by Cross, Amy
On a night like this, however, I can't help looking around at the empty, abandoned buildings and wondering whether humanity can ever get back to normal. So much has happened, it seems impossible that we can put things back to how they were. This is starting to feel like a mass extinction event.
***
“No, of course not,” Dad says as he steps back, gesturing for me to enter his makeshift home. “I was planning to come and see you in the next day or two, anyway. I've got a job for you, one that'll take you away from the city walls.”
“I like working on the walls,” I reply, limping into the front room, which looks surprisingly neat and tidy.
“It's too dangerous out there,” he says. “Are you okay? Nothing's happened, has it?”
I turn to him.
“No,” I lie. “Nothing.”
“Are you sure? I'll soon find out when I get the daily report.”
“Nothing happened,” I say, figuring that I'll just deal with the consequences of that lie later. I really don't want to have to tell him all about the shooting. “Can't a girl just come and visit her father some time?”
“Of course she can,” he replies. “Why would you even ask?”
“I didn't realize you'd be asleep,” I add, seeing that he's in his bathrobes. “I thought you said you tend to work through the night.”
“I've been getting by on three hours' sleep each day,” he says, as he heads over to one of the cabinets and takes out a bottle of distilled water. “Can you believe that? Somehow I'm actually making it work, too. I guess I'm just doing whatever it takes, like everyone else. I can't wait for all this madness to be over, though.” He comes over and hands me the bottle. “I'm owed a major nap.”
“You think it'll ever be over?” I ask, taking the bottle.
“We just finished going through the latest report,” he explains. “Infrastructure repair is a priority, and we have achievable goals now. We've established communication channels with other groups of survivors, and we've almost eliminated the dangers posed by rogue groups outside the city walls.”
“Oh yeah?” I reply, again deciding not to tell him about the shooting incident tonight.
“Plus, there have been no sightings of zombies for more than thirty days,” he continues. “We're pretty certain now that they're out of the picture. We'll work out exactly what happened later, but for now it seems that the initial wave simply rotted away and the virus is no longer being transmitted. If that's the case, then the worst of this situation is over. We can start focusing on the recovery phase.”
“That seems almost too easy,” I point out.
“Have a little optimism, Elizabeth. It'll do you some good.”
“Do you realize it's a hundred days since this all started?” I ask.
He nods.
“Can you really believe that all of this has happened in such a short space of time?” I continue. “Look at us, and look at where we were just over three months ago. How has time moved so fast?”
“I guess maybe it's always like that in a crisis,” he replies. “I've certainly seen you grow up faster than I thought anyone could. I'm so proud of you.”
“I miss Mom,” I tell him, “and Henry.”
“So do I,” he replies. “Every day. Hey, why don't you get some sleep and come back in the morning?”
“I have guard duty at six.”
“I'll have a word and get you out of it.”
I shake my head.
“You're my daughter,” he says, “you shouldn't be out there doing grunt work.”
“Dad, I -”
“You're too smart for that,” he adds, placing a hand on my shoulder. “Elizabeth, how many times do I have to tell you? You're wasted out there. If you want to carry on with guard duty, I won't stop you. If you need to feel like you're one of the gang, then go for it. But if you really want to help this city, this recovery movement, then you'll put your talents to use in a more effective manner. How about it? Come join me at the central office.”
I open my mouth to tell him that I can't abandon my post, but suddenly I realize that he might have a point.
And then, just as I'm about to accept his offer, I hear a bumping sound coming from Dad's bedroom, and I turn just in time to see Diane Clark coming through to join us. My surprise at her being here is quickly surpassed by my surprise at the fact that she, like Dad, is wearing a bathrobe. She reaches down and pulls it tight, covering her cleavage.
“Oh, Elizabeth,” she says, stopping in the doorway, “I had no idea you were here.” She glances over at Dad. “John, you didn't tell me that your daughter was coming to visit. It's only four in the morning, isn't it?”
“I didn't know she was coming,” Dad says, keeping his eyes fixed on me. He suddenly seems nervous, maybe even guilty.
Looking past him, I see two empty but dirty wine glasses on the table. I guess they must have treated themselves to something from that stash that was found on Beacon Street last week. So much for sticking strictly to rations.
“Elizabeth,” Dad continues, “I was meaning to speak to you about something. Perhaps -”
“It's fine,” I say, stepping back from him, moving far enough to ensure that his hand falls away from my shoulder. Suddenly I feel flustered and angry, and all I can think is that I have to get out of here. I can barely even stand to look my father in the eye. “I'm sorry, I shouldn't have come here unannounced.”
“Elizabeth -”
“Sorry!” I blurt out, turning and hurrying out of the apartment.
“Elizabeth, wait!” Dad shouts, and I can hear him coming after me. “Elizabeth, this isn't what it looks like. Can we talk?”
“I have to go!” I reply. “I have guard duty at six. I have to be ready!”
