by Amy Cross
I shake my head.
"Come on," he continues. "It's like a fucking freak-show in here."
"Get out!" the woman yells, although she sounds too weak to put up much of a fight.
"Where's that gun you were yapping about?" Joe asks. "Come on, I dare you. Pop a cap right in my head, right between the eyes if you can manage it. I could really use the favor, actually, on account of my little brother not having the guts to finish me off twice."
"Beau!" the woman screams. "Sara! There's a strange man in the house!"
"Beau?" Joe replies with a smile. "Is that the old Nazi's name, huh? Beau. Well, at least now I know. It's always nice to be able to put a name to a grizzled old face." He turns to me. "Isn't that nice to know, Tommy? The old bastard who almost killed you was named Beau. Beau the fucking Nazi prick."
"When my husband gets here," the woman continues, "he'll wipe that smile off your face. As God is my witness, your trespass won't go unpunished. My husband isn't the kind of man you should ever dare to cross. He was in Korea. He's killed men with their bare hands. He'll put a bullet between your eyes and hang your corpse out for the jackals."
"Your husband's dead," Joe replies. "He's down in the basement, along with the bones of someone named Sara. Does that make any sense to you?"
"My Sara is not dead!" the woman shouts.
"She -"
"She's not dead!" she screams. "Don't you dare speak such untruths! My Sara is a good girl and she's... she's... she's not dead! She'd never leave me!"
"She's dead as anything I've ever seen before," Joe continues. "There's nothing left of her but a few stained bones and a couple of scraps of skin and hair. She's down in the basement right now. Your husband, as it happens, was keeping my little brother locked up in that very same fucking basement. Damn near starved him to death, too. I mean, seriously, without being too harsh, that old guy was a complete fucker. A real old Adolf, if you know what I mean. The guy clearly had a few screws loose."
"Get out of my house!" the woman shouts.
"Why don't you climb out of bed and make me?" Joe replies.
"You unholy brute!" she yells.
"Tommy," Joe says, turning to me again, "you have to at least see this. It's fucking disgusting, but you've really gotta see it to believe it!" As he speaks, a book flies across the room and hits him in the chest. "You can throw your Bible at me all you want," Joe continues with a grin, "but it ain't gonna make any difference. You can't even get out of bed, can you? Jesus..." He turns to me again. "Tommy, are you gonna drag your ass in here and take a look at this? It's fucking unreal what we've got sitting here shouting her head off at us. She looks like that puppet off that fucking TV show about that haunted crypt and shit."
I want to tell him to go to hell, but something compels me to walk toward the door. I guess I feel that I can't afford to shy away from things anymore; with the world having completely collapsed, I need to grow up and be a man, especially now that Joe's not going to be around for much longer. Even though I want to turn and run, therefore, I step through the door and look over at the bed on the other side of the room.
"Fucking Christ..." Joe whispers with a smile.
At first, I don't see what I'm supposed to be looking at. There's a bed, sure, and it's messy, but apart from a bunch of crumpled, dirty sheets, all I can see is some kind of gray mass, thin and straggly as if...
And then I see the eyes.
"Take a closer look," Joe says enthusiastically, before catching me by surprise and pushing me across the room.
Stumbling, I land on the corner of the bed, and when I look over at the other end I see a horrific, shriveled gray face staring back at me, with skin so tight that its eyeballs are almost completely exposed in the sockets. It's just about possible to determine that the figure in the bed is a woman, thanks to the huge, frilly pink nightgown covering her gaunt, withered frame, and there's a thin straggle of white hair on her head, but she looks more dead than alive and it's hard to believe that her heart could possibly still be beating.
"Who are you?" I ask, unable to stop staring at her.
Slowly, she reaches out to me, and I see the skin clinging to her bones, with not an ounce of fat anywhere. Her bony hand pushes against me, and finally I realize that she's trying to get me off her bed. She obviously has very little energy left, but she's filled with panic and fear. It's hard to believe that she's alive, and she looks worse than some of the creatures we've encountered, but something about her seems different.
