeling as if I want to go over and beat the crap out of this guy.

  "Take one step closer," he replies, "and I'll pull the trigger."

  I stare at him, and after a moment I realize that he's almost certainly telling the truth. There's just something about him that seems kinda crazy, as if he'd have no hesitation in killing me in cold blood. For one thing, he's got small, beady eyes that seem to be fixed on me at all times; for another, it's increasingly clear that he's got some kind of weird set-up out here in the middle of nowhere, as if he's one of those people who like to live far away from everyone else.

  "You have to listen to me," I continue. "My brother and I, we're driving from Oklahoma. We're getting away from the stuff that's happened there."

  "What stuff?" he asks.

  "The stuff. Everything!" I pause, and finally I realize that if this guy has been living out here in the middle of nowhere, maybe he doesn't know. "There's been some kind of emergency," I tell him. "All the power's down. Planes crashing, phones not working, it's like the whole world has just gone insane. No-one knows what's happening, but there's this virus or illness or something that makes people sick."

  "There is, huh?" he replies.

  "You have to believe me," I continue. "I've seen it. It makes people get really ill and then they die, except some of them turn some other way and they start walking again. They become, like, these creatures that talk in this weird way, and some of them seem to not really have minds of their own, and some of them are people you might even know!"

  "Dead people walking?" he asks, raising an eyebrow.

  "I've seen it," I say. "With my own eyes. We were in Scottsville, in Oklahoma, and there were all these things. I don't know how many there are, but they were everywhere, and they were talking. My brother got hurt, but we managed to escape, and then we just drove and drove but we didn't see anyone and finally we got to this place, so we took a look around and..." I pause, realizing that I'm not ready to tell the next part. "Please," I continue, "you've got to understand. It's like the whole world's just gone wrong."

  "Like an apocalypse?" he asks. "Like the Lord has finally seen fit to wash the sin and horror from the surface of this miserable world?"

  "I don't know," I reply. "Like... I saw this woman explode. She got all sick and festering, and then her body burst. And my own mother, and my father too. And then my brother got crushed by a truck, and he was in agony, and..." My voice trails off as I realize how insane the past week has been. "This is day ten," I say eventually. "I think, anyway. I've been counting. It started ten days ago. Maybe it hasn't reached you out here yet, but I swear to God, it's happening."

  He stares at me, as if he can't quite believe what I'm saying.

  "It's true," I tell him.

  "Maybe," he replies, frowning, "and maybe not. It's certainly an eye-opener, boy, but I really don't know if I can trust you. You wouldn't come up here and try to trick an old man, would you? I've never done anything to you, so I hope to God that you wouldn't think I'm an idiot. If you're lying to me, I'll see through it. I'll get to understanding what you're doing and I'll punish you, don't think I won't."

  "It's all true," I insist. "Why else do you think my brother and I ended up out here?"

  He pauses. "Few days ago," he says eventually, "I noticed something weird. I used to see jets going through the sky, over to the north. Then they stopped, maybe about a week ago."

  "That's because of everything that's happened," I tell him. "I saw a whole jet just come crashing down last week. I bet they all just fell out of the sky when the power stopped working and people got sick."

  He smiles. "I guess I'm lucky none of them landed on my head, huh?"

  "It's not a joke," I say firmly. "People are dying."

  "Sinners," he mutters.

  "Everyone," I reply. "Not just bad people. Good people too. My parents died."

  "Then they must've been sinners too."

  I stare at him. The old guy seems so resolutely stuck in his ways, it's hard to see how I can ever convince him to see the world any other way.

  "I've been expecting something like this," he continues. "Some kind of change. I never thought I'd live to see the day, but it seems I've finally been shown that I w
as right. God does listen, and he does punish those who've lived unholy lives."

  "God isn't like this," I reply. "This isn't God's doing. God helps people. God's going to put all of this right. He didn't start it."

  "That's the modern world for you," he continues, with a hint of a smile still on his lips. "Everyone pretends that God is some great big teddy bear who's going to make everything fair and just. Sometimes I wonder if anyone's ever really read the Bible at all. Doesn't matter much to me, though I've gotta say, I saw it coming. I actually read the text, you see, and I understood a long time ago that the real God, the one who exists, is much more vengeful." He pauses. "The question is, what are we gonna do about it? Assuming it's all true, of course. I mean, it doesn't change the fact that you're a murderer and a thief, does it?" He raises the rifle, aiming straight at my head. "Do you know what we do with murderers and thieves around here, boy?"

  Chapter Five

  Pennsylvania

  "You're looking pretty good for someone who got shot today!"

  As I step out through the double-doors, onto the wooden porch that runs alongside the front of the farmhouse, I find Erikson sitting with a bottle of beer.

  "Isn't this luxury, huh?" he asks, lifting the bottle. "Toad's been home-brewing, so he's got a fair old stash. Doles 'em out, one a week for everyone. Who'd've thought that one beer a week could taste better than one beer an hour? You want one?"

  I shake my head.

  "Sorry about what happened," he continues, smiling awkwardly. "I guess I over-estimated Toad's sanity when it came to defending his castle."

  "Toad didn't shoot her," says Patricia, stepping past me and walking over to join Erikson at the table. "I shot her. I'd do it again, too. Around here, we can't be too careful." She takes a seat and turns to look out across the fields that spread out into the distance. "We don't have a way of verifying new arrivals yet," she continues. "Fortunately, the symptoms seem pretty hard to miss, so once we get a good look at you, it's possible to be certain. There seems to be a latent resistance to the strain in a small section of the population, but it's hard to really be sure who's resistant and who just hasn't been exposed yet."