As soon as I'm out of the building, I start running, desperate to get out of here before Dad can try to stop me. I hurry around the corner, then around the next, and finally I stop once I realize that I can no longer hear Dad coming after me. Breathing a sigh of relief, I close my eyes and try to regather my composure, but I can feel a sense of dread starting to build in my chest as I realize that I just walked in on something I wasn't supposed to see. I knew that Dad and Diane were close as colleagues, but it never occurred to me that there was anything else going on between them.
Dad's already found someone else. Maybe it's wrong of me, but I hate him for that. He's moved on from Mom, and it only took him one hundred days.
5am
Thomas
“Okay,” Patterson says calmly, “good job. You guys did a -”
Before he can finish, the zombie hisses and snarls, twisting again as it tries to break free of the ropes around its neck. The stakes in the ground hold tight, however, and after a few seconds the zombie once again falls still.
The same thing happens every few minutes.
It must be about an hour since we captured the creature, and since then it's been going through alternating periods of rage and calm. Right now it's calm again, standing and watching us but not really reacting in any way. These periods tend to last a few minutes, and they're inevitably followed by a brief burst of fury as the zombie tries again to escape. I'd have thought there'd be nothing except pure rage, and I can't help wondering why the creature's reacting in this way. There seems to be some kind of order to the chaos.
“What?” Toad asks, nudging my arm.
Turning to him, I realize I've been staring at the zombie.
“What's wrong?” he continues, keeping his voice low.
“Nothing,” I tell him, “it's just...”
I look back over at the zombie.
Patterson and a couple of his closest associates are circling, watching the creature from a safe distance. The zombie doesn't seem to be reacting to them, as such; instead, its rage seems to be directed at its predicament, at the ropes around its neck. I'm probably massively overthinking things, but I can't help wondering what – if anything – is going through the zombie's mind. Nothing, is probably the
right answer, but these calm periods certainly make the damn thing appear thoughtful.
Suddenly feeling something tickling my hand, I look down and spot a couple of ants near my wrist. I brush them away, but I can already see several more crawling around on the ground.
A moment later I turn and look at the zombie again.
“What are we gonna do with it now we've caught it?” I ask, watching as Patterson and the two other men continue to walk around the creature.
“We oughta burn it,” Toad mutters, “and salt the ashes, just to make sure there's no trace of it left.”
“We can't afford to waste the gasoline,” I point out.
“Those things are evil,” he adds, “and -”
Suddenly the zombie bursts once more into a fit of action, straining desperately on the ropes and snarling wildly. The stakes still hold, and frankly I'm more worried about the creature somehow managing to rip its own head off as it tries to escape. I watch as it struggles some more, and as I do so I start counting under my breath, waiting to see whether this latest burst of activity is like all the others. So far, they all seem to last for about eleven seconds.
“Nine,” I whisper, “ten, eleven...”
And it stops.
The zombie falls still again, right on cue. Except, if there is a cue, I don't know what it is right now.
“Eleven seconds,” I whisper. “Why -”
“Fuck this shit!” McGuinness shouts, and we all turn to see her throwing her gun to the ground. She's been uncharacteristically quiet since Patterson arrived, but now she takes a step toward all of us before stopping again.
I look at the wound on her left wrist.
“It's over,” she says, with a hint of shock in her voice as she holds the wound up for us all to see. “You all know it, and I know it. There's no amount of talking that's gonna changed anything. I'm infected.”
“I told you to wait there,” Patterson replies firmly, “and I'll come over and talk to you in a moment.”
“I'm not waiting around for anything!” she snaps. “Fuck, that stupid bitch bit me and I know her stupid teeth went deep, and that only means one thing.” She pauses, and I swear there are tears in her eyes now. She takes a deep breath, and then she reaches down and grabs her gun again. “I want to take this with me,” she continues breathlessly. “I know it's a lot to ask for, but I might run into a bunch more of those things and I'd dearly like to take them out with me before I go.”
“McGuinness,” Patterson says, “I -”
“Request permission to stand down, Sir!” she barks, snapping to attention and saluting him.
“What are you talking about?” Patterson asks.
“I'm a danger to the rest of you, Sir,” she continues, as a tear rolls down her cheek. “I humbly request permission to take my weapon and leave the encampment. I can't be trusted around anyone, not when I'm almost certainly infected.” She pauses again, and I can see her bottom lip trembling slightly. “I'll go away, Sir, and I'll patrol the farthest reaches of the town. You won't even see me, but I'll be out there making sure that no more zombies come this way. And while I'm doing that, I'll wait to see if I start turning into one of those things. We all know it's going to happen sooner or later.”
“The bites might not be as infectious as they were before,” Patterson tells her.
“With respect, Sir,” she replies, “that would seem to be grasping at straws.”
Patterson pauses, before stepping past us and heading over to her.
“You don't have to leave,” he explains. “We can keep you under observation and hope for the best.”
“I don't want to be a lab rat, Sir,” she replies. “I got bitten, and it's my own stupid fault. Now I want to neutralize the threat that I pose.” Looking past him, she stares for a moment at the zombie. “I might as well be useful in the process, and I don't want to -”
Before she can finish, the zombie bursts into another fit of anger, pulling frantically against the ropes.
