by Amy Cross
Shocked and barely able to even think, I stare at the man and see that his skin seems to be kind of rotten and putrid, as if he's been dead for a few days. His eyes are yellowy-brown and as he places a hand on the glass, it's clear that his body has started to decay. At the same time, he's definitely moving, and his eyes are fixed firmly on us. I swear, it looks as if he died a few days ago and now his body's jerking around of its own accord.
"Is that a zombie?" Henry asks, holding the rifle up as if he's ready to pull the trigger at any moment.
"Don't be stupid," I reply.
"I'm not. It's a genuine question".
"Zombies aren't real".
"Then what the fuck's wrong with him?"
"We need to get out of here," I say, tugging on his sleeve. "Henry, we need to get out of here right now. Whatever's going on, I don't like it". Glancing over my shoulder, I'm suddenly filled with the feeling that more of these people could turn up at any moment.
"He can't get out," Henry replies. "Look, he's trapped. That's the whole thing. He's trapped in there. The door's locked, or he doesn't know how to open it or something".
"I still don't want to be here," I say, still tugging at Henry. "Come on, let's just get out of here. Let's just -"
"I can see you!" the man suddenly calls out from inside the car. His voice sounds harsh and damaged, and there's something bizarre about the way he tilts his head back slightly to get a better view of us. "You need to help me out". He holds up his arms, to show that his hands are missing. "They rotted," he continues. "When I tried to open the door, they just sloshed right off my wrists"
"Did he just -" Henry starts to say.
"I can see you!" the man says again. "I can see you all! You're right there". He stares at us, his eyes wide. "It worked," he says after a moment. "I can see you! It's dark out here in the sun, but I can see you!"
THOMAS
Oklahoma
As I expected, there's a plentiful supply of gasoline in the barn, far more than we could ever take with us. My father has a couple of tractors as well as some other harvesting equipment, so he always kept a couple of big barrels full of fuel, along with a load of smaller containers. We could fill the truck's tank ten times over, and although I figure we should take at least one of the barrels with us, there's no way we can lumber ourselves with every drop. That's okay, though, because I know what I'm gonna do with the spare gas. I'm gonna burn the house down, with Lydia and my mother still inside. It's the only way.
With Joe passed out behind the barn, the whole job is left to me, which is pretty typical. I roll one of the barrels over to the truck and manhandle it into the back, and then I use the smaller containers to fill the tank until it's full. Once that's done, I fetch the other barrel and roll it to the front of the house, and then I find myself standing on the grass and facing the enormity of what I'm about to do. This is our house; we've lived here our whole lives, and my family's lived here for hundreds of years. All those men who worked this land, and now I'm the one who's gonna destroy everything. I feel like such a traitor, but I know that there's no other option. It's not as if we can risk moving the bodies.
"This isn't how I wanted it to be," says a familiar voice in my mind, as I step through the front door and start covering the entrance with gasoline. Glancing over at the garden, I imagine my mother standing there and watching as I set about my grisly task.
"What's wrong?" she asks after a moment. "Why aren't you talking to me? Are you mad at me for dying?"
"I just don't wanna seem crazy," I reply, pouring gasoline over the bottom of the stairs.
"It's a little late for that, honey," she says, "and besides, I won't tell a soul".
"I've gotta do this," I say, heading back outside and walking to the kitchen door, where I pour gasoline all over the steps. "You understand that, right?"
"Of course," I imagine her replying. "It's just that when I imagined my funeral, I always thought it'd be a traditional affair with lots of people coming to stand around my grave. Flowers, that sort of thing. Of course, I hoped I might have grandchildren by then, but that was never gonna happen, was it?" She sighs. "Then again, Thomas, you know what I was like. I quite enjoy a little spectacle, so why not go out in style? It's a shame about the farm, though. This building has been in your father's family for so many generations. It's a shame to see all of that come to an end".
"I've got no choice," I reply, stepping briefly into the kitchen and pouring some gasoline close to the table. I take care not to look directly at my mother's dead body.
