Everything Dies [Season One]

by T. W. Malpass

  Tired and sweaty, the three of them stood back to admire their peculiar assault course. It looked like something children would construct for a game – if any children could have had the will and physical strength to make it happen. But this was no game. They only needed to gaze beyond the barricades to the mountain of rotten bodies pressed against the glass to be reminded of that. A few of the dead had wandered off, but the rest were still clamouring to gain entry, excited by the increased activity inside.

  Raine dropped the box of cotton napkins she’d found in the upstairs restaurant onto the bar next to Ethan. He looked inside it, noticing the two containers of rubbing alcohol.

  ‘It’s a shame we don’t have enough of this to use for the whole thing, but under current circumstances, we’re just gonna have to use it to douse the wicks. It will make them more effective as fuses.’

  ‘OK,’ Ethan said, not sounding entirely focused on what she was saying.

  ‘When it comes to the heart of the thing, we’ll have to make do with plain old liquor.’ Raine took a bottle of gin from one of the mirrored shelves and set it on the bar. ‘Look for the bottles with the highest alcohol content. Gin, rum, whisky, vodka – it doesn’t matter which.’ She grabbed one of the napkins from the box and tore it down the middle, wrapping it around the neck of the gin bottle. ‘Tie it off like this – just until you’re ready to light them. When you are, open out the wick, soak it in the rubbing alcohol, and push it inside the bottle. Got it?’

  ‘Errm, yeah. I’ve got it.’ Ethan collected some vodka from one of the shelves and started to wind the other half of the torn napkin around it. ‘Don’t take this the wrong way, Miller, but you scare the shit out of me.’

  ‘Keep going until you run out of spirits,’ Raine replied.

  ‘That’s it. That’s everything,’ Kristin said as she joined them at the bar. ‘We could check the second floor if you don’t think it’s enough.’

  Raine surveyed the barricades in the foyer again. ‘It’s enough for what we need. Aside from the catering carts, there’s nothing worth using up there.’

  ‘Right then.’

  ‘Good.’ Raine turned away from her to face the shelves of liquor.

  ‘We’re not the enemy, y’know,’ Kristin said.

  Raine nodded. ‘It’s not you.’

  ‘Then what?’

  ‘You just focus on the demons out there; let me worry about mine.’

  Kristin managed a half-smile. ‘However much you try and pretend you’re alone, you can’t ignore the fact that you aren’t.’ She walked away, leaving Raine to her thoughts.

  ‘I made another one!’ Ethan beamed with satisfaction at his freshly made Molotov cocktail.

  ‘That’s good,’ Raine said. ‘Let’s start on the rest.’

  When they’d finished each bottle, they lined them all up on the edge of the bar and joined the others.

  Raine sat on the fifth step of the staircase, so she took an overview of the foyer and the bizarre-looking obstacle course they had created, each piece of upended furniture and bookshelf staggered around their little shoehorn.

  The creatures were still present in force at the entrance. No matter how much their minds had dulled since their demise and reanimation, they were smart enough to remember why they pounded against the glass. Raine had been listening to their desperate moans in the background for such a long time it had got easier to block it out. Not completely, but just enough to make it bearable. She gazed down to their station – all of their bags were now stored at the foot of the stairs.

  Kristin rested with her back against a chair that had been turned upside down. She held the Beretta in her lap and stared at its steel surface. Ethan used the bar to prop himself up, sipping from a square tumbler with a measure of gin in it. Vincent knelt by the one sofa which they had left as it was and faced the empty aquarium. He gently stroked her hair, whispering in her ear. The girl turned over. She blinked, her mouth a tight line, then she shut her eyes again as hard as she could. However effectively Raine had managed to block out the night calls of the dead, it was obvious that Emily had not been as fortunate. Salty wasn’t in sight so Raine twisted awkwardly to peer through the gaps between the steps. He lingered at the back of the first floor, his ear pressed to the door of the fire exit.

  She almost wanted the glass to break now if it had to. The longer they waited like this, the more strung out everyone would be when they finally had to fight. She imagined herself walking to the front entrance and smashing the butt of her rifle into one of the panes to help them along.

