The Longest Night

by K. M. Fawkes

  Toward the end, calls to 911 had simply rung endlessly. There hadn’t been enough people left to man the stations. And even the ones that tried to help weren’t trained. Brad had a feeling that some people who might have survived didn’t because of others who were trying to help. He knew for sure that the virus had been helped along the same way.

  Gruesome curiosity was his only reason for looking into the compact car closest to him. It had been right in the middle of the accident. The hood of the car was underneath the rear tires of the car in front of it and the doors were crumpled. Another car had hit it and spun off.

  A woman’s body was lying inside. She was sprawled across the front seat, her face a mask of dried blood and her head twisted at an impossible angle. Brad guessed that she hadn’t been wearing her seatbelt and had been thrown forward during the accident.

  Then, he saw the supplies in the backseat. Cans of food as well as what looked like blankets or coats. He was reaching for the door handle when he realized that the metal was so crushed that he couldn’t open it.

  Brad stepped back, ashamed of himself. He’d encountered a wreck that had killed every single passenger involved and his first thought was what he could take from them?

  He shook his head, trying to untangle what he needed physically and the things he wanted to be able to say about himself when this was all over. They wouldn’t shake out as clearly as they had in the beginning, though, so he forced himself to move on. He needed a place to get some rest. Even if nothing else was, that much was clear.

  Getting started was harder this time. He couldn’t feel his feet at all now, and his legs were cramping so badly that he could barely get them going in the right direction, but he continued to walk until he found another vehicle further down the road. He leaned against it to catch his breath and when he tried to step forward, his legs simply buckled, sending him to his knees in the snow.

  It wasn’t an unfamiliar sensation, actually. It had happened to him back when he’d first started training for his marathons. There were times when muscle fatigue simply got the better of a person and there was nothing they could do about it.

  Brad sighed, realizing he couldn’t go any further. He’d wanted to walk at least ten miles more than he had, but with the storm, it just wasn’t possible. With any luck, the weather would calm down overnight and he could make better progress in the morning. He gave a bitter laugh. Was he really contemplating luck?

  Then again, the jeep was free of inhabitants and unlocked, so maybe it wasn’t all bad. When he got in and closed the door behind him, the silence that descended felt strange. The wind had been howling around him for so many hours that he felt almost claustrophobic in the confines of the jeep.

  The quiet seemed to press on his ears as he looked through the car, pleased when he found some blankets. Brad pulled off his wet outer layers and spread them over the backseat to dry. Then, he laid the front seat back and covered himself with the extra layers he’d gathered.

  He had thought that he’d lay awake, thinking of Anna and the kids, as he had each night he’d spent in the woods. He’d thought that he’d relive the pain of losing them once more. But he didn’t. Warmer than he’d been since the night the cabin burned, he simply fell into a dreamless, exhausted sleep.

  Chapter 3

  Brad woke up and stretched. It felt pretty good, until his hand met the glass of the jeep’s window. His eyes snapped open at the sudden pain and he swore, smacking his hand over his eyes.

  The sun was out. The sun was out and refracting enthusiastically over all of that beautiful, reflective, snow. He sat up slowly, peeking out from between his fingers as he tried to see how much snow the storm had dropped.

  It didn’t do any good. He still couldn’t see a thing. On a whim, he opened the glove compartment and peered in, shielding his eyes with his free hand. The usual jumble of junk greeted him: receipts from fast food restaurants, the manual for the vehicle, and insurance documents. There were also a few crumpled-up parking tickets. And, causing Brad to whoop in triumph, there was a pair of cheap sunglasses underneath all of that, pushed so far down at the back that he doubted the jeep’s owner had even known they were there. He grabbed them and put them on, sighing in relief.

  Since he’d had such good luck with the glove compartment, he dug around under the seats. He unearthed a few soda bottles, some completely empty and others half-full of frozen soda. He also found a tire repair kit that wasn’t going to do him a damn bit of good.

  He explored deeper, hoping for something to eat and gritting his teeth as unpleasant possibilities played through his mind. The old staple of a hand reaching out and grabbing his was his foremost concern, but the possibility of dead, giving flesh meeting his searching fingers was there, too. What he found instead of any of the old classic horror options was a wallet.

  It was made of dark brown faux leather with an eagle stamped into it. He flipped it open and looked at the driver's license picture. A bearded man looked back out at him. Apparently, his name had been Casey. He was a pretty nondescript-looking guy, but the wallet was pretty fascinating anyway, for one particular reason.

  Either Casey had cleaned out his savings account before hitting the road or he’d been a drug dealer. The wallet was practically stuffed to bursting with cash. There had to be close to three grand in there.

  Brad flicked through it eagerly, counting for a second or two. Then, his fingers went still and a smile quirked his lips. What difference did it really make to know how much was there? Even if it was double what he’d thought, it certainly hadn’t done Casey a damn bit of good. Brad wouldn’t be able to use it as anything more than a fire starter.

  He pushed the money back into the wallet and then shoved the wallet back under the seat. Maybe someone would be able to get some use out of the thing, but it wasn’t him. He was pretty good at starting fires on his own. Either with a flint and steel or through sheer stubbornness, apparently.

