Mass Extinction Event (Book 6): Day 100

by Cross, Amy

  “Yeah, we'll see,” I tell him, and then I hurry away.

  The worst part is that – deep down – I don't know that I believe him. I think I don't trust my own father, and now I'm terrified that they took Rachel away and used her for experiments. I tried so hard to keep her safe but maybe I let her down, just like I let down Henry. Maybe nobody should ever rely on me again.

  3pm

  Thomas

  “Thomas, you're such a bonehead, do you know that? You're, like, my second-favorite brother.”

  I can hear Martha's words echoing through my thoughts, even as I sit here leaning against the side of an old diner. In all honesty, I'd kind of abandoned hope of ever seeing my sister again. I set out several times to go to California, to search for her, but I always allowed myself to get distracted. Now I realize that I was just scared to go and learn the truth, because deep down I thought there was no chance of actually finding her alive.

  But she's out there somewhere. She survived, just like I did.

  “Mom!” I remember her yelling one morning. “Tommy's being an idiot!”

  I can't help smiling. Martha was sometimes a little bratty, but I guess she must have changed over the past hundred days. I know I have. I can't wait to see her again, but I'm also a little worried about what she'll be like. There's also the fact that I'll have to tell her what happened at home, about what happened to Mom and Dad and to Joe and to the farm. That won't be easy for her, but I can't hide the truth.

  And then I hear another voice in the back of my mind, a voice that I've been trying to ignore.

  “Help us, Thomas!” Melissa screams. She sounds terrified. “Why didn't you come back and -”

  She's cut off before she can finish. Closing my eyes, I swear I can see her body on the ground, and Katie's body too. I was supposed to go back and help them, I was still planning to go, but now it's too late. They're gone. They probably thought that I forgot about them.

  Hearing footsteps, I open my eyes and turn just in time to see that Toad is coming this way, although he doesn't seem to have noticed me yet. When he finally spots me, he slows for a moment before finally stopping a few feet away.

  “Did someone else take over guard duty on Jane?” I ask.

  “I'm just having a little break,” he replies. “She's perfectly secure, and to be honest it got a little much listening to her screaming every few minutes. She kinda needs to change the record.”

  “You can't just leave her there,” I point out, getting to my feet and brushing off a few more ants from my hands.

  “I told you, she's secure.”

  “But -”

  “I was out there for a couple of hours,” he says, as he brushes an ant off his forearm, “all alone with just a zombie for company. After a while, that kind of thing gets into your head. I had to leave for a little while, or I'd have gone crazy. Don't worry, I'll go back in half an hour. The important thing is that the ropes are secure, so there's no chance of her breaking free and going for a little wander.”

  “It's okay,” I reply, “I can go and keep an eye on her.”

  “Are you sure?” He sighs. “Sorry, Thomas, I don't mean to drop it in your lap. It's just that the whole thing was really getting to me. I guess I'd been hoping that the days of zombies were behind us. Now it looks like there are still some around after all.”

  ***

  Stopping at the edge of the scrubland, I immediately feel a shudder pass through my chest as I see Jane still secured by the ropes, still struggling to get free. It must be, what, around twelve hours since we captured her? I can't help wondering how much longer we have to keep her like this. If Carter doesn't need her anymore, she should just let us put her out of her misery.

  “Hey,” I say as I start making my way closer. “I've come to keep you company.”

  I know speaking to her is dumb, but in some strange way it's helping me to stay sane. Spotting her purse still on the ground, I wander over and use another old stick to open it, and I once again look down at the photo of Jane on her license. In some small ways, she reminds me just a little of Melissa, and for a moment I just stare at the image as I think back to my time at Lake Erie.

  Finally, realizing that I'm being dumb, I sigh and look back over at Jane.

  I immediately freeze as I see, to my shock, that she's staring straight at me, but that something seems to be moving all over her body. I take a step closer, and to my horror I realize that there are thousands and thousands of ants crawling all over her, covering her almost completely. There have been plenty of ants out here for a while, but it's as if they've suddenly all recognized her as a food source.

