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

by Cross, Amy

  I pause, and then I nod.

  “The whole world?” she continues.

  “As far as I know,” I tell her, “yes.”

  “And zombies are actually real? Like, they're dead people who keep wandering around?”

  “That pretty much sums it up.”

  “Are they cool?”

  I bristle slightly at that question.

  “No,” I tell her, “they're not cool. They stink, and they kill people.”

  “It still sounds slightly cool,” she replies. “It's totally unfair that I haven't been allowed to see one.”

  “You wouldn't say that if someone you knew had turned into one,” I explain. “When it's someone you know, it's like the natural world has turned them into some kind of perverse joke. It's heartbreaking.”

  “I can think of at least thirty people I'd love to see zombified,” she says breathlessly.

  I open my mouth to correct her, but then I realize that there's no point. She's totally immature and she thinks the whole thing is a joke. Then again, even though my gut is telling me to write her off, I can't help but think that she reminds me of my old self. One year ago, I was a bratty kid living in a flash Manhattan apartment. I fought with my brother, I mouthed off at my parents, and I'm pretty sure there were times when I must have been unbearable. Maybe the only real difference between Sammy and me is that I lived through the zombie apocalypse while she was safe and sound on her parents' boat.

  “Did your family get turned into zombies?” she asks.

  “No,” I reply quickly, although I can't help wondering about Mom and about what happened to her. “I was lucky.”

  “You were unlucky, you mean,” she says with a laugh. “I'd kill to see my parents lurching around with all their flesh hanging off. That'd be the best thing ever.”

  “I really should go and do some... stuff,” I say, turning once again to walk away.

  “I want to see some zombies!” she calls after me. “Where should I go?”

  “Go to hell,” I mutter under my breath, but this time I don't stop and look back at her.

  Maybe I was a little like Sammy once. Maybe. I wasn't quite as bad as her, though, and I can't help thinking that she's got some serious problems. When I reach the top of the path, I turn and see that she's gone back to her game of rock-throwing, and I feel a shudder pass through my chest at the thought that I have to endure even one more night with that little bitch here at the lighthouse.

  At least they're all leaving tomorrow. Then I can be alone again. I just have to get through tonight's big dinner party first.

  Elizabeth

  “No, that's not what happened,” Patrick says with a laugh, later, as we sit eating a candlelit meal in the lighthouse. “I wasn't chained naked to the gate, they weren't quite that cruel. They'd dressed me up in frilly lingerie and then they left a box of tomatoes so that people could pelt me. As pre-wedding pranks go, I actually think I got off pretty lightly.”

  “He still had some red stains on his face the next day,” Wendy explains. “I was standing in the church looking at him, listening to the priest, and I was supposed to be focusing on my wedding vows but all I could do was stare at Patrick and wonder why he seemed to be stained red all over.”

  “This story is so boring,” Sammy mutters. “I've heard it a thousand times.”

  “Our wedding was pretty crazy,” Wendy continues, “even if I do say so myself. Those really were the best days of our lives, weren't they?”

  She falls silent, and I wait for someone to speak. For the past few minutes, she and Patrick have been telling us all about the early days of their relationship. They sure have a lot of amusing tales, and at one point Wendy was crying with laughter. Now, however, the silence is stretching out, and finally I look down and focus on cutting some more meat from my roasted seagull. Eventually I glance at the others, but they seem frozen in their thoughts.

  “It feels like a lifetime ago now, doesn't it?” Wendy says wistfully.

  Patrick reaches over and rests his hand on the side of her arm.

  “You don't need to try to cheer me up,” she tells him. “You know me better than that. Hey, at least we had those good times. I think our lives have been pretty good. We've loved, we've laughed, we've lost, we've lived, we've had some really great times.”

  “Speak for yourselves,” Sammy mutters.

  “Your life hasn't been so awful,” Wendy replies.

