Mass Extinction Event (Book 11): Days 349 to 356

by Cross, Amy

  Her voice trails off.

  “Riley's not an asshole,” I tell her. “Not really.”

  “Yeah, he is,” she replies. “It's okay, I get it. I don't even blame him. Riley made the right decision for Riley, and I hope it works out for him. Really, I do. Now, shouldn't we get back to the car and head off? I didn't really see him just now, I realize that now. I saw a shadow and I wanted it to be him, but it was nothing. I've been an idiot, but at least I can learn from that and try not to be one again. So let's go.”

  Thomas

  “If you'd told me I'd be living through a zombie apocalypse,” Katrina says a while later, as Martha drives us along the road, “I'd have imagined myself being some total badass. Like, with a machine gun and a bad attitude. I never would've pictured myself as a knocked-up ex-whore in Pennsylvania, in a car that's about to run out of gas.”

  “Aren't you being a little hard on yourself?” Martha asks, as rain continues to crash down.

  “Says the woman with one arm and one eye,” Katrina replies. “Admit it, you've totally got the look figured out.”

  “I'd rather have the arm and the eye back,” Martha mutters.

  “I'm not gonna let people take advantage of me anymore,” Katrina continues. “No way. Those days are over. From now on, this is Katrina 2.0. Well, actually, it's Katrina 3.0. Katrina 2.0 was when I stopped doing meth.”

  I turn to her.

  “Don't judge me, farm boy,” she adds. “I've got a tragic backstory coming out of my ears. I'm just not much of a sharer.”

  I open my mouth to reply, but suddenly I see that we're not alone. There's another vehicle on this road, just coming into view on the crest of the hill that was just passed.

  “We've got company,” I say, squinting a little in an attempt to make the vehicle out, “and it looks like...”

  I pause for a moment, and then I feel a flicker of dread in my chest as I realize that my worst fears might be about to come true.

  “It looks like a camper van,” Martha says, having seen the same thing in the mirror. “I think our buddies with the stupid names are about to put in another appearance.”

  “That could just be a coincidence, right?” Katrina says, although I can hear the fear in her voice.

  I turn to Martha, and it's clear that she's not convinced.

  “Everyone just stay calm,” she says after a moment. “They left us alone yesterday, when they probably could have overpowered us. Nothing's different this time.”

  “Except that there are only three of us now,” Katrina points out.

  The camper van is gaining on us fast, and I can't shake the feeling that its sudden return has to be more than just a coincidence. I can hear the van's engine now, and I force myself to look out at the road ahead as the van moves out to the other side of the road and begins to pass us on the left. Out of the corner of my eye, I see that Martha isn't reacting, that she's simply keeping her hand on the wheel, but now the van is alongside us and it seems to be staying at our speed.

  “Why don't they just go past?” Katrina asks nervously.

  “Slow down,” I say to Martha. “Let them shoot off ahead.”

  “That won't work,” she replies through gritted teeth. “Then they'll just slow us down.”

  “So what are we -”

  Suddenly the camper van moves toward us, until it bumps against the side of our car. Martha mutters a few curses under her breath as she struggles to keep us on the road. I still don't get why she doesn't slow down and let these assholes pass, but I tell myself that she knows what she's doing. A moment later, however, the van bumps against us again before pulling away slightly.

  “Okay, I think they definitely noticed us,” I tell Martha. “Maybe it's time to -”

  Suddenly the van slams into our side again, much harder this time. Martha struggles to control the car, just as we reach a bend in the road. The tires squeal, but for a moment it looks as if we're about to make the turn. And then, just as I reach out to help Martha with the wheel, the car's front right tire goes off onto the dirt and the car immediately starts bumping along.

  Martha yells something, but she's too late.