"Sorry," I mutter, getting to my feet. "I..." My voice trails off as I realize that I have no idea what to say to her.
"Look at the crazy old hag," Joe continues, still standing by the door. "Fuck, Tommy, did you ever see anything so fucking wretched in your entire life? Jesus Christ, that dried-out old prune looks like something you'd dug up in a pyramid in Egypt. I bet you any money in the world that a cloud of dust comes out her pussy every time she coughs."
"Don't talk like that," I reply, seeing the hurt, shocked look in the woman's eyes. "What happened to you?" I continue, kneeling by the bed. "How long have you been up here?"
"Sara stopped bringing me food," she says slowly. "After that, Beau stayed downstairs. I had to eat whatever I could find. I had..." She turns to look over at a pile of mold on the bedside table; as she moves her head, there's a faint creaking sound, as if her bones are grinding against one another. "I had one sandwich left, and a bowl of soup. Over the years, the mold kept growing, so I just ate the mold and left the sandwich and the soup."
"Fucking brilliant," Joe mutters from over by the door.
"Where's Sara?" the woman asks, with tears in her eyes. "Fetch Sara! I need Sara!"
"There's no-one called Sara here," I tell her. "Not anymore."
"Don't you lie to me!" she hisses, her eyes filled venom as she lashes out at me with a weak, bony hand. "Bring my Sara to me! You bring my Sara to me right now, do you hear? I won't have strange men in my room! You bring my daughter here and then you leave, do you understand?"
"What do you think?" Joe asks, clearly amused by the whole thing. "Should we do what she wants? Should we bring what's left of Sara up to see her? Hell, we could even drag the old man up too and orchestrate a good old-fashioned family reunion."
"Let's just leave her alone," I reply. "Joe, we should just get out of here."
"And miss the fun?" he asks with a grin. "Fucking hell, no way. If this old bitch has been bed-bound for most of her life, which seems to be the case judging by the fucking stink in this place, I don't see why we shouldn't have a little fun. What do you think? Should we bring the other two up here to join her, or should we carry her down to the basement?"
Elizabeth
Pennsylvania
Trudging through the forest, I stop for a moment and glance back at the farmhouse. I know it's dangerous to be out here, but at the same time I feel as if I'd rather take that risk rather than sit around in that place with a bunch of assholes who think they've got some kind of right to sit in judgment over other people. Besides, I can't bear to watch Eriksen holding his daughter; I know it's his right, but I still hate to see that poor child being rocked in his arms.
The forest floor is a little damp as I make my way between the trees. There's a light mist in the air, and after a few more paces I stop and stare into the distance. For a moment, I allow myself to consider a truly horrific possibility. If Eriksen wasn't part of the group, I'm convinced that Bridger and Thor would be much more willing to listen to Patricia, and I could probably get them on my side. It's so tempting to imagine the ease with which Eriksen could be forced out of the way. After all, the guy's drunk half the time, and it's not as if anyone would really miss him. After thinking for a few seconds about how easy it'd be to kill him, I realize with a shiver that I'm contemplating cold-blooded murder. It's hard to believe that I could even entertain the possibility. What the hell is happening to me?
Taking a deep breath, I decide that it's time to go and talk to Patricia.
There has to be a way for her to help Toad. She's a doctor, and it's not as if he's suffering from some kind of mystery illness. It's an infected wound; she has to be able to think of something.
"Who's there?" a voice calls out suddenly, as I'm turning to head back to the farmhouse.
Looking back over at the nearby clearing, I suddenly realize that I've come close to the pit in which Patricia has been keeping one of the creatures captive. For a moment, I consider turning and running, but I can hear the creature struggling down in the pit and I realize after a few seconds that there's no reason to be scared. It's not as if he can get up here and hurt me. In fact, given the intensity of events back in the farmhouse, I can't shake the feeling that the creature in the pit might actually be the sanest person I can talk to around here right now.