"How awful," I imagine her saying. "Have you seen my skin? I look so terrible. Thomas, I hope you won't have nightmares about this".
"I'll try," I say, making my way quickly out of the kitchen and back through to the hallway.
"Have you noticed the flies?" I imagine my mother asking.
"Yep," I say, as I spot a few fat flies buzzing their way down from upstairs. I'm pretty sure they've been getting to work on Lydia's body, which is probably a pretty disgusting sight by now. At least one benefit of burning the house is that I won't have to go up there and see the mess for myself. Things have got so bad, I even find myself thinking that maybe I can hear the occasional noise coming from up there, even though I know for a fact that Lydia's been dead for a couple of days now.
"Do you feel sick?" my mother's voice asks after a moment.
"I'm fine," I say, pouring gasoline over the table in the hallway.
"You don't have a cough, do you?"
"No," I say firmly. "I don't know how or why, Mom, but I'm pretty sure I haven't got whatever you've got. Joe too. Somehow we seem to have got away without picking it up. I guess we were just lucky".
"Still," she continues, "don't take that for granted. You need to follow some basic safety precautions. Did you take the antiseptic wipes from the bathroom cabinet?"
Stepping outside, I turn to look back into the house. The whole place stinks of gasoline now, and it'll only take a single match to start the fire. It's tempting to get going immediately, but I feel as if Joe needs to see this, so I reckon I'll wake him up and make him come and watch. Besides, this isn't just a fire to destroy the house; it's also a fire to mark the passing of our mother and to end her body on its way.
"Thomas?" she asks. "Did you hear what I asked you? Did you take the antiseptic wipes from the bathroom cabinet?"
"No".
"Well, you must. They could save your life. Get back in there and fetch them".
"No way".
"Thomas!"
"I'm not going back in there," I say. "No chance. And you can't nag me anymore. You're dead, remember?"
She sighs. "You shouldn't have thrown that alcohol away. You could have used it to clean wounds".
"I don't plan on getting any wounds".
"You know what I mean".
"I had to get rid of it," I say. "Joe would've drunk it otherwise".
"You need to look after your brother," she continues. "He's in pain. He's a troubled boy".
"He's a dick".
"He's your brother". She pauses for a moment. "Never forget that, Thomas. No matter how much you hate him right now, he's still your brother, and he's all you've got in the world right now. He's so troubled. I've never been able to work out what's wrong with him, but he's always had that anguished looks in his eyes, even right back when he was a baby. He's not a bad boy, but he's wayward. I'd give anything to still be here, to look after the pair of you, but I'm afraid it's out of my control. The only thing left is for you and your brother to stick together. You need him, and he needs you".
"Not if I go to California and find Martha".
"The three of you need each other," she says. "Brothers and sisters should stick together. God only knows what she must be going through right now. That poor girl. She was always so self-sufficient, but she must be terrified".
"I wish she was here," I say. "I wish she was right here, and Joe was far away. Martha's way more sensible than Joe. He's a fucking idiot"
.
"Language, Thomas," my mother's voice says. "I don't want you becoming foul-mouthed. We get enough of that from your brother". She pauses. "I'm serious. If you go around swearing and cursing, it'll reflect badly on me. I want you to promise, right now, that you won't do that sort of thing. As a mark of respect for your father and me. Let this be the last thing you ever promise either of us".
"Okay," I say reluctantly. "But I can't promise it won't ever happen in the heat of the moment, when Joe's really getting at me. Deal?" I wait for her to reply, and then I realize that she's not there anymore. Not that she was there to begin with. It's all just part of my imagination. "I'm going fucking nuts," I say out loud. "Sorry, Mom".
