Mass Extinction Event (Book 6): Day 100

by Cross, Amy

  “McGuinness?” I call out, raising my voice so she can hear me above the rain. “It's me, it's Thomas Edgewater! What are you doing out here? Are you trying to join the convoy? Is that it? We're heading to Boston. If you want to jump in with me, I can take you.”

  I wait.

  What's wrong with her?

  “McGuinness, come on, what are you doing?”

  When she doesn't reply, I realize that something's definitely weird about this situation. The last time I saw McGuinness, she was walking away from the rest of us after getting bitten by Jane Kincaid. She said she was going to wait and see whether she became sick, and that she'd shoot herself in the head if she began to turn into a zombie. That was about twelve hours ago, maybe a little more. Now she's starting to sway a little, and I take a step back as I begin to understand that her plan must have gone wrong.

  And then, slowly, she turns toward me.

  I let out a horrified gasp as I see that the front of her face has been entirely blown away. Everything's gone: her eyes, her nose, her forehead, her mouth, it's all been blasted upward, leaving just a mass of rain-dashed meat with some sections of bone poking out. Water is cascading down from where it's begun to pool in what's left of her eye-sockets, while her open throat is glistening in the light from my flashlight. She must have put the gun in her mouth and fired, but the angle was wrong and she succeeded only in destroying her face. She would have bled out pretty quickly, though, so there's only one possible explanation for the fact that she's standing here now.

  She takes a step toward me.

  She's a zombie.

  “No!” I stammer, pulling back and hurrying back around to the other side of the truck.

  I wait for the inevitable attack, but for a moment nothing happens. With no eyes or nose or ears, I guess McGuinness – or what's left of McGuinness – can't really do very much at all, and I figure she might not even know that I'm here. Sure enough, she slowly turns and fumbles her way along the side of the truck until she reaches the front, where she stops again. She pauses, and then she tilts what's left of her head back and looks toward the sky, and she hesitates as rain comes falling down against what's left of her face.

  Figuring that she can't see anyway, I raise the flashlight a little and aim it at her, and for a moment I simply stare at the sight of raindrops dancing across the mashed meat of her features, and I see that some of the water is even running straight through her head and dribbling out around the top of her neck. Most of her brain seems to be intact, but I can't even begin to imagine why she's standing there like this.

  Finally, I carefully open the door and climb into the truck, and then I pull the door shut and lock myself inside. McGuinness didn't seem to notice me moving at all, but as I set the flashlight down I can't help but wonder why she's still just standing there. I guess if she can't see and she can't hear and she can't smell, her only sensory input is coming from the rain as it falls on her. I have no idea how intelligent these creatures might be, but it must be pretty strange to have no impressions at all other than thousands of tiny cold drops falling onto what's left of your body. The sensation certainly seems to have stopped her in her tracks.

  I pause, before reaching for the key, but for a moment I can't quite bring myself to start the engine. I have no idea how McGuinness will react, but I know I have to get going.

  I take a deep breath, and then I turn the key.

  As soon as the engine starts, McGuinness turns and lunges at the hood of the truck, as if she's frantically trying to attack the vibration that she must be feeling against her body.

  I put the truck into reverse and drive backward along the road, finally stopping again with the headlights blazing out through the rain. The beams pick out the sight of McGuinness flailing around with her hands, as if she's trying to find whatever just startled her.

  “I don't want to become one of those things,” I remember her saying earlier today, after she got bitten. “I'm asking to be allowed to go away and end my life on my own terms.”

  And now look at her, stumbling around in the road, in the pouring rain, seemingly tormented by everything she feels. This is exactly what she feared becoming the most.

  Reaching down, I put the truck into first gear. I know what I have to do, even if I hate the idea of doing it. McGuinness wanted some dignity in her death, and so far she hasn't had that at all. The easy option would be to just drive away, to let the situation take its course, but I owe it to her to try to help out in some small way. I'd want someone to do the same thing for me, so I take a deep breath and then I floor the gas pedal, and I drive straight at her. At the last second I close my eyes, squeezing them tight shut as I feel a heavy thump. The truck bumps over something, and a couple of seconds later I hit the brakes.