  As his grin faded, it dawned on Brad that this was the first time he’d smiled since losing the cabin and his…what would he even call them? They weren’t his family. Hell, from Anna’s actions, she wasn’t even a friend.

  “Thanks for the laugh, Casey,” Brad muttered, shoving down that thought as he pulled the handle and leaned against the car door. It would have been a great exit line if the door had opened, but it didn’t even budge.

  Brad leaned against it with his shoulder, pushing as hard as he could. Maybe the snow had blocked the door. Nothing happened, no matter how hard he shoved. The windows were electric, so he couldn’t roll them down.

  For a second, he felt the sharp acid of panic flow through him. He was a little warmer in here, but there wasn’t any food and he couldn’t afford to wait for the snow to thaw. He wouldn’t survive in this jeep. Then, he remembered the tire kit.

  Brad yanked it up and rested it on the seat beside him, opening it quickly. There was no real rush, but every second he knew he was trapped made him more and more freaked out. Grabbing the jack, he slammed it as hard as he could into the windshield. Much to his relief, a crack spider-webbed over the glass. He slammed the jack into the center of the weak spot and the cracks grew bigger.

  On the third smack, the glass finally shattered. Snow, glass and freezing air rushed into the car as Brad knelt on the seat and climbed out onto the hood. It was only then that he felt a sharp pain. He swore as he felt hot blood gush down into his boot.

  Perched on the snowy hood, Brad pulled his pants leg up to get a better look at the cut. It was long, but it wasn’t deep, which was good because he had no way to stitch it up at the moment. He ripped a strip of his shirt off and wrapped his ankle as best he could, making sure to get the edges of the cut closed while still not tying it too tightly. With this cold, he wouldn’t notice a problem with his circulation.

  Once that was taken care of, he took a breath and looked out over the snowy landscape. It looked like another long day of walking. At least there would probably be another car to shel
ter in tonight if he kept to the road. That was a pretty sustainable option, actually, as long as he could get into them without breaking any glass. It was a hell of a lot better than trying to sleep in that flimsy tent.

  He slid down the hood and into knee-deep snow, letting out a mirthless laugh as he remembered the snowshoes his father had kept stocked at the cabin. If only Lee could see him now.

  As he trudged along, Brad counted off the miles to keep himself busy. He was so hungry that his head had begun to hurt as well as his stomach. His legs were getting harder and harder to lift. And there were no cars in sight now.

  As the hours passed, Brad realized how stupidly optimistic he’d been at the start of this walk. The snow encased his legs, making them harder and harder to lift. The sun beat down on his head; it wasn’t hot, but even with the sunglasses, everything was painfully bright.

  He stumbled over something in the road, going to his knees. The snow came up to his waist in this position and the cold began to seep in. Even with that motivation, it took him several minutes to be able to force himself upright. As he began to walk again, he came to the very real understanding that this might be his last day.

  “No,” he said. “I’m not gonna die like this. Not out here where they’ll never find me. Come on. You can do this. It’s only knee deep. You can—”

  It began to snow again, this time in soft, massive flakes that would make the snow hip-high in no time at all.

  Chapter 4

  Would it really be such a bad thing? Brad asked himself. The cold was setting in more deeply, making his whole body shake. He’d lost too much weight since losing the cabin. He clenched his jaw tightly, and it ached as he tried to control the shivers. He couldn’t manage it and it only made him hurt that much worse, but the tension remained.

  He’d done everything he could. He’d taken people in; he hadn’t let the situation beat him. He’d stayed true to his values. And now, he was going to die on some random road. Alone.

  Wasn’t there some philosopher who had said that everyone died alone? Maybe if he’d thought more about things like that, he wouldn’t be so terrified right now.

  If he died, he’d freeze. And then, when spring came, he’d melt right into the ground and looters would probably take his clothes and then—

  Something in distance caught his eye. The shapes were tall and dark against the sky, a welcome oasis from all of the bright white that surrounded him.

  Houses. They were houses.

  Brad hadn’t been aware that he’d stopped walking until excitement pushed him into motion once more. He picked up his pace, wincing at a fresh stab of pain in his ankle. Apparently, he had a bit of feeling left in his extremities. And maybe he had a little bit of survival instinct left, too.

  It had been a neighborhood, and a newer one at that. The houses were set so close together that kids could have set up tin-can telephones. If they hadn’t had real phones. And if they’d still been alive. He needed to warm up; he was starting to get loopy.

  Brad wasn’t picky. He went straight up to the first house he reached and pushed his way inside as fast as he could. The door hadn’t been locked, but he didn’t think much of it as he took a deep breath of snow-free air; the place had probably been looted long before and there was no reason for a vandal to lock the door behind them.

  He pressed his back to the front door and slid down it, leaning his head back and closing his eyes as he caught his breath. It wasn’t much warmer inside the house, but at least he was out of the wind. Gradually and painfully, feeling returned to his fingers and toes, but he didn’t open his eyes. He didn’t want to risk it yet.