Making my way back over to the barn, I double-check that Joe's still passed out on the grass before I head over to the truck and make final preparations for the journey. I figure we'll need to get out of here soon after we've started the fire, so I want everything to be planned out perfectly. With Joe showing himself to be so completely useless, I feel like I want to prove that I'm the opposite: I can organize things and get things ready, and I can make sure that everything's in order. Pausing for a moment, I try to imagine what would happen to Joe if I just took off right now. There's little doubt that he'd end up dead, and in a kind of cold-hearted way, I can't help wondering if that might be the best thing for everyone. I mean, I'd effectively have twice as long to last on my supplies, and I wouldn't have to worry about Joe arguing with me and trying to get us to do dumb things.
Sighing, I realize I couldn't actually leave him behind. Not yet, anyway. I feel like I have to give him one more chance to prove that he can be useful. I guess, when all things are said and done, he's still my brother, and there's something to be said for that.
Suddenly, realizing I can hear a noise nearby, I turn and look toward the forest. At first, I don't see anything; still, there's a kind of rustling sound, and it definitely seems as if something is moving nearby.
"I can see you!" says a voice suddenly. It's a rasping, grating voice, and I turn around, trying to work out where it comes from. After imagining the voices of my dead parents, it's tempting to think that I've opened the gates of madness and now I can't stop hearing voices, but there's something different this time. This voice is real.
"Hello?" I call out, hurrying around the truck. My heart's racing as I try to work out where the voice is coming from, and finally I spot him. Over in the tall grass, crawling slowly toward me, it's the cop from the other day. The dead cop. His face is all rotten and busted, turned gray-green like my mother's but with pieces missing. He looks like something straight out of a horror film, and his yellow eyes are fixed right on me as he slowly makes his way closer and closer.
"I can see you!" he calls out again. "I can see you all! You're right there". He's only a few meters away now. "It worked," he continues. "I can see you! It's dark out here in the sun, but I can see you! I can see you! I can see all of you. Help me out of here! Help me up! Help me in!". He reaches up toward me, and I step back in order to keep well away from his rotten, discolored hand. "Help me!" he rasps. "I need to rest. Take me into the house".
ELIZABETH
Manhattan
"He's trapped in there," Henry says firmly, with the gun aimed directly at the car. "He can't get out. Just focus on that. He can't get to us. He's trapped".
"Uh-huh," I reply, glancing along the street. "And what if he's not alone?"
"We're safe," Henry says, his voice wavering a little. I can tell he's terrified, but I guess he's determined to act like he's in control of the situation. In fact, over the past couple of days, he's started to become more and more like a pint-sized parody of Bob. "It's okay, Elizabeth," he continues. "We need to find out what's happening here".
"I can see you!" the man shouts again, narrowing his eyes a little. "I can see all of you. Help me out of here! Help me up! Help me in!" He blinks a couple of times. "Help me! I need to rest. Take me into the house".
"He's crazy," Henry whispers to me.
"It's taken me all this time," the man continues. "I've had to learn it all again. I thought it'd be instant, but it's taken me a while to work out how to even do the simple things. How long has it been? Can someone tell me the date? Things look so different". Slowly, he raises his hand again, and he stares at his fingers as if they're the most amazing thing he's ever seen. "This one, anyway," he says. "Each one is slightly strange, but I'm learning. It's so unusual, losing all the little things". He looks back at us. "Why can't I get you all? Why are you still here? You were there when he attacked me".
"Should we say something?" I whisper to Henry.
"Like what?" he hisses back at me. "Seems like he's having his own private conversation".
"I heard that!" the man shouts. "Why can't I hear you? This is so much different to how I planned. I should have known. I suppose I was arrogant, but that's in the past. I don't remember anything after the airport. What was her name? Where am I? Not me. What did you say? Where's the real me? Where's the first one? They all look the same". He pauses for a moment. "Help me," he says eventually. "I think I need to find the original".
"I don't know what he's talking about," Henry whispers to me. "It's not making any sense".
"He mentioned the airport," I reply, suddenly filled with the idea that maybe this guy, even in such a terrible state, might be able to tell us what happened out there. The airport is where our parents were, back when this whole thing started, and I've been clinging on to this increasingly desperate hope that perhaps they might have survived. Stepping forward, but making sure I don't get too close, I stare straight into the man's eyes for a moment. "What happened at the airport?" I ask, shaking so hard, my teeth are almost chattering. "Did you see what happened out there?"