  Opening my eyes, I turn and look back.

  McGuinness is on the ground. I went right over her, but after a moment I see that she's still moving down there on the asphalt. Her arms are twitching, even though her legs are shattered, and her pelvis looks to have been smeared into the ground. I wait, hoping that she'll stop moving, but her arms are still reaching out and then I see what's left of her head starting to turn.

  I put the truck into reverse, and then I stare straight ahead as I drive backward. A few seconds later I feel the wheels driving over something, and I feel a sickening sense of nausea in the pit of my stomach as I keep my foot down. Looking out through the windshield, I wait until McGuinness comes into view again, and then I stop the truck.

  She's even more broken than before, yet somehow she's still twitching. Parts of her body look like nothing more than a mashed pile of meat and bone, but one of her forearms is still moving and her head has survived too, moving frantically as if somehow the creature is trying to survive. Do these things never give up?

  I know I have to finish this, so I take a deep breath and then I put the truck back into first gear before slowly driving forward. This time I'm really careful to make sure that my front right tire goes straight toward the head area of the flailing body, and I wince as I feel a sickening crunching sensation. I keep my foot down, determined to finish the job, and finally I drive away from the body and stop to once again look over my shoulder.

  The body is still there on the asphalt, but this time I don't see anything moving. I can't really see any specific parts of the body, no feet or arms or head, and instead it all just looks like a mashed pile of human remains. I keep my eyes fixed on the mess for a few more seconds, just in case there's any kind of a twitch or a flicker of life. Maybe somewhere deep inside the creature, there's still some kind of drive to survive, but at least I'm pretty certain now that Patricia McGuinness will no longer be stumbling around as a member of the undead.

  “Rest in peace,” I whisper, before making the sign of the cross against my chest.

  I don't know why I said and did either of those things, but I guess they just felt appropriate.

  It's always going to be like this now, isn't it? No hope. No dignity. No humanity. Just death and killing and watching the worst happen. For the first time, I feel all the hope leaking out of me until I feel completely blank. There's nothing left in the world except death and pain and suffering, and there's not even going to be any respite or honor for the people who've been killed. This is it. This is how humanity is going to end.

  Turning, I grip the steering wheel and take a deep breath as I prepare to drive on. I need to catch up to the convoy, or at least to follow them to Boston, and for a moment I look at the distant orange glow that seems to be even bigger than before.

  I should have pressed the pedal down by now, but something's holding me back. I keep thinking about the sensation of the truck driving over that body, and somehow the memory has frozen me in place. When I get to Boston I'm going to see more terrible things, more horror, and that possibility seems too awful to contemplate. Slowly I lean forward and rest my forehead against the steering wheel, and I try to empty my thoughts entirely as I listen to the sound of the rain on t
he truck's roof.

  I have to get going.

  I have to join the others.

  It's just that, for a moment, I can't bring myself to actually start driving. If the world is just going to be one horror after another, I'm not sure I can stay sane. After what I saw happen to Jane Kincaid and to Patricia McGuinness today, I feel as if I've hit some kind of limit. Then I start thinking back to everything else I've seen over the past hundred days – to my family dying; to Deputy Sheriff Haims; to Lydia; to that Beau guy; to all the others – and I can't help wondering what and who I might encounter in the next hundred days. Everything has been steadily getting worse, and I'm not sure I can handle another hundred days like this.

  Maybe I'll just start imagining Joe's voice again. After all, I once imagined him speaking to me from the rotting body of an old woman. At the time I thought that was real, that he was really helping me find Martha. I almost drove off across the country to some imagined meeting point, before I realized that the whole thing was impossible. I keep waiting for his voice to come back to me, and sometimes I actually want that to happen. Anything would be better than being alone.

