Z-Minus Box Set 2

by Perrin Briar

“No,” Susan said. “I can’t.”

  But her words were weak. Spoken from obligation, not love.

  “Come with me,” Richard said. “I know you still love me, and I love you. Come with me.”

  Susan shook her head. A single word, spoken in a whisper, slipped through her lips.

  “Yes,” she said.

  It shocked her to hear her own voice say it.

  Richard bent down to hear her better.

  “Yes?” he said.

  Susan nodded, and even that felt a sin.

  “We’ll pack our things,” Richard said. “Just the bare minimum.”

  Richard went to the bedroom and pulled a suitcase from under the bed. He opened the wardrobes and began tossing clothes into it.

  Amy grunted, not quite a cry, not quite a scream, but something in between. It was the best her malformed head could perform. It sounded all the world like a question to Susan, a question of why she wasn’t good enough, why she had to be left behind. A hot lump formed in the back of Susan’s throat.

  “Goodbye Amy,” Susan said, the words grating and painful in her throat, drawn out like a blade.

  “We have to go,” Richard said.

  He was standing at the door, a backpack slung across one shoulder, a suitcase in the other.

  Susan bent down and kissed Amy on her sloped forehead. She edged backward toward the doorway, so she could keep her eyes on Amy the whole time.

  Amy made her grunt-question noise again, and Susan felt her heart break. If she was going to do this, then she was going to do it with her eyes open. That was the least she owed her daughter.

  Richard brushed Susan’s hair and kissed her on the forehead. Susan led the way down the stairs. It was Richard who stood in the doorway, looking at Amy, not with the disgust he usually wore, but regret. He didn’t want to do this anymore than Susan did, but he had no choice. Neither of them did.

  They descended the stairs, edged around Rosario’s corpse, and went into the kitchen.

  “Grab all the tins,” Richard said. “We might be on the road for a while.”

  He began emptying the cupboards of tinned food, putting them in the suitcase with their clothes. Susan just stood in the middle of the floor, staring into space. Richard didn’t chastise her. He couldn’t blame her for the way she felt. She was a mother, and she’d taken care of Amy for two years by herself.

  He packed quickly and carried the bags out the front door to the car. He tossed them in the trunk and turned back to get Susan.

  “Susan, come on,” Richard said. “Susan!”

  Susan started, as if she’d been in a daydream. She’d been staring at nothing, thinking about nothing. She was numbed by her own decision. She shuffled toward the car door. Richard wrapped his arm around her as she came out of the house. The wind stirred her hair, but she didn’t feel it.

  Richard guided her into the passenger seat and then closed the door. He ran around to the driver’s side and let himself in.

  “Before I forget,” Richard said. “Can I have one of your vials? Rosario won’t have much use for hers anymore.”

  Susan’s movements were slow. She reached into her pocket and took out the two vials. Richard unstoppered a vial and threw his head back. Susan just looked at hers. She tucked it away.

  “You aren’t going to drink it?” Richard said.

  “Perhaps later,” Susan said.

  “Right,” Richard said. “Let’s go.”

  He sounded like they were going on a weekend trip. He started the engine and released the handbrake. They were off.

  The driveway wound in a giant S shape, banking around the tall trees and old hedges. When Susan bought the property she had the intention of uprooting them and having the driveway rebuilt to pass through them, but once she’d moved in she felt the same as the previous owner; it felt wrong to cut through what had been there years before she’d arrived.

  What she and Richard were doing was logical. It made sense. But could she do it? Was this really what she wanted to be doing? She’d chosen Richard over Amy. Two years ago she’d made the opposite decision. Did that mean her first decision had been wrong? Even though she loved every second she had spent with Amy?

  She was panicking, hyperventilating. She couldn’t breathe. She was going to be sick. She put her head between her knees.

  “Susan?” Richard said. “Are you all right? Susan?”