"It's you," he continues, his voice sounding gnarled and ravaged. "I recognize the sound of your footsteps. Elizabeth's your name, isn't it? I've seen you before, in New York and at least one other time."
I stand completely still, my heart racing.
"What are you doing out here alone?" he asks. "Do you know what that bitch is planning to do to me next? I can't feel pain, but I can feel boredom. I suppose I should abandon this body, but I'm still curious to see what that woman wants."
Taking a deep breath, I glance around to make sure that we're alone, before walking over to the edge of the pit and staring down at the creature. He looks a little worse than when I first saw him a couple of days ago, as if his body has continued to rot. That's one of the things I don't understand about these creatures; if their bodies are rotting away, aren't they going to just die off eventually? Pausing for a moment, I start to feel as if maybe I have the upper hand here.
"What's wrong?" he asks. "Something's bothering you, isn't it? You wouldn't be out here alone if everything was honey and roses." He pauses. "The look on your face is priceless. What's wrong? Are you starting to realize that other humans aren't necessarily all they're cracked up to be? Believe me, I can sympathize. Before all of this started, back when Joseph was just a laboratory technician, he hated humans too. That's why he created us, to wipe them all out and replace them with something better. Our progenitor had some good ideas."
"I don't hate humanity," I say firmly.
"Just the ones around you?"
"It doesn't matter," I mutter.
"Humans are scum," he continues. "They kill each other constantly. They hate and they spew venom and they don't care who they hurt. Sure, there might be a few exceptions, but the vast majority of humanity is a huge cesspool of evil and cruelty. This planet is going to be a thousand times better off once the last of them have been wiped away and replaced by..." He pauses. "You know what I am, don't you? You understand what's coming next? There's no way to stop it, no way to hold back the new order that's coming to take control. You might as well just go with it. Hell, maybe there's even a place for one of two of the old humans to still be around. Does that sound like something that might appeal to you?"
I shake my head.
"Think it over," he continues. "I heard a baby crying earlier. What if I offered you a deal? Take the baby and get out of this place. You know there'll be more of me soon, and we'll rip this goddamn farm apart until everyone's dead. Do you really want to spend the rest of your life running from me? I promise you, it'll be a short, painful and uncomfortable existence, not only for you but also for that baby. On the other hand, if you agree to become one of the select few who stay behind in the new world, I can promise you a long life, and the same goes for that baby."
"You're trying to make a deal with me?" I ask, stunned by what he's suggesting.
"Are you up for a deal?" he replies.
I shake my head.
"What do you say?" he continues. "Come on, I know it's probably a bit of a shock, but it makes sense. Those assholes in the house, arguing about democracy and voting rights... They're just the last dregs of a dying civilization. They're already turning on one another. Once they've picked off your friend, they'll turn on someone else, and then someone else again, and finally as the resources start to dwindle they'll just collapse completely. It's not exactly much of a survival strategy, is it? Don't you want that baby to have a better chance in life? Don't you want her to have a proper future?" He pauses. "You can give that to her, Elizabeth. You can give her a future. Just accept my offer, and all the pain and fear and doubt can go away."
"I'm not making a deal with you," I reply, my voice tense with fear.
"You think I'm a monster?"
"I think you're a..." I pause as I try to find the right word.
"A what?" he continues. "A zombie?" There's a pause, and a smile crosses his rotten, decaying face. "You've got things the wrong way round, girl. Humans were the real zombies. Mindless, groaning things, swarming all over the planet and causing endless harm and destruction. It's precisely that kind of behavior that I'm trying to get rid of. Sure, I've been learning how to control the bodies, and the rotten ones might look a little alarming, but I'll get there soon. Once I've got a handle on these things, and once I've found the progenitor, we'll start a whole new society, filled with harmony and peace."
"And they'll all have the same mind?" I reply.
"At first," he says, "although I've come to think that over time, some degree of variation might be permitted. Variations on a theme, in a way... Different versions, rooted in the same basic personality. Variety and similarity, all at the same time, and I'm offering you a chance to be part of that world. You'd be separate, in a way, because you'd still have your own mind. Does it really sound so bad?"