  Another hundred days of this madness feels impossible.

  I don't want to drive straight into a war-zone, but I guess I've got nowhere else to go, no-one else to see or to help, so what are the alternatives? Somehow I don't think I'm quite the suicide type, so I figure I might as well make myself useful. Up until this moment, I've been living for the hope that I'll find Martha, and that Melissa and Katie are still alive too, but as I sit here now I realize that I can't keep up that pretense any longer.

  They're gone.

  Martha almost certainly died out there in California, and I can only pray that her death was quick and painless.

  As for Melissa and Katie, it seems that the people from Boston have been exterminating survivors wherever they find them, and I no longer have the strength to believe in miracles. Their bodies are probably rotting somewhere, riddled with bullets. I guess the only hope is that they don't end up turning into those creatures.

  Everyone's gone.

  So finally, slowly, I press the gas pedal and ease the truck forward, heading off toward Boston. Not because I want to go to war, but because I have nowhere else to go. Remembering Patterson's warning, I switch off the truck's headlights, figuring that there's no need to advertise my presence to anyone, and then I sit in the darkness and drive, staring at the road ahead and trying to pick out the right route. As I do so, I feel the horror of the past hundred days creeping into my mind, but somehow I manage to push it all out by forcing myself to feel nothing. No sadness. No pain. No loss or loneliness. I feel nothing. I'm numb, and I'm driving toward the distant glow of war, and I'm going to fight.

  And for the first time, I don't care whether I live or die. I even push the pedal to the floor, so that I'm driving at full speed through the night even thought I know that's a risk. Maybe I won't even make it to Boston, maybe I'll crash before I get there, maybe a zombie'll crash through the windshield and bite me to death. Maybe I don't care.

  Suddenly something flashes toward me from the right-hand side, and I have no time to react. The impact smashes the truck's passenger side and sends the entire vehicle tipping over to the left. The engine roars and I'm sent slamming into the door, but at the last moment the truck slams back down onto its wheels and screeches along the road before bumping down into the undergrowth and finally crashing headfirst into a tree. This second impact shoves me forward, and only the safety belt keeps my head from smashing into the windshield as it shatters.

  Glass explodes all around me, slicing the side of my face as I turn away, and then suddenly the immense wrecking sound stops and I'm left sitting in the ruined, smoking truck.

  For a moment, I keep my eyes squeezed shut, but finally I open them and look ahead. The windshield is gone, letting rain and wind come crashing in, and all I see is a dark forest stretching ahead. When I came off the road, I must have hit the beginning of the treeline. I feel dazed for a moment, even though I'm pretty sure I didn't hit my head, and my shoulder hurts from the force of being held in place by the belt. As I start moving my hands and feet, however, I realize that I'm basically okay, even if the truck itself seems to be totally ruined.

  What did I hit?

  I was driving at full-speed through the rainy, stormy night, along an unlit road, and I think I'd just reached a crossroads. And then, out of nowhere, something came slamming into my side with enough force to almost flip the entire truck. I try to check the rear-view mirrors, but they seem to have been ripped off in the crash, so I reach down with a trembling hand and unfasten the belt, before trying to open the door so I can climb out.

  I pull the handle several times, but either the door or the frame – or, more likely, both – got damaged in the crash. The window still winds down, though, so I start scrambling out that way, and finally I jump down and land out in the rainy night air. The only light comes from the moon high above, which picks out the edge of the road at the top of a small incline, but so far I don't see or hear any sign of whatever hit me. I wait, listening in case there's a sudden cry, and then I start scrabbling up the incline until I reach the side of the road. Even after just a few seconds, I'm once again soaked to the bone.

  And that's when I see it.

