by Frankie Rose
“Farley. Farley!”
The room was dark. My eyes struggled to focus. Tess was kneeling over me on the bed. “What? What is it?”
“It’s dark out. We must have slept the whole day.”
I looked around the room and saw that Tess was right. The light that had flooded through the curtains was now gone, and night was back in residence at the window again. I looked at my watch. Seven thirty pm. How the hell had we slept for twelve hours?
“Where’s Agatha?”
Oliver shifted in the dark, sitting on the sofa at the other end of the room. “No clue,” he said. “She could have gone out for some food or something. I’m pretty sure I would have woken up if she’d come back here, though. She might not have been back yet.”
“No, she wouldn’t do that. She wouldn’t leave us for so long. Unless….” I pushed the thought out of my head right away. There was no way she could have been captured. There wasn’t a single person left standing back at the silo. No. She had to be out checking on the others.
“I think I should go out and have a quick look around, see if I can work out which room the others are in,” Oliver said.
Tess shook her head. “Agatha told us to wait here.”
I got out of bed and went to the window, looking out onto the courtyard to check for any signs of life. The only movement was that of the football, still bobbing in the pool. None of the other rooms appeared occupied, or at least none of them were lit up. There was little cloud cover, and the moon shone bright, casting long, twisting shadows across the yard. I sighed, already regretting what I was about to say.
“I’ll go.” Someone had to, and Tess would feel safer if Oliver were there to protect her. Besides, I would only run around to the front entrance and look for Beatty’s car. After a short argument, Oliver conceded, and I slipped out of the door into the brisk night air. It was a lot colder than before. I shivered as I pulled the door closed, wishing I could have stayed back in the bed where it felt relatively safe. We weren’t safe, though. I could feel it.
I made it to the end of the walkway and peered around the corner before running up the fire escape. My shoes clanged against the metal, and the sound rang out in the night. I stopped midway, paused, holding my breath, listening for any sounds that meant danger.
Nothing. I continued up the steps, careful to tread light and slow so as not to make any more noise. When I reached the top, I found that the lot to the front of the motel was empty. Not a single sleek black SUV in sight.
Agatha had driven the Jetta around the other side of the building. It made sense that Beatty would have met her and parked there, too. The neon pink sign was still blinking brightly and humming its high-pitched buzz as I crept along the perimeter of the building. The road was quiet, and the street lamps disappeared off into the distance, casting their sodium orange light in either direction for as far as I could see.
On the other side of the building the entrance to the reception was lit up, and another pink neon sign flashed open… open… open… open behind the glass.
This lot was quiet, too. Empty. Beatty’s truck was nowhere to be seen, but more importantly, Agatha’s Jetta was gone. She wouldn’t have gone anywhere without telling me, I reassured myself, but panic began to take hold. I looked around again to see if the car was parked in some shadowy corner that I had overlooked.
It wasn’t.
A stiff breeze blew sharply across the parking lot and I braced against it, jogging towards to the reception door. A bell jangled brightly when I pushed it open, startling the old man seated behind the desk. He’d been sleeping with his feet up on the counter, and nearly fell off his chair at the noise.
He was a disgruntled, skinny version of Einstein, balding with a thick mat of wiry grey hair on either side of his head. It grew down into even thicker sideburns, the look completed by his bushy steel-colored moustache. Quick, dark, irritated eyes studied me as I approached the counter.
“Hi. We’re in 7B—”
“No you’re not.” He scowled, squinting.
“What?”
“The woman in 7B made it clear that she ain’t here, and neither are any of her friends. Therefore, you certainly can’t be in 7B. Because no one is in 7B.”
I shook my head, confused. He wasn’t making any sense. I tried again. “I’m staying here… in one of the rooms…and my friend’s disappeared. I was wondering if you might have seen her leave?”
“There’s no one in any of the rooms.” He looked deeply pleased with himself when he told me that.
My mouth opened and closed before I managed to get a hold on myself. “Sir. I was wondering if you might have seen a woman about this tall,” I said stiffly, raising my hand up to shoulder level. “She has long brown hair and brown eyes… and she might be covered in blood.”