I stare at him. The truth is, part of his argument kind of makes sense to me. I can see how someone might want to change the way society works. What I don't see, however, is any reason to think that these creatures are the answer.
"Come on," he continues. "Carl Eriksen? Bridger? Patricia? All those people are just examples of the worst kind of humanity. They're scum. Eriksen doesn't even care about his own child. Out of him or me, which one do you think would be better off contributing to a new era of life on this planet?"
"He -" I start to say, before suddenly a moment of realization hits me. "What did you say?" I ask after a few seconds.
"Carl Eriksen is human garbage," he replies. "He's a repellant piece of trash. You know it, and I know it, so why not -"
"I know it because I was there with him," I say, interrupting him. "I talked to him and I listened to his bullshit. That's how I know it, but how do you know it?" I take a step back as my mind fills with different explanations, until I realize that there's only one that makes sense. "You were in there," I say. "You were in there with us."
"I'm staked to the ground in a pit," he replies. "How the hell could I have been in there? I just heard your voices arguing. I'm not deaf!"
"You're too far away to have heard everything," I reply.
He stares at me for a moment, and the smile has left his lips, replaced by a look of concern.
"You were in there with us," I continue, "because you're in the mind of one of the people in the farmhouse, aren't you? You've already infected someone, but you've managed to pass unnoticed."
"You're a smart girl," he replies after a moment. "Instead of running off in a panic, why don't you sit down and talk to me properly, like two intelligent individuals."
"Who is it?" I continue. "Bridger? Thor? Patricia?" I take a deep breath, trying to think back to anything over the past few days that seems out of place. "It's Patricia, isn't it?" I say after a moment. "No, wait, she wouldn't have kept you down here. It must be Thor. He's quiet, doesn't say much, but sometimes..." I pause again as I realize that I have no idea which of the other people in the farmhouse might have been infected. Hell, for all I know it might be more than one of them. "Eriksen?" I ask.
The creature doesn't reply. He just stares at me, as if he finds me amusing.
"It's not Toad," I continue. "It can't be Toad..."
"How do you know it's not you?" he
replies. "How do you know I haven't already infected you? Maybe I'm looking out through your eyes right now, and you don't even know I'm in your head?"
"I'd know," I say calmly.
"Would you?"
"I'd know," I say again, this time with more confidence. After all, if there was someone else in my head, I'd definitely be able to feel or hear them. "It's one of the others."
He smiles. "Good luck finding out. I could tell you, but then there wouldn't be any fun, would it? The best part is, while you rip one another apart and your little community collapses into fear and suspicion, I'll have a perfect, ringside seat for the whole thing."
I stare at him for a moment, before turning and starting to run back to the farmhouse. I can hear the creature calling after me, but all I can do is keep running. By the time I get back to the front door, I have to stop for a moment and work out what to do next. I can hear the others arguing inside, so I push the door open and slip into the kitchen. At first, no-one seems to even notice that I've arrived, but finally, one by one, they glance over at me. As the room falls silent, I realize that they've recognized the look of horror on my face. Patricia, Bridger, Toad and Eriksen are all waiting for me to tell them what's wrong, except one of them already knows.
One of them is already infected.
Thomas
Missouri
"What?" Joe asks, following me down the stairs. "Seriously, Tommy, what the hell's wrong with you now? You're acting all, like, fucking priggish and superior. You know who you remind me of sometimes? Mom. You remind me of Mom. How do you feel about that particular compliment, huh?"
Heading through to the kitchen, I stop for a moment, trying to work out what to do next. All I know is that that old woman can't just be left up there. She's clearly lost her mind, and it'd be inhuman and cruel to just head on out of here and leave her to rot in that bed. Still, as I hurry over to the drawer and pull it open to look at the knives, I realize that there's no way I can just go up there and kill her. I'm not that kind of person.