  Susan said nothing, and concentrated on breathing. She no longer felt sick, but the rush of blood made her head swim. A forgotten bubble of wisdom drifted to the surface.

  The darkest of days come from the brightest of moments.

  That was certainly true of today. It’d begun like any other day, calm and peaceful. They’d even gotten the funding they needed. It was one of the brightest moments in Susan’s career. Who could have predicted the day’s events?

  And then Susan frowned. If it was true that the darkest of days came from the brightest of moments then wasn’t the reverse true too? That the brightest of days come from the darkest of moments?

  Susan didn’t doubt that what she was going through now was the darkest moment she had ever experienced. The future could be bright, even with the apocalypse. But what if this wasn’t the end? How would Susan feel then, if she left Amy behind, like the other useless stuff in the house they were evacuating? Could she ever feel like the kind of mother who could care for her child? No. Once a terrible mother, always a terrible mother.

  “Stop,” Susan said, her voice soft.

  Richard hadn’t heard her, and was still driving down the driveway.

  “Stop,” Susan said, louder this time.

  “What?” Richard said.

  “Stop!” Susan said.

  “No,” Richard said.

  “I said stop!” Susan said.

  “Don’t be stupid,” Richard said.

  Susan thrust her foot into the driver’s side foot well and stamped on the brake. The car hopped like a jackrabbit.

  “Susan!” Richard said. “Stop it!”

  Susan’s legs weren’t long enough and she couldn’t sustain the brake pedal.

  “Susan!” Richard said.

  Susan looked down and seized the handbrake. Richard put his hand on top of hers, crushing it, keeping the handbrake off.

  “Susan, look at me,” Richard said. “Look at me! Let her go. You have to let her go.”

  “No,” Susan said. “You have to let her go. You could never accept her. But I’m her mother. I love her. She needs me.”

  “You need to survive,” Richard said.

  Susan grabbed her door handle.

  “Stop or I’ll jump out while we’re still moving,” she said.

  Richard met her hard-as-steel glare. He searched her eyes. She was serious. He hit the brakes. Susan slid forward in her seat. She grabbed the door handle and yanked on it.

  “Susan,” Richard said, his tone defeated.

  Susan got out.

  “Don’t do this to yourself,” Richard said.

  “No, Richard,” Susan said. “Don’t you do this to yourself.”

  He couldn’t meet her eyes. Susan slammed the car door and marched back up the driveway toward the house. The car sat there. Then it moved forward. It stopped again, the engine turning over.

  When Susan got to the house, she turned to look back. Richard was still parked there. She was a jumble of emotions. If he returned now, would she take him back? Yes, she thought. She would. Did that make her weak?

  No. Amy would have a better chance of survival with two parents to take care of her instead of one.

  But she needn’t have worried. The car’s brake lights went off, and the car continued down the driveway. It got to the end and turned. Moonlight bounced off its windows. The engine’s roar became faint, until it was no more.

  Susan felt numb. This was the second time Richard had left her. It stung just as much as the first time, though at least this time she was expecting it.

  The wind picked up and blew ac
ross the vast flat expanse of the countryside. She was alone, and to be alone now was very, very dangerous. But she wouldn’t be totally alone. She had Amy.

  12:32am

  Susan edged backward, into the shade cast by the porch. Her foot bumped into something. She looked down to find a small, neatly wrapped package.

  It looked odd there, sat on the front porch. Normal, like everything was working as it should, in a world where the undead weren’t walking the streets. She bent down and picked it up.

  The wrapping was plain brown paper, like a drunk would use to hide his weakness. A piece of scrap paper, lined, had been torn from a notebook. In an unpracticed hand was written:

  Tried to deliver to you in person, but you weren’t here. Inside is something your father left you before he passed away.

  It was signed with an illegible signature.

  A gift from Father? Was it possible he really was dead? It seemed like years since she’d heard the news of her father. If he had died, at least he’d be spared the knowledge of what the world had become.