  Salty’s footsteps echoed beneath her as he made his way into the lounge. She could tell by the look on his face that the back exit was still occupied by hungry mouths. When he noticed Ethan drinking at the bar, he joined him.

  ‘Got any more of that?’ he said.

  Ethan smiled and reached for another glass. ‘I saved one bottle. We ran out of wicks anyway.’ He poured a generous double helping of gin into the glass and slid it over to Salty.

  The wiry man gratefully took a gulp of the rich liquor. He reached into his pocket and produced a Zippo lighter from it. ‘Here,’ he said. ‘It’s more reliable for the fuses than that plastic one-dollar piece of shit you got.’

  As he held it out, Ethan noticed the starred ‘X’ of the Confederate flag embossed on its face. ‘A light and no smokes? That’s why you’ve been such a pain in the ass.’

  ‘Nah, I’ve never been one for the old cancer sticks – more of a cigar man. Belonged to my ex-wife.’

  ‘Oh.’ Ethan’s smile faded and he sensed the pain behind Salty’s craggy expression.

  Salty broke eye contact with him and looked into the foyer instead. ‘How’s that ankle doin’, Mrs. Graham?’ he said.

  ‘Better, I guess. The pain comes and goes,’ Kristin said.

  Salty glanced over to Vincent and Emily on the sofa. He scratched his head through his bandage, careful not to press too hard into the bruise. ‘Can’t really blame the kid for being wired. I think your husband’s fightin’ a losin’ battle there.’

  ‘He’ll get her off,’ Kristin said. ‘When Emily was four years old, she suffered from night terrors. She’d wake in the middle of the night soaked through with sweat and she’d wander around afterwards, talking gibberish until we managed to convince her that she wasn’t in the dream anymore.

  ‘Sometimes, she’d scream the house down. It made her scared to fall asleep, anxious in the daytime, unable to concentrate or eat properly. We didn’t know what to do with her.

  ‘Of course, we tried everything. Drugs, child psychotherapy. None of it was particularly effective. As soon as she’d come to the end of a course of treatment, the terrors would start up again a week or so later.

  ‘Vince always read to her at bedtime – fairytales mostly. In her nightmares she was terrorised by an evil witch. She’d stalk her – steal her away in an old sack over and over. She remembered every detail. Vince decided to incorporate the witch into a story of his own. He wrote the general outline and memorised it, building the tale each time he told it to her. He told her how the witch was ultimately defeated by the love the girl in the story had for her family.

  ‘After a few weeks of telling that story, the nightmares seemed to lose their grip on her. The bags disappeared from under her eyes, she asked for the night-light to be switched off. A different little girl altogether. So don’t worry – he’ll get her to sleep.’

  ‘It sure sounds like your husband could tell a good one, ma’am. I wish I could have read his novels,’ Salty said.

  ‘Yeah. Me too,’ Kristin replied.

  ‘It might not be a bad idea for us too,’ Raine said. She’d been listening from her vantage point on the stairs the whole time. ‘To get some sleep, I mean. We’ll get enough warning if those doors give way. I’ll take first watch. You guys do what you can. Five minutes is better than nothing.’

  Vincent crept around the foot of the staircase, taking a quick look back at the sofa where Emil
y lay. ‘She’s finally down,’ he whispered.

  Kristin smiled and glanced over to Salty at the bar.

  ‘Hey, Vincent, fancy telling me a bedtime story?’ Ethan said.

  ‘I think you should tell us one,’ Raine said, directing her attention to Ethan. ‘We’d all like to know a little more about you.’

  All of a sudden, Ethan didn’t look so relaxed. He stopped leaning on the bar and straightened up. ‘Oh, my day-to-day was pretty dull, but I guess telling you about it would have the desired effect of putting everyone to sleep.’

  ‘Not your day-to-day. Why don’t you tell us how it is you knew about what Spears was planning with the supplies back at the camp?’ Raine said.

  ‘Yes, I’d like to know that too.’ Vincent added his voice to the question, but he really wanted to know how he’d discovered that his daughter was in the care of a would-be child molester.

  Ethan looked at their expectant faces. He shrugged and knocked back the last of his gin. ‘I suppose in light of current events, it won’t hurt to have you see me as an even bigger freak than you do already… I’m what some might call psychometric.’