  “Most of my friends are probably dead,” Sammy points out, “and, like, I can't even turn my phone on anymore. Even if I could, I wouldn't be able to do anything with it. I'm just getting to the point where I can live my life, and now the whole fucking world has been taken away and -”

  “Mind your language, please,” Wendy says, interrupting her.

  “Why?”

  “Because we're at the dinner table, and because you weren't brought up to speak like that. Period.”

  “It doesn't matter,” Sammy grumbles. “None of that shit matters now that -”

  “Stop!” Wendy shouts, briefly showing the anger that she's been concealing for a while now. She pauses, as if she's trying to regather her composure, and then she offers a smile. “Please, everyone, this is supposed to be a nice, happy meal. You must all tell me how you like your meat.”

  “You mean, how we like our seagull?” Sammy asks. “It's gross, I'm not eating this.”

  “It's the only food around,” Patrick tells her, as he cuts off a slice of seagull and slips it into his mouth. He chews for a moment, and then he swallows. “That's actually nice,” he continues, clearly trying very hard to seem positive. “You know, when all of this is over, I might just keep on eating seagull meat. It's not like there ever seems to be a shortage of them.”

  “You'd get arrested if you did,” Sammy replies. “Seagulls are protected by law.”

  “I don't think that's true, honey,” he says.

  “Trust me, they are.” She slices of a piece of meat and examines it for a moment, and she's clearly repulsed by what she's about to do next. “I don't even know how I know that, but I do. Seagulls are migratory birds, and that makes them protected. In America, at least. And in other countries too.”

  “I think you'll find that's not true,” Patrick replies as he chews on some more meat. “Delicious.”

  “Elizabeth,” Wendy says, “you haven't eaten anything yet.”

  “Sorry.” I'm not feeling particularly hungry, but I don't want to be rude so I put a large piece of meat into my mouth. I'm very much aware that Wendy's watching me while I eat, and I figure I just need to be polite.

  “That was the grossest thing ever,” Sammy says once she's swallowed. “I think I'd rather eat a rat.”

  ***

  “So where are you guys going to go, after you leave here?” I ask later, as I stand with Patrick in the doorway and watch the sunset. My fear of the dark has become a little easier over the past few days, but not by much. “Do you have any plans?”

  “Based on those maps we got from you,” he replies, “I think we're going to head south. We can't just cling to this part of the coast forever. At some point we have to take a few risks.”

  “Not necessarily,” I tell him. “If you've got a system that works, maybe you should stick to it. Trust me, the rest of the country's a mess. Sometimes I find it hard to believe that I actually survived.”

  “Well, most of you survived,” he points out.

  “I've gotten used to the limp. I barely even notice it anymore.”

  “That's because you're able to adapt,” he replies. “Surviving in this modern, fucked-up world requires a miracle in the first place. We kept ourselves safely on the boat. I can't even begin to imagine some of the -”

  Suddenly he lets out a gasp and clutches his side, and for a moment it's clear that he's in pain.

  “What's wrong?” I ask.

  “Nothing,” he replies, but I can tell he's lying and – a moment later – he starts to double over slightly.

 
“Sit down,” I say, grabbing a chair from inside and bringing it over to him. “Don't worry, whatever it is, I'm sure it'll pass soon.”

  “It's like a really bad cramp,” he stammers, and then he winces slightly. “Damn, it feels like I've swallowed a cheese grater.”

  “I'll get you some -”

  Before I can finish, he lets out another cry and tumbles off the chair, landing hard on the ground. Rolling onto his side, he clutches his belly and squeezes his eyes tight shut, and then he rolls over onto his other side and starts coughing wildly. Horrified, I see blood on his lips.

  “You must have eaten something bad,” I tell him as I crouch down. “You should probably try to bring it up.”

  With his eyes still shut, he only manages a few grunts, but the pain is clearly intensifying. I don't know how to help, so I get to my feet and look around, and that's when I remember that Wendy used to be a doctor.