  The car crashes down off the side of the road and hits a tree, which sends us spinning around until the entire vehicle overturns. We start to roll, and all I can do is hold on for dear life as my ears are filled with the sound of thudding metal and breaking glass. My entire body is being shaken, and Katrina is screaming, and for a few seconds the car just seems to roll harder and faster until – finally – we come to a rest upside down, resting against another tree.

  For a couple of seconds, shards of glass crash down.

  “Fuck!” Martha hisses, before letting out a gasp of pain.

  Turning to her, I see that she's examining her right knee, which looks a little bloodied.

  I look over my shoulder, and I'm shocked by the sight of Katrina hanging unconscious from her safety belt.

  “Hey, are you okay?” I ask, leaning through and nudging her arm. “Katrina! Say something!”

  There's a patch of blood on one side of her head, and she doesn't respond at all as I continue to shake her hard. She's still alive, that much I can tell, but it looks like she hit her head on the window as the car rolled.

  “Get out!” Martha hisses suddenly. “Run into the forest! If we get separated, go back the way we came, try to reach the gas station again.”

  “But that's -”

  “Just do it! They're coming!”

  “We have to get Katrina out!”

  Sighing, she turns and starts pulling on the belts, but after a moment she stops and searches instead for Katrina's pulse.

  “She's alive,” she mutters, “but we don't have time to carry her. Those goons'll be here before we get a chance.”

  “We can't just leave her!”

  “You want to die for her?” she snaps. “Seriously? Tell me, Thomas, are you genuinely willing to die for this woman?”

  “I...”

  For a moment, I'm not sure what to say.

  “It's not just her,” I stammer finally. “There's also -”

  “And her kid, I get it,” she says, “but are you really -”

  Before she can finish, a boot kicks the remaining glass from one of the nearby windows, and I turn to see that the three guys from the camper van have reached us. I guess it's too late now for us to simply run away, and after a moment I turn to Martha and see that she's looking around as if she's still hoping for some chance of escape.

  “Thomas,” she says cautiously, “we need to -”

  Suddenly she cries out as she's yanked backward. I try to grab her, but I'm too late and I can only watch helplessly as she's hauled out of the car. She grabs the metal frame and tries to hold on, but then she gasps as another boot slams against her arm and she's pulled up and out of sight.

  “No!” I yell. “Don't hurt her!”

  I hear a sickening crunch, and then I see Martha's legs drop back into view. Someone's holding her up, but then her feet are pulled up, and I hear footsteps stomping away from the site of the crash.

  “So how many does that leave?” Krex calls out, as he bangs the side of the car. I instantly recognize his voice. “Are there two of you left in there? Or three? Or just one? It's so hard to keep track.”

  He gets down onto his hands and knees and peers into the car, and then he smiles as soon as he sees me.

  “Good,” he chuckles, “you're alive and kicking. You look pretty healthy. Much better than those bastards earlier, they weren't fit for saving.” He pauses, staring at me for a moment. “Now, why don't you crawl out like a good boy, and save us all some bother, huh?”

  “What did you do to my sister?” I stammer.

  “She's fine. Just taking a rest. Come and see for yourself.” He looks over at Katrina. “Did that one take a bump on the head? I'm sure she'll be fine. Hard to tell, though, if I can't actually get to her. She appears to require urgent medical attention, and you're making it har
d for her to get that.”

  “Bring my sister back!” I yell.

  “Right now, my buddy Maddog will be making her comfortable in our little portable home back there,” he replies. “There's space for you, too, and for your friend. Your own method of transportation looks to have had better days. You're not gonna knock back the offer of a free ride, are you?”

  “Bring her back right now!”

  He sighs.

  “Fine,” he mutters, “looks like we're gonna have to do this the hard way.”

  “What -”

  Before I can finish, someone grabs my legs from behind, and I'm dragged out of the car through the other window. I try to grab the frame, but one of the three guys has got the drop on me and he quickly hauls me up until we're face to face.

  “Are you coming quietly,” he sneers, “or are you gonna make a fuss?”