  ‘What the Sam Hill is that?’ Salty said.

  ‘I can obtain information, either in a vision or sensation, by touching an object.’

  ‘Wait. You’re trying to tell us that you can see the future by touching shit?’ Raine said with a smirk.

  ‘I never claimed to have precognition. I can only see or feel things that have already happened, but sometimes, from that, I can figure out what’s going to happen next.’

  ‘And how long have you been able to do this?’ Vincent said.

  ‘Since I can remember.’

  Salty’s eyes widened as the penny finally dropped in his mind. ‘Shit, kid. I knew I recognised you from some place. You’re that TV guy, aren’t you?’

  ‘I’ve been on TV, yes. A lot more than I ever wanted to be.’

  ‘Yeah. He helped the police crack big cases. That’s why he was in the States when it happened, right? I saw him on The Queen Latifah Show.’

  ‘You watched Queen Latifah?’ Raine said.

  ‘Yeah, so what?’ Salty said. ‘This is the guy who solved the Kenny Thompson case.’

  ‘The missing boy? I remember it,’ Vincent said.

  ‘Not so missing anymore. The story broke just before God called happy hour. Kenny Thompson went missing from his family home one afternoon. Chicago P.D. had been lookin’ for him for over two weeks and found diddly-squat, not one trace of the poor little bastard. Then this guy shows up.’ Salty nodded towards Ethan.

  Ethan avoided their stares and poured himself an even bigger measure of gin.

  ‘Go easy on that,’ Raine said.

  ‘It’s my last one. I promise,’ Ethan replied.

  ‘Now that you mention it, I did read something about them getting help from a psychic in the paper. That was you?’ Vincent said.

  ‘It was him alright,’ Salty said. ‘He’d come recommended. Made a name for himself as a consultant for the police in Great Britain.’

  ‘I didn’t really help all that much. I just pointed them in the right direction,’ Ethan said.

  ‘My ass,’ Salty said, giving him a sideways glance. ‘Detectives gave him Kenny’s jacket, the one he supposedly was wearin’ before he got snatched, but he got nothin’ from it. Then they ask him to visit the Thompsons’ home, see if he can pick up any impressions there. And he does – from Mr. Thompson.

  ‘Within a couple of days, he’d led them to a lock-up, where they found the Thompson’s car that they claimed had been stolen by their kid’s abductor. They found traces of Kenny’s blood and a couple of strands of his father’s hair in the trunk.

  ‘After they dropped that revelation on their prime suspects, Mrs. Thompson broke. Turns out, daddy liked to drink, and when he did he’d get a little handy with his fists.’

  Ethan took another large gulp of gin.

  ‘The evening before they’d reported the abduction, Thompson came home shit-faced from a bar. Him and his wife had a fight and he was layin’ into her. Kenny got outta bed and decided to get in his father’s way. He caught a blow and hit his head on the dresser. Rather than go to the cops, that son of a bitch made her promise to keep it a secret, to help him dump the body in Lake Michigan, and stick to his bullshit about it having been a kiddie-snatcher. They tried their luck, but they didn’t bank on The Sixth Sense here. Yes sir, y’all lookin’ at a bona fide celebrity.’

  ‘Quite a story,’ Raine said.

  Salty shook his head, bewildered that she didn’t seem impressed. ‘It ain’t no story. This guy’s the real deal.’

  ‘He’s your great white hope now? You’ve been spending most of your time telling us how useless he is.’

  ‘Boy’s obviously a fairy. No offence,’ Salty said.

  ‘Oh, none taken. Not an observation I’d disagree with,’ Ethan said.

  ‘But he’s got somethin’ we can use to our advantage.’

  ‘I never pegged you as someone who believed in all that supernatural crap,’ Raine said.

  Salty chuckled. ‘We live in a world where a virus brings folks back from the dead, and you think ESP still sounds kooky?’

  ‘Whatever it is you do, I don’t care. It’s the only reason my daughter is sleeping soundly on that couch,’ Vincent said.

  ‘I’ll second that,’ Kristin said.