The man behind the counter, Merv, according to his name tag, screwed up his face. I got the feeling he enjoyed being difficult.
“I seen no one like that.”
This was pointless. “Thanks for your help, Merv.” I spun on my heel, making towards the door, only to pause when he gave a low whistle.
“I definitely ain’t seen no woman like that burnin’ off in no blue car about four hours ago, bein’ followed by a big black ‘un, that’s for sure.”
“Four hours ago! What kind of car was it, the black one?” I cried, rushing back to the counter. He looked up at me blankly. I was seconds from reaching across the desk and shaking him.
“Some kinda truck,” he answered after a long pause. He looked down at some papers that he had been resting his heels on and began flattening the creases out with his lined old hands. Apparently our conversation was over.
“Was it a truck, Merv? Or was it a big SUV?”
“I don’t know what no SUV looks like. It were a truck. A reg’lar truck with a tub on the back. A truck.” He looked suspicious, like I was trying to trick him, but I was already backing away towards the door. The bell rang again as I ran out into the parking lot where it had started to drizzle, and I made my way back along the building.
Agatha had left four hours ago being chased by Beatty’s truck? That didn’t make sense. Beatty must have been following her. But why did they leave? My brain was working overtime as I hurried back to the room. I took no care to move quietly as I thundered down the metal steps. Turning the corner back into the courtyard, I was looking down when I moved along the walkway, which was why I didn’t notice her at first. By the time I sensed something, it was too late. There she was, standing outside the open door to our room, blood dripping down her chin.
Mom.
My heart contracted in my chest. My legs buckled. I reached out and managed to steady myself on the wall.
My mom.
Her dress blew in the cold wind and clung, damp, to her body. It had once been white, but as she stood there, now, it was stained with dirt and grease and marked by the unmistakable crimson of blood. Her eyes were looking straight at me, but they weren’t her eyes. They were strange, empty eyes—white, unseeing, yet sharp. And her mouth…
They’d told me she was dead. I looked at the woman in front of me and remembered the story Agatha had told only hours before. Of course she was dead. But what was she now? What had they done to her? Tears blinded me, and I knew. A sudden anger rose inside me. Where was the damn Quorum through all this? How had they let this happen? What the Reavers had done to my mom was definitely a breach in the balance of right and wrong.
I swallowed and stepped back, but the whyte was already moving towards me, watching as I backed away. I stumbled back, my foot hitting soft ground, and I realized I had left the walkway. I was on the grass beside the pool. There was no escape that way, but the whyte, the woman that had once been my mother, scurried forwards, blocking my way towards the fire escape.
My mind wouldn’t work. Had Agatha known the whyte was my mom? Had she known she would come here? I couldn’t think about any of that now. The rain was coming down harder. I brushed the wet h
air out of my face so I could see properly.
Searching for a way out was too dangerous. I took my eyes off the whyte for one second and she lunged forward, gaining ground. She seemed to hang back, watching to see what I would do.
Her hands hung limply by her sides, covered in blood. It was dried, though, unlike the blood that dripped fresh from her mouth. Was it Tess’ blood, or Oliver’s? Were they dead?
My back hit solid wall. The whyte moved closer. I thought back to the gun Agatha had given me, probably blown to pieces now. My own mother was going to kill me and I had no way to protect myself. What kind of sense did that make?
Then I remembered; it dawned on me in an instant. I did have a weapon. I felt down and found the sheath clipped to my waistband, the cool grip of the knife still resting in the leather. I had pulled on the jeans I’d worn for my last class with Cliff!
My mother didn’t show any sign that the blade intimidated her as I held it out the way Cliff had demonstrated over and over again. I pushed forward a few feet to give myself some room to maneuver. It put me closer to the whyte, but I couldn’t be cornered. I wouldn’t stand a chance.
Then it started. The whyte lunged forward again, but this time I was expecting it. I staggered out of the way and took a few running steps before the whyte was almost on top of me. I turned back to face her.