  “Go to -”

  Suddenly something slams against the back of my head, knocking me out cold.

  Thomas

  “Hey, kid, wake up.”

  My shoulder is shaken again, and this time I manage to open my eyes. The first thing I notice is a pounding pain on the back of my head, and then the whole world seems to shudder around me. I blink a few times, and finally I realize that I'm in the back of the camper van with that Krex guy's face right up against mine.

  “That's better,” he says, leaning back. “I thought maybe you'd wanna see the -”

  Before he can finish, I lunge at him, only to find that my wrists are tied together and that my ankles have been chained to the wall. I try to twist free, but the restraints are too strong and after a moment I hear Krex laughing.

  “It's for your own good,” he explains. “The last thing we need is for you to get violent. I'm sorry, but we can't afford to take any risks. What's your name, anyway? I told you mine, but you never reciprocated.”

  Turning, I see that Martha and Katrina are both slumped on the floor nearby. They're both tied up, and they're both unconscious.

  “Relax,” Krex continues, looking over at them, “they'll be fine. Well, the one with no eye and no right arm will be, anyway. She just got a light knock to the head, to shut her up. The other one hasn't woken up since we pulled her out of the car, but she's definitely alive.” He turns back to me. “The important thing is that their hearts are still beating, still pumping blood around their bodies. Still keeping them fresh.”

  As he says those words, one of the other guys wanders over to a nearby cupboard and pulls it open. I let out a horrified gasp as I watch him taking out a severed human foot, most of which has been picked clean to the bone.

  “That's the last of those people from the other crash,” Krex explains. “The problem with dead bodies is that they go off really fast. The only solution, really, is to cook them to make sure the meat's still good. And that's fine, really it is, sometimes a man wants a nice piece of steak. But other times...” He pauses, before reaching out and touching the side of my face. “Other times,” he continues, “a man prefers sushi. Fresh meat.”

  “Don't touch me!” I spit, pulling away.

  The other guy sets the foot on a counter and starts using a knife to carve away the last of the flesh. I stare for a moment, horrified, and then I look away.

  “It tastes pretty good, you know,” Krex continues. “I'll admit, there's a period where you have to get used to it. We all did our fair share of heaving and retching, but hunger is a strange thing. Real, true hunger can rewire your brain until you'd eat just about anything.” He leans over and takes a piece of meat from the other guy, and then he holds the meat toward my mouth. “A peace offering,” he adds. “Like I said, it's not the finest quality, but it's not garbage, either. I mean, I've seen people eating rats. At least I've never stooped that low.”

  I turn away from the meat, but he presses it against my lips. I turn away again, and this time he laughs.

  “You don't want it?” he asks. “Fine.”

  With that, he drops the piece of meat into his mouth and starts chewing with his mouth open. It's obvious that he's amused by the fact that I'm repulsed. In fact, as I hear the sound of him still chewing, I start to feel nauseous.

  “You still haven't told me your name,” he says.

  Taking a deep breath, I refuse to look at him, but then he grabs my chin and forces my head to turn until I can see the white of his eyes.

  “You know,” he continues, “I'm starting to think that you're a very rude young man.” He reaches over to the counter and takes another, smaller sliver of meat. “You spurn our hospitality. You refuse basic introductions. And the worst part is, you act as if you're above us all. Is that what you think? That you're better than the rest of us?”

  “If you hurt my sister,” I say through gritted teeth, “I swear -”

  Before I can finish, he grabs me by the shoulder and spins me around. The restraints pull tight on my wrists and ankles as I'm dragged up from the floor, and then I'm slammed face first against the window. Despite all the dirt and grime caked across the glass, I can just about see that we're in a built-up area, and a moment later I spot taller buildings up ahead, as if we're heading into a city.