  ‘Let’s face it, none of us would be here if it wasn’t for him,’ Vincent said.

  Ethan shrugged and finished what was left at the bottom of his glass. ‘It’s also the reason I’m spending the apocalypse with you fine folks. I was in my hotel room ordering room service, ready to fly back to the UK the next morning, when they evacuated us from the city and brought me to Indiana and that awful camp.’

  ‘Do you know what happens next?’ Vincent said.

  ‘I told you. I can’t see the future. I can only say that I have faith in Miller.’ Ethan raised his glass and a wry smile to the woman on the staircase.

  ‘Just focus on those bottles lined up over there and leave that one alone,’ Raine said.

  ‘Ah, let the kid drink. It’ll make him less of a pussy when they come pourin’ in here,’ Salty said, taking a sip from his own glass.

  ‘Ten minutes of being a fairly decent human being and now, within the blink of an eye, back to an asshole,’ Ethan said, mildly amused by his drinking partner.

  ‘Hey,’ Raine said, raising her voice a little and looking at Salty. ‘You got your head on for this? I’m gonna need you on point.’

  Salty met her stare. ‘One thing you can always count on with me, I won’t hesitate. If things go south, then I know what to do too.’ He turned back to Ethan, a mischievous glint in his eye. ‘Want me to do you first, Twilight?’

  Ethan’s grin broadened. It completely changed the way he looked. To the others, it was like another person had suddenly replaced the young man they’d been travelling with. He was inebriated for sure, but still had his faculties about him. ‘You see, we hear so many horror stories about rednecks back in England – fucking their siblings, cutting hitchhikers up into little pieces – but this one has a genuine heart of gold.’

  Vincent laughed until his legs gave way. He slid down next to Kristin and put his arm around her. She welcomed the contact, leaning forward to rest her head against his shoulder.

  ‘You on the next watch?’ she said.

  ‘In an hour – if the glass holds out that long,’ he said.

  The warmth from his body made it harder for her to stay awake. On the cusp of sleep, her voice thinned out as she spoke. ‘Don’t forget to let the dog out before you lock up.’

  ‘Yeah… sure.’

  2

  Emily heard the gentle bubble from the aquarium before she opened her eyes. She felt something cold around the edges of her face. She sat up on the sofa and realised her hair was damp. Her clothes were too – they were soaked through with sweat.

  Her bunny rabbit to
y lay on its side across her lap, its tattered left ear sticking up toward her. Its ear was in such bad shape because their dog, Tugger, used to chew on it when she wasn’t looking – only the left one though. Her dad told her he was a Rhodesian ridgeback. No matter how many times he said it, she could never pronounce the breed correctly, but she didn’t really care – Tugger was Tugger.

  She tried to conjure his face from memory – his black jowls and his wet, twitchy nose, but she couldn’t. The image just would not materialise in the darkness. Frustrated, she hopped down from the sofa and scampered out of the lounge.

  Raine lay against the rail on the stairs, her eyes closed. Salty and Ethan were lying on the bar, also asleep. Emily stood on tip toes to get a better view of the two rows of bottles next to the men, complete with torn pieces of fabric poking from their necks.

  Her parents were sitting opposite snoozing in each other’s arms. She was happy enough just to watch them breathing, until she noticed the guns in their hands.

  When she stole herself away and peered around the overturned chairs, she saw how much the foyer had changed since their arrival. The Discovery Station was gone. The microscopes had disappeared, the souvenir kiosk gutted of its memorabilia. Even the print on the wall behind the reception desk had been taken down and added to the pile of ruins.

  She weaved in between the barricades, the sound of her footsteps reverberating through the silence. The dead were not moaning anymore. When she reached the front entrance, she couldn’t see their faces – only their hands. They were slapping lazily on the glass, as if they’d lost their will to feed. She leaned in, holding her favourite bunny toy upside down by one of its legs.

  The darkness masking the dead seemed to possess a kind of substance – black swirling sand, engulfing almost everything it came into contact with. One hand pressed against the glass and stayed there, its fingers spread out evenly, its sullied palm white, bloodless. Emily felt compelled to reach out to it, placing her hand on the pane too. She matched the spread of its fingers so hers overlaid it.