My mother paused, glowering as I held the knife out and jabbed threateningly at the air. The whyte seemed suddenly disinterested in playing. My stomach knotted at the look on her face. She pulled back her blackened lips and snarled, leaning forward to bare her shattered teeth. My hand was shaking. The blade quivered in the moonlight.
The whyte lunged again, this time quicker than before, and I barely had time to react. I slashed out blindly, hoping to scare her into retreat. Instead, the steel made contact with her arm and drew a deep cut across her flesh. The whyte snapped her teeth, furious, and let out a low guttural growl before continuing forwards. A crude stream of blood oozed down her arm, more black than red in the moonlight. I shied away, still clutching the knife.
The whyte came at me again. When I staggered back, my foot snagged. The next thing I knew, I was falling. I landed with a winded thud on my back right beside the pool. My strangled cry was cut off as the whyte leapt on top of me, bearing her weight down in an attempt to tear at me with her teeth.
I pushed her back, but the creature was so strong. She snapped at my neck and shoulders, pausing for a second to reposition herself. I saw my opportunity and struck out with the blade. Its edge caught her across the neck, grazing the skin, and the whyte roared like a wounded animal.
I have to get out of here. I have to get her off.
There was only one thing I could do. I lashed out with the knife again, aiming for the same spot. When my mother dodged my attack, I pushed my hips up, unseating her. The whyte toppled sideways and rolled straight into the pool, but her legs were still tangled in mine. I scrabbled to catch hold of the side of the pool but the tiles were wet and slippery. It was no use. I was being pulled in, too.
The water was freezing and filthy. It stabbed at my ribcage as I struggled to get back to the surface, but the whyte grabbed hold of my foot. She was trying to drag me to the bottom. I couldn’t go down, though; I had to go up. My lungs were on fire. I needed to take a breath. I had to.
I leaned down towards my foot and slashed, frenzied, with the blade. The move paid off and the edge of the knife stuttered across flesh. Suddenly my foot was free. I didn’t pause to find out whether the whyte was coming after me. My lungs needled when I broke the surface, dragging in a painful breath and choking up skanky pool water. I heaved myself out of the water and lay gasping on the ground as the rain pummeled me, washing me clean. I had to get up.
My body was a lead weight as I tried to get to my feet, but somehow I managed it. I coughed and choked as I scanned the water, looking for the whyte. I’d seen way too many horror movies to think it was all over.
The heavy raindrops bounced off the layer of floating leaves, distorting and rippling the surface. I couldn’t see her but she was still in there, I was sure of it. I stepped away from the edge, determined not to be pulled back in, and waited. Surely she’d have to come up eventually? Not if she doesn’t need to breathe, I thought.
Something white moved beneath the surface. This was it. I stepped back and held my breath, waiting for the whyte to leap from the water. Seconds passed by but nothing happened. I took a timid step closer, trying to get a better look, and then jumped out of my skin as a white plastic bag bobbed up and broke the surface.
Then I heard her. I turned slowly and there was the whyte, right beside me, her face inches from mine. The side of her dress was slashed open and the material was seeped in dark red. Stale blood ran in a sluggish brown river down her leg.
The whyte fixed those dead eyes on me and paused for a moment as if she recognized me. She doesn’t, though, I thought. She’s not my mother anymore.
The whyte snarled and launched herself, diving in for the kill. I clenched my eyes shut, awaiting the feel of teeth and nails on my skin. Instead, a huge wave of pressure nearly knocked me from my feet. I opened my eyes. The whyte was moving, flying sideways through the air like a rag doll. She hit the water with a loud splash and sank down into the darkness. A moment later she bobbed to the surface, face down in the pool.
I stared numbly at the body, waiting for her to move again. She didn’t. A massive, gory hole was blown into her side. I turned to look behind me, astonished, and found Merv standing on the walkway. He had a shotgun propped against his shoulder. He lowered the gun and scowled.
“I swear, I get more trouble from the folks who aren’t staying here than the ones that are.”
I let out a stunned laugh and sank to my knees, unable to hold myself up any longer. “Of course, Merv,” I replied shakily. “By the way…there’s no way your pool is heated.”
