by Amy Cross
"It's okay," Patricia says, her voice filled with tension. "He's not armed. He can't hurt us."
"You again," the creature says with a smile. He looks to have been a middle-aged guy, at least when he was alive; now that he's dead, his skin is gray and yellow, and he's clearly started to rot. "Why do I keep running into you, girl? Do you think it's destiny? You might as well tell me your name, at least. Maybe you did already, but I have so many things to keep track of."
"What the hell's happening out here?" I ask, turning to Patricia.
She pauses, as if she's not quite sure what to say.
"This is the creature from this morning, isn't it?" I continue, suddenly realizing that Toad was right when he said the whole thing seemed too easy. "You didn't kill it. You captured it."
"Scientific research," she replies. "I need to know what the hell these things want, and for that, I needed a live specimen."
"But -"
"There's no point just blowing their heads off every time they get close," she continues. "The others would be too scared to let one of them stay alive like this, so I figured I'd keep it to myself." She pauses. "You can't tell them. There's no way this thing can get loose, so it's not a threat. I just need to know what's happening, and the only way to do that is to perform first-hand scientific research on a representative sample."
"She's going to torture me," the creature says, smiling as it stares at me. "Humans are always so quick to pull things apart when then don't understand them. She thinks she can cut me open and find out how I work. I hate to break it to you, doll, but that's not going to do you much good. I doubt you've got the intelligence or the equipment to understand a damn thing."
"Don't listen to it," Patricia says. "It's trying to play mind games. Believe it or not, the damn thing actually seems to have a sense of humor."
"You have to kill it," I say, turning and aiming my rifle at the creature. "You can't let one of these things near us!"
"Don't be stupid," she replies, pushing the barrel down toward the ground. "Elizabeth, you're smart enough to understand this from my point of view. If we keep killing them, we'll never understand what they are or where they came from or what they want. We have to take a scientific approach to the problem. We're not cavemen, and we're not so dumb that we have to run around in blind panic, shooting everything that scares us." She pauses for a moment. "We have to be brave. The others are too reactionary, but I'm convinced you can understand the value of this work."
Looking down at the creature, I realize that she's right: I can see why she's doing this. For the first time, instead of wanting to run and get away from one of these things, I find myself drawn to look closer. This thing is hideous, but we have to understand what it is and how it can be stopped. If we just keep running and shooting, eventually we'll run out of bullets and they'll overwhelm us.
"Maybe we can find a cure," Patricia says after a moment. "Maybe we can reverse this, or at least find a way to stop them. I'm not promising anything, but it's a start. We have to assume that there are millions, maybe even billions of these things on the planet. We can't spend the rest of our lives in fear. Throughout history, humanity has made advances through scientific inquiry, and that's exactly what we're going to do now." She waits for me to say something. "Some people pray to God," she adds, "and some people pick up a scalpel and try to understand what's happening in the world around them. I want to do both."
"So what's the first step?" I ask hesitantly, aware that the creature seems to be listening intently to our conversation.
"I'm trying to engage it in conversation," she replies. "It thinks it's pretty smart, and it certainly doesn't seem to want to let anything slip so far. It keeps trying to play games with me, but I'm convinced I can learn something useful before I move on to stage two."
"And what's that?" I ask.
"Stress tests," she continues. "I want to know what this thing can withstand, and I want to know its abilities. For one thing, it looks as if it's rotting. If that's the case, it might just die naturally in a few days. And then..." She pauses. "And then there's stage three. Dissection."
"That sounds fun," the creature says with a grin.
"This isn't magic or fantasy," Patricia continues, walking around to the other side of the pit. "This is a real-life creature, and it's subject to the rules of biology, just the same as any other creature on the planet. It wasn't created with pixie dust or fairy magic. This is life, Elizabeth, and life always finds a way to move forward. Life can overcome any problem that's put in its way, and this creature is a perfect example of that quality."
"How romantic," the creature sneers. "Even when you're talking about science, you can't resist throwing in some bullshit to sweeten the deal."