  “Hey!” I yell, even though I already feel completely helpless. “Leave her alone!”

  Grabbing a longer stick, I use it to brush some ants off Jane's shoulder, although when I look down at the ground I see that there are two lines running across the dirt. One line of ants is heading onto Jane, and the other line is heading away from her, and when I lean down to see closer I realize that some of the ants are carrying small chunks away from her body. It's as if they're slowly eating her. They seem so organized.

  “No!” I say firmly, using the stick to squash as many of the ants as I can manage. “Get off her! You've got no right to do that!”

  Immediately, the fleeing ants scatter and start to form new lines, and I watch as they disappear into several different holes in the ground. I reach out to squash them all, but at the last moment I can't help realizing that this is hopeless. I turn and look back up at Jane and I see that the swarm of ants is all over her, to the extent that I can barely even see her face anymore.

  Her features are just about visible, however, and after a few seconds I realize that she actually seems to be staring at the purse next to my feet. I wait, convinced that this is just a coincidence, but she's stiller than at any time since her capture and I swear it's as if she's actually, genuinely looking directly at the purse.

  Almost as if she recognizes it.

  “It's yours,” I say out loud. “You don't know that, though, do you?”

  I wait.

  “Do you?”

  I hesitate, before using the stick to start sliding the purse across the dirt, moving it closer to Jane. I keep telling myself that this is a silly idea, that I'm imagining things, but as I stop just a few feet from Jane I see that she has turned to keep her gaze focused on the purse. The license photo is visible, and when I look at Jane's rotten, bloodied, ant-covered face I can't shake the feeling that somehow, deep down, she seems to have responded to an item from her old life.

  “Do you remember?” I ask cautiously. “Are you starting to -”

  Suddenly she starts snarling again, pulling violently against the ropes and struggling with every sinew in her body to attack me. Her rage seems absolute, maybe even stronger than before, but I hold my ground and count to eleven. Sure enough, she stops snarling at the exact moment that I'd anticipated, and then she stares at me for a moment longer before looking down once more at the purse.

  “That's you,” I tell her. “In the photo, I mean. That's you, before all of this, when you...”

  My voice trailed off.

  “Jane Anne Kincaid,” I continue. “That was your name. You don't remember that, do you? You can't.”

  She doesn't respond. Instead, she simply continues to stare at the purse.

  “Jane?” I say cautiously.

  No reply.

  I swallow hard.

  “Jane!”

  This time, she immediately turns and stares at me, but she doesn't snarl. She seemed to react to her name, and for a moment she simply stares at me before, slowly, she lowers her head and looks once more at the purse. I know I'm probably imagining things, but I swear there's just a hint of sadness in her expression, and it's impossible not to consider the possibility that part of Jane Kincaid is still in there somewhere, that her real mind has been stirred. The idea seems crazy, but at the same time I can't deny that she definitely seems to be reacting to
the purse.

  I hesitate, before using the stick to move the license aside, revealing the photo of Jane smiling with her friends.

  Instantly, Jane lets out a low, murmured sound that suddenly turns into a growl. She turns away, and for a few seconds it seems as if she's about to become angry again, but then slowly she looks back down at the photo. She stares at the picture of her younger, happier self, and then she tilts her head slightly.

  “Do you remember?” I ask, even though I feel pretty silly standing here and trying to talk to a zombie. “I don't know how long ago that was, but it can't have been too long. Do you remember the people in that picture, Jane? I think they must have been friends of yours, maybe even part of your family.”

  I wait, although I'm starting to realize that she might not be able to communicate.

  A moment later she snarls again, lunging at me but quickly being held back by the ropes. She twists and turns, and now it's clear that her anger is definitely stronger than before. She rages against the ropes, and this time she leans her head back slightly and screams, as if she's howling at the afternoon sky. I don't remember her doing that before, and she continues to cry out for a moment before slumping back forward and look once again at the photo. Then, slowly, she lets out a low, pained murmur.