"It was bad everywhere," he replies, his yellowy eyes staring at me. "I knew it'd be bad, but it was worse than I could ever have imagined. Or better. One of the two, anyway". He pauses. "I'm not talking to you".
"Did people get away from the airport?" I ask. "Did people survive? Are they coming this way? Is that where you came from? The airport?"
"Who's Joe? Which airport? There are so many. The world's filled with airports, you know".
"Let's get out of here," Henry says, grabbing my arm. "Elizabeth, we need to get moving. We need to get Bob. He'll know what to do".
"Who's Bob?" the man asks, frowning.
"This guy might know about our parents," I say to Henry, pulling away from his grip.
"Elizabeth!" he hisses. "Look at him! He doesn't even know where he is! It's like his brain's totally garbled".
"I'm not sorry about your mother," the man says suddenly. "Even if you burn it, you won't achieve anything. Burn the whole planet, you still won't get it all. You can't teach poor old Joseph about these things. You can't even begin to..." His voice trails off.
"What about my mother?" I ask. "Tell me about her".
"You have no idea how long it took me to get here," he continues. "I had to drag myself through the bushes. I was so slow, and I was distracted by so many things. It's not easy, using all these things at once. Even after everything that happened, there are so many to deal with. It's so much harder than I guessed. I got so many things right, and so many things wrong. It's taken me so long to understand my limitations, but it doesn't really matter. I'm working through it. That's one of the best parts of the whole thing, really. I can continue to learn as I go along. I can work out more and more". He pauses. "Of course it doesn't make sense to you. You're an idiot. If it made sense to morons like you, the world would never have got into this mess in the first place".
"You mentioned my mother," I say firmly, feeling as if I might cry at any moment. "Did you see her? What happened to her?"
"Elizabeth!" Henry hisses. "He doesn't even know Mom and Dad. You can't trust anything he says, he's lost his mind. Come on! We need to go and get Bob!"
"What happened at the airport?" I ask, inching closer to the man in the car. "Tell me what ha
ppened at the airport".
"Probably the same as everywhere," the man replies, looking down at the car door. "I can do this," he says after a moment. "I can definitely do this. I could do it before. It's just going to take a little time. This grass is so cold and damp. Help me into the house". He seems to be fiddling with something in the car, and suddenly there's a clicking sound.
"Get back!" Henry shouts, pulling me away from the vehicle as the door swings all the way open and the man hangs out, still held back by his safety buckle.
"I have to learn everything again," the man says. "Even that stupid car door took me so long. Why can't I get out now? Is there something? I forgot about timezones. Can you believe I was so stupid? It never occurred to me that it might be the middle of the day in New York but the middle of the night in Tokyo. Day and night at the same time". He pauses for a moment, and then suddenly, with no warning at all, he lets out a loud and terrifying scream, as if he's in agony.
"Fuck this," Henry says, raising the barrel of the rifle.
"What are you doing?" I ask him.
"Putting this son of a bitch out of his misery," he replies, aiming carefully as the man continues to scream as loud as possible.
"You can't kill him!" I shout, pushing the gun away just as he pulls the trigger. The shot echoes between the tall buildings, and a piece of masonry explodes in a shower of dust.
"Fuck you!" Henry shouts, pushing me back. Losing my balance, I topple down to the ground. Before I can get back up, Henry aims once again and fires. This time, he's right on target: I look over at the car just in time to see the man's upper chest explode in a shower of blood; he jolts for a moment, and his arm twitches a couple of times before he falls completely still.
"Come on," Henry says, grabbing my arm as I stand up. "We're going back!"
"Why did you do that?" I ask, watching as blood and pus flows out of the man's chest and down onto the tarmac. "What the hell's wrong with you?"
"Let's just go," Henry says, pulling me along the street. "We can talk about it later".