  “I'm going to find your wife,” I stammer, as I turn and hurry around to the other side of the lighthouse. “Just stay calm.”

  I head into the main part of the lighthouse, but it's clear that Wendy's not here. I haven't seen her since dinner, and there's no sign of Sammy either, but a moment later I hear Patrick let out another cry of pain.

  “Wendy!” I yell, cupping my hands together in the hope that she'll be able to hear me. “Where are you?”

  I wait, but there's no reply.

  As Patrick cries out again, I hurry across the grass and then I stop to look down toward the shore. The boat's still there, but there's no sign of anyone so I head around to the top of the path that leads down the side of the cliff. I know that Wendy will be able to help, but first I need to find her and Patrick's screams are getting louder and louder. Whatever's happening to him, it's clear that he needs urgent medical attention.

  I look around, and then suddenly I spot a figure on the ground, partially hidden by the grass.

  I race over, and I'm shocked to see that Sammy has collapsed. She's not moving or crying out, and she has her back to me as I kneel next to her. I reach over and grab her shoulder, and then I gently roll her onto her back. I immediately let out a gasp of shock as I see that there's blood all around her mouth, and more blood in her eyes. She's deathly pale, although she's somehow still clinging on even as her lips begin to turn a dark shade of blue.

  “What happened?” I ask.

  She tries to say something, but all that emerges from her mouth is a series of bloodied rasps. She's clutching her belly, and after a moment her whole body starts trembling slightly.

  “It's going to be okay,” I stammer, even though I have no idea how that can possibly be true. “Do you know where your mother is? She'll know what to do!”

  Reaching up, Sammy grabs my right hand and squeezes tight.

  “What does that mean?” I ask. “Sammy, please, your mother's the only one who'll know what to do here!”

  I wait, but she simply continues to squeeze my hand, and already her lips are almost completely black. She seems more pale than ever, and suddenly her whole body jerks and a rush of blood starts running from one side of her mouth. I desperately try to think of something I can do to help her, but after a moment I realize that she's fallen completely still with her eyes still staring up at me.

  “Sammy?” I say, using my other hand to shake her shoulder. “Sammy, can you hear me?”

  When she doesn't respond, I start checking for a pulse, but there's nothing. I touch the side of her face, and the slightest pressure is enough to make her head loll to one side.

  “Sammy!”

  I shake her for a few more seconds, then I try one more time to find a pulse, and finally I sit back as I realize that she's dead.

  I struggle to get back up, and then I start limping back toward the spot where I left Patrick. I need to find Wendy, but she might also have collapsed somewhere. It's obvious that both Patrick and Sammy have somehow been poisoned, and a moment later I stop as I feel the first stirring of a sharp pain in my gut. It's as if I've swallowed knives, and I start hurrying toward the building. By the time I get there, I have to reach out and support myself, and then I drop to my knees as the pain gets worse.

  A little further away, Patrick is motionless on the ground.

  “Patrick!” I gasp. “Can you hear me? Where's -”

  Suddenly the pain twists hard in my gut, and I cry out as I slump to the ground. Rolling onto my back, I clutch my belly, but the pain seems to be intensifying with each passing second and finally I have to close my eyes. I'm already starting to taste blood at the back of my throat, and I can feel pinpricks of cold sweat breaking out across my forehead. I try desperately to push back against the pain, but after a few more seconds I start whimpering loudly as the knives in my belly twist and turn and start cutting me to ribbons.

  Elizabeth

  My eyes flicker open, and I see the starry sky high above. For a moment, I don't remember where I am or what's happening, but then the pain stirs in my belly and I let out another gasp as I roll onto my side.

  I blink a couple of times, and then I hear footsteps coming closer across the grass until somebody stops right next to me. Turning, I look up and see the silhouette of someone towering over me, but it takes a few more seconds before I realize that Wendy has finally returned.

  “Patrick...” I gasp, even as the pain begins to build and build again. “Sammy... They...”