"I can do this," Patricia says after a moment, fixing me with a determined stare. "I know I can. I can analyze this creature and I can work out what to do next, but only if I'm given the chance. If the others find out, they'll come out here, pour gasoline all over the damn thing and burn it until there's nothing left. Even Toad won't be able to understand why I need to keep it alive." She pauses again. "Elizabeth, I need to know that you can keep this project to yourself, and I need to know I can trust you."
I take a deep breath. "What if I say no?" I reply after a moment, unable to ignore the fact that she's got a pistol in one hand. "What will you do if I refuse?"
She pauses. "Is that your answer?" she asks eventually, and it's clear that her mind is spinning as she tries to make a decision. I can't help but feel that Patricia's the kind of person who'll do anything to get her way.
"No," I reply. "It's not." I look down at the creature and realize that I have to go along with her. We can't just keep shooting at these things as if we're never going to run out of ammunition; we have to understand them, and then we have to come up with a better way to stop them. "You're right," I continue eventually. "Cut it up. Slice it down the middle. Whatever. If it helps, you have to do it. I can even help, but first you have to come back to the farm. Toad's sick."
"What's wrong with him?" she asks, clearly concerned.
"He's got a fever," I reply, "and his wound looks as if it's infected."
"Infected?" the creature says with a grin. "Are you sure he's not becoming like me?"
"His wound is infected," I say firmly. "That's all. It's not the same kind of sickness that other people have been getting."
"We'll see," Patricia says, clearly unconvinced. "Okay, I'll come and take a look, but after that I'm coming back out here. If anyone asks about me, just tell them I'm working on the traps. Whatever happens, don't let anyone come this way. I don't want them to find this creature. That's why I lied earlier and claimed I'd killed it. Bridger and Thor and the others, they wouldn't understand. You can't even tell Toad. You're the only one I trust, Elizabeth. Please, don't let me down."
"I won't tell anyone," I reply, "but we have to get back to the house. Toad might be dying. There's pus in his wound and he's delirious with fever."
As we hurry through the forest, I can't help noticing that Patricia seems unusually quiet.
"What are you thinking about?" I ask eventually.
"When you say that Toad seems sick," she replies, with a worried look in her eyes, "what exactly do you mean? What kind of sick?"
"Not like the creatures," I reply. "It's not that, it's just -"
"We have to be cautious," she says, interrupting me. "I know you and Toad seem to get along pretty well, but no-one's above suspicion. We can't risk infection spreading through the house. If he's sick, we need to quarantine him and make sure no-one else goes near him."
"He's not infected," I tell her. "Not like that. It's just an infection from his wound."
"Let's hope you're right," she says as we reach the edge of the forest and start making our way over to the house, only to hear Bridger calling for Patricia from out front. He sounds panicked, as if something's wrong.
"It seems I'm popular," she says uneasily.
"Quick!" B
ridger shouts, running over to us. "Where the hell have you been? We need you. It's Shauna. She's gone into labor!"
"She's not due for another month," I point out.
"Tell that to the baby," he replies, grabbing Patricia's arm and pulling her toward the house. "It's coming, and Shauna's panicking like hell. She's convinced the baby won't survive. There's a whole lot of blood, and no-one knows what the hell to do."
"Get some water and heat it over the fire," Patricia says, hurrying to the door. "Bring some towels and blankets, whatever you can find!" She turns to me. "I'll get to Toad, but this is an emergency, okay? You have to come up with me. I can teach you what to do, in case you're ever in this situation."
"I can't deliver a baby," I reply, stunned at the suggestion.
"You're not going to deliver it," she snaps back at me, "but you're going to help. You need to learn how to do things like this, Elizabeth. Maybe one day you'll save someone's life."
I watch as she turns and runs up the stairs.
"Where's Eriksen?" I ask, as Bridger opens a nearby cupboard and starts pulling out various blankets.
"Where do you think?" he asks. "Drunk, as usual."