  Upstairs, Amy cried. Susan turned and ran up the stairs. Amy was upset, no doubt sensing what had almost happened to her.

  “It’s all right, baby,” Susan said. “I’m here. I’m here.”

  She rushed to Amy’s bedside and picked her up. She rocked her gently to and fro, making soothing shushing sounds.

  “Everything’s going to be all right,” Susan said. “You’ll see. We’re going to be fine.”

  Amy made soft sucking noises. She was hungry. Her eyes were fixed on something.

  Susan realized she was still holding the package.

  “You want this?” Susan said.

  Amy took the box and began to tear at the paper.

  “Looks like it’s just going to be you and me here from now on,” Susan said.

  She was surprised that she didn’t feel particularly sad at the thought. Single mums made it all the time. She’d been one before today. What was the big deal? She had plenty of money, if she needed it. It was a lot more than most people had.

  She caught herself, remembering the current state of the world. When you had money, it was always in the back of your mind. It was a security blanket, a comforter that let you know you would never starve or be homeless. But now, money meant nothing.

  She would need to be self-reliant. She would need to grow her own food and cook everything from scratch. She would need to set up defenses and keep a close eye on the news to see what was happening in the world, to prepare for the worst in case it never got better again.

  She hugged Amy close. She’d never felt so alone before. She wished Richard was there. No. That was weakness talking. She didn’t need him. She could handle this on her own. But she wished she didn’t have to.

  “We’ll be all right, won’t we honey?” Susan said.

  She kissed Amy on the top of the head. Amy had gotten through the paper and was now worrying at the plain cardboard box inside.

  “Shall I open it?” Susan said.

  Amy didn’t say anything, but she relented. Amy was gorgeous. How could she have ever considered leaving her behind? Tears welled in Susan’s eyes, and her nose became congested. She wiped her eyes with her T-shirt.

  Amy tapped the box. She wanted it opened.

  “All right, all right,” Susan said. “I’ll open it.”

  It was stuffed with scrunched-up paper. Susan shook the box. Something rattled inside. Her fingers came to something hard. She picked the object up. Susan snorted, and then laughed out loud. She couldn’t contain herself. Of all the things to send. At least it had broken her sad spell.

  Amy reached for the bubblehead. It was of a dolphin-like creature. Each time her father made an important discovery, he had a bubblehead made. He loved his bubbleheads and travelled with them wherever he went. He would never have willingly parted with them. Did this mean her father truly was dead? Did it even matter anymore?

  “Do you like it?” Susan said. “You’ve got about the same quality of taste as your grandfather. Here, don’t chew on it. You don’t know what kind of germs are on it.”

  She handed it to Amy, who giggled at the little creature’s head as it bobbed up and down. It was a hideous little thing, and contained a secret no one would come to understand until much later.

  And by then, it would be much too late.

  Z-MINUS VI

  9:23pm

  The figure stared into space, unblinking and glaring at something in the distance. He had a jutting brow that, along with the bright overhead lamplight, made his eyes dark shadowed pits. He had a comically large overbite, the kind that gave the wearer a constant look of confusion.

  Dr. Joseph Scott scribbled on a piece of paper and looped it over the little figurine’s neck. He’d had this bubblehead designed to commemorate the discovery he’d made ten years ago in the Woranso-Millie area in Ethiopia. Dr. Scott and his team had discovered a whole new offshoot of man’s ancestry.

  It was the ‘missing link’ the religious nuts had decried was missing from the fossil records. But there weren’t really any missing links. The record simply showed one slow evolution of a great ape species. There were no ‘links’ like in a chain, but a slow progression, the features morphing gradually over the course of millions of years, like a river flowing through rock.

  Those were good times, times when Dr. Scott was at the top of his game, when the world waited with bated breath to see what his next big discovery was going to be. Dr. Scott had basked in the glow of achievement and attention that a new discovery merited. It wasn’t why he undertook such research, of course, but it was nice to receive the recognition.