  “It's okay,” Wendy says calmly, her voice sounding strangely flat and emotionless. “They're safe now. They're no longer in pan.”

  She crouches down, and I feel her hand wiping sweat from my forehead.

  “Soon you'll be with them, Elizabeth,” she continues. “Calm down. Don't fight it. This is all for the best. We're all going to a place where there won't be any more pain or fear ever again.”

  Day 354

  Thomas

  “Help me!”

  “Where are you?” I yell, reaching the doorway and looking both ways along the dark corridor. “Try to -”

  “I'm in here! Thomas, you have to help me!”

  Racing along the corridor, I finally reach another door, only to find that its locked. I step back and kick at the spot just below the handle, and when that doesn't work I kick again, and again, and again and again until finally the wood breaks and the door cracks open. I force it all the way and stumble into the room, and then I freeze as I see her on the floor.

  She's kneeling.

  She has her back to me.

  “What's wrong?” I ask breathlessly, stepping up behind her. “Are you okay?”

  I wait, but she doesn't say anything.

  “What's wrong?” I ask again. “Elizabeth -”

  “I'm dying,” she gasps, suddenly turning to me, and I see that her face is rotten and swollen, with maggots crawling through the patch of half-eaten flesh. Parts of her skull are showing through, glinting in the moonlight. “Help me.”

  “I'm coming!” I shout, suddenly sitting up and finding that I'm on a mattress in a room.

  For a moment, shaken by that image of Elizabeth, I struggle to remember where I am. I haven't seen Elizabeth since I left New York several months ago, but I keep having these dreams about her and I can't shake the feeling that something's wrong. I know that she's probably safe, that everything in New York should be getting better by the day, so why does Elizabeth keep entering my dreams and acting like she's in danger?

  Sighing, I suddenly remember where I am. Philadelphia. Outside, people are talking, and the sun is shining, and finally the fears from my dream start fading away. For now.

  ***

  “Where's Katrina?”

  “Huh?”

  Startled, having clearly not heard my approach, Martha looks up from the book she's reading.

  “Oh,” she says, “I saw her earlier. She went out. No prizes for guessing why.”

  “Do you think she's ever going to give up?” I ask.

  “Maybe, maybe not. I guess it's cute and sweet and admirable, that she's hol
ding out hope for him. Well, it's probably all those things to someone who's into the romantic thing. Me, I just see it as kinda dumb. And yes, I'm still aware that I'm being a hypocrite, but I can't help it if I did something similar and then learned from it. That's the crucial part.” She pauses. “What I did with Andrew was idiotic.”

  “You loved him.”

  “Still, there comes a point,” she replies. “Eventually you have to let go.”

  I grab a cup of water from the side and head over to join her at the bench. Glancing out the window, I see a few people wandering past the building. I'm not sure what's harder to get my head around here in Philadelphia: the fact that the city looks like it's on its last legs, or the fact that people are getting on with their lives in the middle of the ruins. I watch for a moment longer, and then I take a seat opposite my sister.

  “I found this in one of the other rooms,” she explains, holding up the battered paperback for me to see. “Someone, I don't know who, has knocked up a little makeshift library. I'd forgotten how much I enjoyed having a book. I mean, it's all about dragons and shit like that, it's totally not my thing at all, but anything's better than nothing, right?”

  “Sure,” I reply, glancing at the cover and seeing a picture of a dragon with flames roaring from its mouth. “Can I read it after you?”

  “It's not very good.”

  “I don't mind.”

  “You never had the best taste, Thomas.”

  “I've got better taste than you.”

  “As if.”

  “You always watched those stupid shows.”

  “They were good!”

  “You watched soaps, Martha. Actual daytime soaps.”

  “And what's wrong with that?”

  “They're dumb! They're for housewives and retired people.”

  “You shouldn't be so judgmental. They're miles better than those crappy cartoons you used to watch.”

  “At least those cartoons were made for people with brain cells.”