  He was dizzy with hunger and exhaustion, and the floor seemed to tilt and sway underneath him, even when he was just sitting still. He needed to get up and find some food, but he couldn’t bring himself to do it just yet.

  What would they have, anyway? He gave a mental shrug. It didn’t matter. He’d take anything at this point. Surely there would be something that had been left behind, and he wouldn’t be so dizzy once he’d had some food. And he could melt some snow for water. Eating it would have only made him colder, so he hadn’t had anything to drink all day.

  With a massive amount of effort, Brad opened his eyes. And that was when he saw the bodies sitting snugly on the couch to the left of the door. Actually, to be completely accurate, he saw what was left of them.

  One of them had been a big man. He still held the shotgun in his lap, even though a lot of him had rotted away. The other, a petite woman on the couch beside him, had no face. Everything from her jaw to her forehead was missing. Dark smears of dried blood and brain matter painted the walls behind them.

  Brad stumbled to his feet, holding onto the doorframe as the house seemed to tilt and sway. This was the first time he’d seen a body in a long while. Maybe it was the way the couple was sitting. Maybe it was the fact that he could tell that the man had shot his wife and then not had the courage to pull the trigger on himself. Or the way they he was holding her hand in his.

  Whatever it was, it was more than he could take.

  Brad yanked open the door in a blind panic. He was out of the house and back into the snowstorm before he’d thought twice. He stumbled through the rapidly deepening snow to the house across the street.

  The door there wasn’t locked either. There were three bodies here, each of them lying sprawled on the floor. Apparently, the woman of the house had been the shooter in this case; the small caliber pistol was only inches from her decaying fingers. He almost wished she’d used a shotgun, too. He could see the level of decomposition too easily on what was left of their faces.

  His heart seemed to be pounding in his ears as he lurched back to the door. The dizziness was getting worse, but still he couldn’t bring himself to look in either of these houses for food. Death tainted everything here. Some part of him that was still logical knew better, but he could swear that he could smell it.

  Brad was shaking, not even aware that he was speaking as he walked up onto the porch of the house next door. Begging it to be empty, repeating himself like a prayer.

  “Please, please, please,” he whispered as he pushed the door open.

  His legs were shaking so badly that he could barely hold himself upright. The front rooms were clear of death and Brad gripped furniture and door frames as he moved from room to room. His vision was starting to get black around the edges, even though bright sparks of light kept flashing in front of his eyes. The kitchen…

  The family had chosen to have one last meal together, it seemed. He didn’t know what they’d used to poison the children, but he doubted that it had been as fast as they’d hoped. There were nail marks on the table, long scores drawn in the final throes of death. The boy had been around Sammy’s age. The girl was much younger. Her small hands were clenched into tight fists.

  Brad stumbled back outside, gagging. This was it. The last straw. He knew he wouldn’t survive if he stayed out here, but he also knew that there was no way in hell he’d go into any of those houses again. If this was all that was left, he was happy to go.

  His knees buckled once more. This time, the snow came up to his chest when he sank down. A roaring sound filled his ears and he closed his eyes, happy to hear something beside the snow-muffled quiet.

  Was this what death sounded like? It was almost like an engine. And voices. He thought that he heard those, too. Maybe this was his welcome to the Pearly Gates?

  Strong hands grabbed his arms and yanked him up. Saint Peter was a rough guy, apparently. A rough guy who was dressed a little strangely. He should have been wearing white robes, shouldn’t he?

  Brad couldn’t quite get his eyes all the way open, but he saw a murky flash of green and brown as he was hauled into a standing position. He highly doubted that saints wore camouflage. Rational thought managed to break through the static in his brain. Had he come all of this way to end up with the soldiers again?

  He didn’t mind dying. In fact, he was exhausted enoug
h to welcome it. But he really didn’t want to give them the satisfaction of killing him. Brad tried to struggle, but since his muscles were basically frozen, but he didn’t accomplish much.

  “It’s okay,” a soothing voice said. “You’re with friends now.”

  That didn’t really make Brad feel better, but the darkness that had been around the edges of his vision for a while finally took over. With a muttered swear of helpless anger, he went limp.

  Chapter 5

  When Brad woke up later, he wasn’t quite sure where he was. Someone had put a few rough blankets over him and one underneath him as well, but the surface he was lying on was extremely hard. There was also a strange swaying feeling. Was he still that dizzy?

  Then, the truck he was riding in hit something that had been buried in the snow and jounced the passengers around roughly and he figured it out. It had been an engine he’d heard as he’d collapsed in the snow. And now, he was riding with the people who’d caught him.

  He glanced around. There were three men in the back with him. They all wore camouflage and they all had gray blankets wrapped around their shoulders. It made them look like fellow refugees, but Brad saw the guns in their leg holsters and knew that was as far from the truth as it got. All that remained was to find out what they were going to do with him.

  “Take it easy up there,” the man closest to Brad called up to the driver. His tone was good-natured and Brad thought that he saw a smile on his face as he spoke. Of course, this guy had every reason to be cheerful. He was in control.