  “If you don't like me,” Krex sneers into my ear, “then you're really not gonna like my friends. But that's on you. I don't know if you've ever been to Philadelphia, young man, but the place has really changed over the past year. People like you, weaklings and fools, have faded away. It's the strong who survive. It's the ones who do whatever it takes to keep going, and there are a lot of us. We're fortunate to have a strong leader, someone who shows us the way, but you'll learn about him later. For now...”

  Suddenly he forces the fresh piece of meat into my mouth. I try to spit it out, and then I struggle desperately as Krex forces my jaw shut and shakes me violently. No matter how hard I push back, I'm powerless to stop the meat dropping down to the back of my throat, and then I involuntarily struggle. Krex lets go of my head and I try desperately to get the meat out, to bring it back up and spit it to the floor, but I'm too late. I swallowed it and it's gone.

  Grabbing the back of my head again, Krex slams my face against the glass as we get deeper and deeper into the city.

  “Welcome to Philadelphia,” he snarls. “I think you're gonna fit right in.”

  Elizabeth

  Night is coming again.

  Standing at the window, I stare out at the sea and I watch as the sun's last rays catch the water. I come to this same spot every evening, even though I know what I'm going to see. Each day, I tell myself that it'll be different this time, that this time I can handle the darkness.

  And each night, the fear returns.

  Ever since I made it out of the subway system, I've been scared of the dark. Maybe 'scared' isn't even the right word. When night falls, I start hearing sounds. I barricade the door, I tell myself that nothing could ever get in here, but I always end up thinking that there's a zombie nearby. And rats. I swear, I haven't seen a single rat since I left those tunnels, but at night I hear them and sometimes I even feel them scurrying between my feet. I know they're not really there, of course, but that doesn't help much.

  So I sleep during the day, when I'm not scared, and then I stay awake every night and fight the fear.

  Day 351

  Elizabeth

  For the tenth time tonight, I check that the chairs and tables are still in place, holding the door shut. So far, so good, but a moment later I hear the scratching sound again and I freeze.

  There's something out there.

  No, there's nothing out there.

  There can't be.

  This is just like last night, and the night before that. It's just a branch scraping against a wall, or it's a bush getting blown by a light wind. There are millions of things that could be causing the sound, but already I'm starting to imagine another zombie. I try to remind myself of how I felt earlier, before the sun set, when I knew that I was safe. It's just... at night, all those strange noises seem so much closer, and I
start wondering whether this will be the night when, finally, the end of the world catches up to me.

  These days, I'm pretty much nocturnal.

  Once I'm sure that the door's barricaded, I step back and listen to the silence all around. The scratching sound has gone away, and after a few seconds I begin to convince myself that maybe there's nothing to worry about. A moment later, feeling another prickling pain in my left forearm, I look down and rub the area just next to my wrist. This arm has been causing me quite a lot of discomfort, on and off, over the past few weeks, and I'm starting to worry that something's wrong.

  What's the time?

  I have no clock, no watch, but it must be two or three in the morning. I've made it halfway through the night, more or less, and now I just have to hang on until the sun comes back up.

  A moment later, I hear the scratching sound again. I look over at the window, and I'm relieved by the sight of moonlight. At least that means I'd be able to see if a zombie came to the other side of the glass. This is actually one of the brighter nights that I've experienced since I arrived here, but somehow that maybe makes things worse. What if a bright, moonlit night is exactly what zombies need when they're hunting for their next victims?

  The scratching continues for a few more seconds, before stopping again.

  Why would a zombie be scratching, anyway? Zombies are noisy things, they don't creep about. But what if this one's different? Or what if there's some murderous stranger out there? What if there are rats?

  Suddenly, realizing that I need to check the area, I limp to the stairs. I keep telling myself that this is crazy, that I'm losing my mind, that I'm running around like a lunatic. I do the same thing every night. As I hurry up toward the top of the building, however, my sense of panic only increases and I start to worry that maybe there are hundreds of zombies coming this way. At least if I look out across the surrounding land, I'll be able to see them before they arrive, especially on a night when the moon's so bright.