  “Give me some kind of signal,” I continue. “Anything, to let me know that you understand. Just the tiniest sign is enough.”

  Again I wait, half-expecting to see a tear roll down from her rotten eyes, but instead she simply continues to stare at the photo. It's almost as if she's transfixed, as if she's not even aware of my presence at all. And as I continue to stare at her, and as the ants continue to eat her body, I start to realize that I know exactly what I have to do.

  4pm

  Elizabeth

  “She's okay,” I whisper, sitting in the storeroom with my back against the wall, squeezing my eyes tight shut as I gently rock back and forth. “She's safe. I never saw her actually turn. She just looked funny, that's all. I over-reacted.”

  I keep thinking back to the last time I saw Rachel. She had this look in her eyes, a kind of intelligence that seemed like it came from somewhere else. I remember Doctor Kennedy's words, too, when she was talking about her own concerns.

  “We noticed certain... unusual signs,” she told me. “She seems to stare a lot, and a few of the nurses said they felt she was watching them.”

  That's not all she said, though. She said Rachel still had a chance.

  “She might be absolutely fine,” I remember her reminding me. “Let's focus on the positives, okay? With the limited resources at our disposal and the need to err on the side of caution, false positives are absolutely possible. We just have to wait and see, and hope that over the next few days she just turns out to be a normal little girl.”

  “I'm going to find you,” I whisper, as I try to force myself to have hope. “I'll never stop until -”

  Suddenly I hear her. Just for a fraction of a second, I hear her crying in the distance. I immediately scramble to my feet and look along the corridor, but of course the sound is already gone. And although my heart is pounding, Rachel's cry is one illusion that I know for a fact can't be real. Whatever happened to her, I'm absolutely certain that she's not here in Boston. That cry was hers, I'd recognize it anywhere, which can only mean one thing: I really am losing my mind.

  I need to face my fears head on.

  ***

  “I'm gonna take a break,” one of the men says, sounding pretty bored as he gets to his feet and steps away from the doorway. “You coming?”

  “You happen to know anywhere with a pool table?” the other man asks.

  “I wish, but there have to be some around somewhere. Come on, it's the middle of the fucking day, we've been on duty ever since the sun came up and we've already carted one body away. We deserve a lunch break, and no-one's going to miss us.”

  “Fine,” the other man mutters, and he starts following his friend out along the street, heading toward the ruined gardens in the distance. “This is the part they never warn you about, isn't it? The sheer, mind-numbing tedium of days spent doing nothing.”

  “You heard that alarm earlier,” the first man says, as they wander off into the distance. “Sooner or later we'll find out what that was about. I don't think things'll be boring for long. I don't know about you, but I'm getting the feeling that stuff's stirring in the background, stuff we're not being told about. And when it all comes out, it's not exactly going to be good, is it?”

  I wait behind the wall, watching until the two men have vanished into the garden. Then I peer along the street, looking both ways to make sure that there's no-one around, and finally I hurry into the little building where the hygiene workers store their equipment. There aren't technically any rules about who can be in here, but I still know that I'd get into trouble if I was spotted. Equipment is like gold-dust at the moment and everything has to be accounted for. There's no way I'd be able to just borrow something without a good reason.

  So much for having to cause a distraction. A little luck is far more effective.

  Reaching the storage room, I start going through the lockers, and I soon find what I'm looking for. Taking it out from its compartment, I examine the suit itself, and then I spot a row of masks on a nearby table. Each mask has small round eye-holes and thick pipes extending from the face section. When somebody's wearing one of those, it's impossible for anyone else to know who's inside.

  “I'll bring it all back soon,” I whisper as I head over and grab a helmet. “First, I just have to see.”

  ***

  The contamination suit – which I guess should be called an anti-contamination suit, but I don't make the rules – is hot and heavy as I walk toward the perimeter checkpoint.