  He was rough and unkempt, and wore the same ragged cardigan as he had for the past twenty years. It wasn’t that he was poor – far from it – it was that he had no concern or care for such things. His was a life of study and introspection, of discovery. What he wore on his back would not be remembered, and so he never gave it a second thought.

  Dr. Scott braced himself on the edge of his desk as a shiver ran through him. A cold sweat broke on his brow, pearls coalescing and rolling down his face. The shivers faded, as quickly as they had come, like a headache in reverse.

  The doctor sucked air in though his teeth. Focus! he told himself. Focus! He needed to recall his memories, those parts that made him who he was. Those would be the last parts of him to disappear. His identity would be his last defense.

  Jutting Jaw wasn’t the only onlooker. His brethren, spanning four decades of research and development and breakthroughs and discoveries stood peering down from their lofty perches. Now they were witnessing the end. The figures were unique, symbolic of each discovery Dr. Scott had made. One was a 3D-printed trilobite, a perfect replica in every way. Another was a pterodactyl carving, a woody reincarnation of the one he’d discovered deep in the white cliffs of Dover. Each told a story, a part of an extraordinary man’s life. They wore label necklaces of rough twine.

  The closer you got to the end of your life, the more you reminisced about your origins. Such memories were passing through Dr. Scott’s mind, now he was flying so dangerously close to the very end. Bizarrely, it was the memory of his own father’s passing that dominated his final thoughts.

  Dr. Scott had been fortunate to have been born into an affluent family – an extremely affluent family. He had attended all the best schools. He couldn’t claim to be an exceptional student, but he was a dutiful son. He was expected to follow in his father’s footsteps and take over the family business, a business that spanned the entire nation and dipped its tendrils into the international world as well. It was not so much a company as a dynasty. That was what the papers called the Scotts. A dynasty. Dr. Scott couldn’t say he ever liked the terminology. Dynasties ended. It was part of their lifecycle.

  He’d always harbored a secret love for science, and when the day came when he had to choose what his major was going to be, he hesitated. He loved science. He did not love business. It was passion versus du
ty and he did not know what to do.

  It riled him that he, of the Scotts and their incredible wealth, was unable to have the same freedoms the lower classes enjoyed. His life was to be one of duty, and he accepted that, but he could not accept applying it to all areas of his life.

  Over the years he had seen his father’s true passion, his love for engineering, and though he could have taken the family business in that direction, it was new, and therefore a risk. When a company became a certain size it ceased taking risks, preferring instead to play it safe. It was the beginning of the end. There was also the board to bear in mind, which would not support him, and so his father had not pursued his interests.

  But he could not disguise the light in his eyes every time he came across a new train design or a new article on the news about breakthroughs in feats of ingenious engineering. And then the look he gave afterward, arching his neck around, hoping no one had seen him divulge his secret passion.

  He had to hide what he was, what made him feel alive. Dr. Scott found himself never wanting to be like that, like his father. He couldn’t. Dislike grew into hate. He vowed he would never become like him, and yet there he was, fumbling over which box to tick. Science or business. Passion or duty.

  Dr. Scott had no doubt in his mind his father could have been an amazing engineer. He had all the required skills. Patience, tenacity. The drive to excel. With those skills he could have been great at anything. But he let family values and traditions shape him.

  Well, the young Dr. Scott had no intention of following in his father’s disappointing footsteps. He was going to do what he wanted to do, he’d told himself. He was going to pursue his passion. To hell with the family.

  He opted for business. What was most disappointing was he wasn’t even surprised by his decision. To select otherwise was unthinkable. It was the ultimate act of self-betrayal. Duty trumped passion.

  His father had not had kids until late in life, and so he was old and decrepit by the time Dr. Scott was due to attend university. There’d been a knock at young Dr. Scott’s door and a somber servant had told him his father requested his presence. It could only mean one thing. His father was near to the end.