  There are small pieces of wrecked metal everywhere, spread out for maybe a hundred meters in each direction, and I can just about make out the rear end of some kind of car that has overturned a little way further along the road. One side of the car's front has been destroyed, but the other side looks to be mostly intact although I still don't see anything to indicate that the driver managed to get out, or even that he or she survived.

  I instinctively reach down to my belt, before realizing that I don't have a gun with me. I left that behind in the truck.

  I watch the wrecked car for a moment, and then I realize that I need to go over and take a closer look. If this is a trap, then it's one that looks to have left the other party in a worse state, and I tell myself that the person in the car might need my help. I start making my way out cautiously, while remaining poised to turn and run, and finally I get close enough to see that somebody's moving in the front of the car. I can hear movement now, too, as if somebody's desperately scrambling to climb out, and a moment later one of the doors opens on the car's other side and a figure slides out, letting out a pained gasp as it lands hard on the asphalt.

  Rain is pattering loudly against the figure's arched back. Whoever this person is, they're wearing what looks like some kind of de-contamination suit, complete with a mask hanging loosely from the back of the neck section.

  I walk around the side of the car and stop as I see the figure resting on its hands and knees, desperately trying to get its breath back. Squinting slightly in the moonlight, I try to make out the figure's face, and I realize after a few seconds that it seems to be a girl.

  I open my mouth to ask if she's okay, but suddenly she turns to me and I see the fear in her eyes. She looks almost wild.

  “It's okay!” I gasp, holding my hands up to show that I'm not armed. “I'm not gonna hurt you!”

  She continues to stare at me, as if she can't quite believe what she's seeing. In fact, she looks so horrified, I'm starting to wonder whether she's got some kind of head injury.

  “I swear I won't hurt you,” I continue, taking a step toward her. “I don't know what happened, I didn't even see the crossroads until it was too late. I didn't see you coming.” I lower my hands. “I was driving for about an hour, I didn't see anyone at all. I guess I didn't expect to, either. I'm sorry if...”

  I pause for a moment, hoping that she might say something.

  “Are you hurt?” I ask. “I'm not. I mean, I don't think so. My truck's pretty badly damaged, but I'm fine. Can you stand?”

  I reach a hand out toward her, but she doesn't respond. She's staring at me as if she either thinks I'm about to attack her, or she's planning to attack me.


  “Thomas,” I say cautiously, hoping to at least get something from her. “That's my name. Thomas Edgewater. Can you tell me your name?”

  She pauses, before slowing getting to her feet. She struggles slightly and I reach out, grabbing her arm to hold her steady. Pulling away, she takes a limping step back and the she leans against the side of the car as she struggles to get her breath back.

  I want to say something, but I wait, hoping that she might reply.

  “Elizabeth,” she says finally.

  “Elizabeth?”

  She stares at me for a moment, and then slowly she reaches a trembling hand out toward me.

  “Hello, Thomas Edgewater,” she says with a faint, trembling voice. “My name's Elizabeth Marter, and I've had one hell of a day.”

  COMING SOON

  Days 101 to 108

  (Mass Extinction Event book 7)

  OTHER BOOKS

  BY AMY CROSS INCLUDE

  Horror

  Stephen

  The Farm

  The Haunting of Hardstone Jail

  Asylum (The Asylum Trilogy book 1)

  Meds (The Asylum Trilogy book 2)

  The Madness of Annie Radford (The Asylum Trilogy book 3)

  The Devil, the Witch and the Whore (The Deal book 1)

  Like Stones on a Crow's Back (The Deal book 2)

  The Devil's Blade

  Haunted

  Devil's Briar

  The Night Girl

  Last Wrong Turn

  Friend From the Internet

  The Haunting of Caldgrave House

  The Haunting of Blackwych Grange

  The Bride of Ashbyrn House

  The Ghosts of Hexley Airport

  The Curse of Wetherley House

  The Haunting of Marshall Heights

  The Ghosts of Lakeforth Hotel

  The Ghost of Shapley Hall

  The Body at Auercliff