  No, not hot and heavy.

  Make that boiling and crippling.

  On top of that, the joins are sharp around the top of the legs, pinching my skin. I'm going to have some marks after this, but that doesn't matter. All that matters is getting out to the pit where the bodies are tossed, so that I can see for myself that the girl in the white dress is really down there. That way, I'll know for certain that the images I've been seeing are just hallucinations, and then I'll know that I simply have to focus on getting my head into gear.

  Up ahead, there's a single guard manning the checkpoint, although several snipers are in the area to watch for any attempted incursions. I've heard that very few outsiders ever attempt to come this way, on account of the heavy weaponry on display, so to be honest I'm more nervous of that guard than I am of anyone trying to rush through from beyond the perimeter. I can barely see out of the mask's two glass eye-holes, which are already getting a little fogged-up in places, but I know that I just have to keep walking and act like I'm supposed to be here.

  After all, nobody can see who's under one of these things.

  “Morning,” the guard says as I approach, and he barely even glances at me. He's too engrossed in a tattered paperback book he's holding, which he must have found in one of the abandoned buildings.

  I keep walking, waiting for him to wave me through, but he doesn't even do that. I guess the suit is enough for him to assume that I'm legitimate. So I walk straight on past him, taking care not to slow at all, and then I feel a tightening sensation in my chest as I realize that I'm beyond the city perimeter for the first time since I arrived. I'm officially outside Boston and in the so-called wildlands.

  “What's up with you?” the guard calls after me. “Cat got your tongue? Having a bad day, huh?”

  I raise a hand to acknowledge him, but I don't look back. My heart is racing and I'm terrified that he might call me over, but there's nothing. And then, just as I'm starting to worry, I look ahead at the desolate landscape and I spot something dark in the air, a kind of smudge, and I realize I can hear a faint but rising buzzing sound.

  Flies.

  There's a huge swarm of flies buzzing above the pit.

  I almost stop, but I
force myself to keep going. With each step forward I feel a stomach-crunching tightening fear, but I know I just have to get this done. I make my way toward the edge of the pit, which is much smaller than I expected, and finally I stop and look down into a shallow ditch that's no more than twenty feet square and four or five feet deep.

  And it's filled with bodies.

  There must be thirty or forty people here, tossed in one by one after getting shot. The ones who die further out are left to rot where they fell, but the ones who actually break the perimeter cordon are thrown into these pits. As flies buzz all around me, sounding so loud against the sides of the mask, I look down at the bodies and I see the faces of the dead, twisted and contorted in their final moments. Some died screaming, some look as if they were in agony, whereas some look so utterly calm and peaceful. Some of them show no obvious signs of injury, as if they could just sit up and be fine, while others have had sections of their bodies or heads blown away. The one thing they all have in common, however, is the fact that they look emaciated, as if they were on the brink of starvation when they died. Some are rotten through, but some are just extremely malnourished.

  Suddenly, out of the corner of my eye, I spot movement. I look to the left, out past some old freeway signs, and then I realize somebody's watching me from behind a small building. I see a face peer out at me again, but the person quickly pulls back, and strangely I don't feel scared. After everything I've been told, I know that most of the people beyond the perimeter are just scared and hungry. They're far more likely to make a move away from the checkpoints, where there aren't so many visible guns.

  “Hello,” I whisper, for no real reason.

  I guess I just want to feel normal. Then again, I don't blame the vagrants for not daring to come any closer to me. We've killed so many of them already.

  I glance around, just to make absolutely sure that there's nobody sneaking up on me, and then I look back down into the pit. As I do so, I have to brush some flies from my glass eye-holes, and I can still hear their infernal buzzing. I'm pretty sure loads of them are crawling all over the outside of the mask, and buzzing in the air right next to my ears. For a moment I try to swat them away with my gloved hands, but then with a sigh I realize that I'm wasting my time. I guess there are some thing you just have to accept.