"But -"
"We don't have time for a long conversation," he replies, shoving some blankets into my arms. "Take these up. Tell Patricia I'll bring the water."
From upstairs, there's a scream of pain, and it's clear that Shauna's not in a good way. I follow Bridger up to the room, but as soon as we go inside, I'm shocked by the amount of blood. Shaun's on the bed, with her legs spread wide, but blood is soaking the sheets and I can tell from the look in Patricia's eyes that something's wrong. It's a horrific scene, and it's hard to believe that somewhere in that bloody mess, the baby could still be alive.
"Elizabeth," Patricia says, turning to me. "I'm going to need your help with this."
"Is it still alive?" Shauna whimpers, her eyes filled with tears. "Please God, tell me it's still alive..."
Epilogue
Thirteen days ago
"Forward," Eriksen says, kneeling next to Shauna's sunbed. "Just a little more."
With a little difficulty, Shauna leans forward, allowing Eriksen to slip the cushion behind her back. Letting out a relieved sigh, she sinks back into the cushion, feeling her aching body start to relax.
"Better?" he asks.
"Much," she replies, smiling as she turns to him. "I like this new side of you."
"New side?" he asks. "What new side?"
"The side that isn't wasted all the time," she continues, placing a hand on her swollen belly. "The side that actually gives a crap." Turning to him, she pauses for a moment. Over the past few months, she's watched him slowly become more attentive and more caring, as if he's genuinely starting to smooth out his rough edges. For the first time, she's starting to genuinely believe that he might be a good father, maybe even a good husband one day. "You surprise me sometimes," she adds. "Did you know that?"
He sniffs. "Well," he says after a moment, "when your girlfriend's as big as an elephant all of a sudden -"
"Hey!" she replies with a grin. "It's your goddamn fault! If you hadn't got me pregnant, I'd still be thin as a rake." She pauses. "I'm really gonna get the baby weight off after it's born, you know. I've been reading about it, and there are all these exercises and diets you can do. I'm gonna try the one that Beyonce used right after her first baby, 'cause all her weight just seemed to slip off so fast, it was almost like it wasn't there in the first place." Leaning over to him, she plants a kiss on Eriksen's cheek. "You're so fucking cute when you're being responsible, you know."
"Don't swear in front of Mick," he replies.
"Mick?"
He places a hand on her belly. "If it's a boy, we're naming him after Mick Jagger. If it's a girl, Debbie Harry. I can't believe you'd even question such an obvious choice."
"Is that what you think?" she asks.
He nods. "You can name the next one, but it's rock gods for the first-born." He pauses. "And seriously, we should probably cut out the swearing. You never know how it might affect the kid, hearing all those harsh words. I mean, my Dad swore all the fu -" He pauses again, catching himself just in time. "He swore all day, every day, and look how I turned out."
She stares at him for a moment. "You turned out okay," she says eventually, with a look of wonder in her eyes. "Do you remember how you reacted when I first told you? You were blatantly not that interested in being a father. I know you wanted me to get another abortion, but I was willing to go it alone without you, if necessary. I..." She takes a deep breath. "I'm not saying it was wrong to terminate the first pregnancy, Carl, but it's something that's never really left me. I think about it a lot, and now we've got a second chance to do things the right way. It's like the baby we were going to have the first time has just waited and now it's coming this time."
Eriksen turns and looks across the park, his eyes fixed on the New York skyline in the distance.
"Sorry," Shauna continues. "Does it make you uncomfortable when I talk about that kind of stuff? I can stop, but..." She pauses. "It's just something that I think about a lot. That first baby, you know? I didn't mean to freak you out or anything."
"It's not that," he replies, "it's just..." He pauses for a moment. "Doesn't everything seem kinda quiet to you?"
"Like what?" she asks.
"Like there's nothing going on." He gets to his feet and stares at the distant skyscrapers. "There's no hum. No traffic. No noise. No nothing."
"What hum?" she asks. "Carl, what the hell are you on about?"