“One,” I whisper, “two, three...”
“Are you counting?” Toad asks me.
“Four, five, six, seven, eight...”
The zombie growls as it tilts its head, and I can already see rope burns on the side of its neck.
“Nine, ten, eleven...”
After one final cry, the zombie once again falls still.
“Eleven seconds every time,” I say, turning to Toad. “It gets angry for eleven seconds, and then it stops for a while.”
“Why eleven seconds?” he asks. “What lasts for eleven seconds?”
“I don't know. But I want to know.”
“I don't want to become one of those things,” McGuinness says suddenly, and I turn to see that she's still watching the zombie. “At the first sign, I mean the very first sign, I want to use this gun and end it. The change happens quickly sometimes, doesn't it? It can take a few hours, or days, but after the bite it always happens.” She turns back to Patterson. “I don't want to risk becoming some kind of test subject, tied up like that thing. I don't want to become a zombie at all. At the first cough, I'll blow my goddamn head off.”
“McGuinness,” Patterson says with a sigh, “we'd never treat you like a lab rat.”
“Of course you would,” she adds, cutting him off. “With respect, Sir, it'd be your duty to keep me tied up for observation as I got worse and worse, and we both now a certain lady who'd insist on getting to cut me up. I'm asking for a favor here, Sir. I'm asking to be allowed to go away and end my life on my own terms. Because you can't guarantee me that I wouldn't end up as one of Carter's test subjects. I know you can't.”
“Edgewater here took a bite and survived,” Patterson points out, nodding toward me. “Some people have a natural immunity.”
“I've never had the chance of putting that to the test myself,” she tells him. “Sure, I might be immune, but there's a damn good chance that I'm not. Either way, it'd be irresponsible to stick around here while I wait to find out. With all due respect, Sir, I request permission to leave the company for a period of time, while I determine the truth. It's the only way, Sir, and you know it.”
Patterson pauses, before taking a step back and offering her a salute. I can see from the look in his eyes that he's not happy with the situation, but he's too much of a soldier to let emotions get in the way of making the right decision. I guess I respect him for that.
“Thank you, Sir,” she says, saluting him in return. “It's been a pleasure.”
“If nothing has happened to you after three days,” he replies, “I want you to come back, do you understand?”
She nods, as more tears run down her cheeks.
“You're a good soldier,” he continues, “and it's been an honor to serve with you.”
“I made one real big fuck-up at the end,” she replies.
“You did,” Patterson says sadly. “Unfortunately, a small mistake has had big consequences. I wish you well, McGuinness, and I can assure you that you won't be forgotten by anyone here.”
She pauses, and then she puts her gun away.
“I'm not gonna waste everyone's time with a speech,” she adds, before looking around at the rest of us. “Adios, losers. Don't make the same mistake I made.”
With that, she turns and starts walking away, heading out toward the wilderness. She seems to be talking to herself, as if she's trying to give herself a little extra courage.
“Would you like to take some water with you?” Patterson calls after her. “Some provisions?”
Without looking back, she simply raises her right hand for a moment, as if to indicate that she heard the offer but that she's fine.
“Why doesn't she take some stuff?” I ask Toad. “She might be fine!”
“She's not gonna wait around long enough to need anything,” he replies, keeping his eyes fixed on her as she walks further and further away. “She's too proud. You saw that bite, you know she's screwed. She's gonna go find a nice secluded spot somewhere, somewhere she
hopes she won't ever be found, and then as soon as she spots a sign that she's sick she'll kill herself. You can say a lot of things about that woman, kid, but you can't say that she was ever a coward.”
I watch McGuinness for a moment, until she disappears from sight as she heads down a slope, and then she's gone. I never liked her, but right now I feel really sorry for her. I want to believe that she has some hope, but I saw that bite and I saw the blood and I know how these things work. The virus was in the air once, but now it seems to be mostly transmitted through blood and other body fluids.
“Let Patricia McGuinness be an example to the rest of us,” Patterson says. “Don't get cocky. Don't -”
Before he can finish, the zombie breaks into another round of fury, and I immediately start counting. The creature rages against the ropes that are keeping it held in place, and I might be wrong but I think its snarls might actually be a little louder and a little more ferocious than before. If anything, the creature's becoming more and more angry about its plight.
“Eleven,” I say again, as the zombie finally falls still. “Eleven seconds.”
“What was that?” Patterson says, turning to me.
“When it gets angry, it's always for eleven seconds,” I point out. “I've been counting. It's eleven seconds, every time.”
“I'm sure that's just a coincidence,” he replies.
“But what if it's not?” I ask, turning to him. “What if it's important?”
“I don't have time for conspiracy theories,” he says darkly, as if he's irritated by what I told him. “You explain why it's eleven seconds, and I might be interested. For now, I need to get back to planning our move on Boston, but this creature's important and I want teams of two guarding the thing at all times until we're ready to run a few tests on it. Is that understood?”