"That hum you get everywhere," he mutters with a frown. "You know, like the background hum of the world as it gets on with its shit. It's that ever-fucking-present buzzing sound. Air-conditioners and cars and people talking and planes going overhead and a million other fucking things that never really go quiet. It's like everything's stopped. The only thing I can hear is a bunch of fucking birds."
"I don't think everything's stopped," she replies. "Come on, Carl, is this a joke? Stop trying to freak me out. It's not good for the baby." As she speaks, however, she starts to realize that maybe he's right. After all, the world does suddenly seem much calmer and less noisy. Sitting up on the sunbed, she stares at the city for a moment. "Maybe there's a power cut," she says eventually. "That kind of stuff happens all the time. The power grid's old as fuck anyway, so it's not like it's even a surprise anymore. Someone probably just forget to push the right switch, or they're drunk at the controls, and now fucking Manhattan has lost its power for a few minutes."
"Maybe," he replies, taking his phone from his pocket and checking the screen. "No fucking reception, either."
"Like I said," she continues, "it's a power cut."
"Would that affect my phone?" he asks.
"Then what do you think's happening?" she continues, starting to get a little tired of his constant fears. "A zombie apocalypse? Alien invasion? Come on, Carl. Relax. It's kind of nice to think that the world's slowed down for a few minutes. I'm sure the power'll be back on soon."
"I just don't like it when the world fucking disappears," he replies. "That's all. It's freaky. I don't like it when people don't do their jobs, either. There's people who're supposed to be well fucking down with this kinda thing, and they're not doing what they're supposed to be doing. They're sleeping on the job or whatever. It pisses me off."
"You worry too much," Shauna says, grabbing his hand and pulling him toward her. "Relax."
"I just don't want this kid coming into a fucked-up world," he continues, sitting next to her on the sunbed. "I don't want our kid inheriting a world where idiots are in charge of everything. I want stuff to just work." He fiddles with some settings on his phone, but nothing seems to be working. "I paid for this goddamn thing," he mutters, "so why the hell isn't it working?"
"Chill," she replies, grabbing the phone and putting it on the little camping table next to the sunbed. "You're gonna give yourself high blood pressure, baby. Come on, calm down.
Maybe you should have a beer if you need one." Reaching into the cool-bag, she grabs a bottle and hands it to him. "Drink."
"I don't want to," he replies, still staring at the strangely subdued city skyline.
"Baby, please," she continues, opening the bottle and forcibly putting it into his hands. "You stress me out when you're sober, you know that? I mean, it's great that you're able to cut down on the drinking and all that stuff, but once in a while, it doesn't hurt to take the edge off with a cold beer." As if to prove her point, she pulls the bottle toward her and takes a sip. "I'm sure a little drop won't hurt the baby, either," she continues with a smile. "Might even strengthen him up."
"So after all this fuss about getting me to cut down, now you're trying to get me back on the damn stuff again?"
"I just can't handle you when you're so tightly-strung," she replies wearily, before raising the bottle to his lips. "Drink, baby. For the love of God, if only to give me some peace."
Sighing, he takes a swig of beer, but his focus is still on the distant skyline. He's looking for any sign of life, anything at all, just to reassure him that there's not a major problem. So far, however, the city looks like a cemetery, and he has a growing feeling deep in his gut that something must be seriously wrong.
"Jesus," Shauna says after a moment, "remind me never to go on holiday with you again. You're a real barrel of fucking laughs, Carl."
"I'm just worried," he says quietly.
"You're bringing everything down!" she replies, her voice taking on a kind of whiny quality. "Seriously, you're stressing me out, Carl. It's not good for me to be stressed, not when the baby's due so soon. Do you want to cause, like, complications and stuff?"
"I'm sorry," he replies. "I just -"
"I don't want to hear it," she continues. "Seriously, just forget about it."
"Something's wrong," he mutters after a moment, unable to shake the feeling of foreboding that's starting to creep through his soul. He takes another swig. "I've never seen New York so goddamn quiet. Something's definitely up."
