by Bryan Smith
She passed the city of Baltimore. She did consider entering the city to see if she could find some people there. But instinct told her to circumvent the dark metropolis as I-93 joined 695. The city’s skyscrapers rose like giant tombstones against the sky. A precognitive feeling of dread grew within her as the outlines of the tall buildings became clearer. There was nary a light on anywhere amidst all that grey. She sensed nothing but death in that direction, and so she kept to 695 until she was south of the city, where she steered the BMW onto I-95.
Maybe her fear of the city had something to do with its proximity to Washington, D.C., which, after all, was where the president had been killed. Lots of people had been killed all over the world, of course, and she didn’t have any realistic expectations of finding an oasis of normality farther south. But that image of the president’s death was so vivid, and so ingrained in the forefront of her consciousness, that it was enough to keep her heading toward a part of the country with which she was mostly unfamiliar. She also had an idea it might be a good idea to get to a more temperate climate for the coming winter. Always assuming, of course, she was still alive by then.
Traversing the long, winding stretches of interstate wasn’t as problematic as she’d imagined it might be. Doom had come screaming out of the sky so suddenly—and so overwhelmingly—on that day of death and chaos that there’d been little time for a panicked exodus from the cities. There were stalled cars and trucks here and there, even occasional large clusters of them, but she had yet to encounter one she couldn’t get around. She hoped her luck would hold up in that regard. She didn’t much fancy the idea of having to abandon her car and find a new one somewhere farther along the road.
A glance at the BMW’s fuel gauge showed that its tank was half full. She could get a good ways farther along on that, but when she saw the exit for Halethorpe she decided to pull off the interstate and see if she could find a working gas station. She still had most of the day ahead of her and would feel much better about spending so many long hours on the road with a full tank. She only hoped she’d be able to find a gas station with still-working pumps.
She came off the exit and saw a small grouping of convenience stores and fast food restaurants looming just ahead of her. The closest was a large Exxon, on the left side of the street at the approaching intersection. She pulled into the store’s parking lot and steered her car toward the nearest pump.
She turned the engine off and got out of the car.
* * *
Halethorpe
10:27 a.m.
“There’s somebody at that Exxon across the street.”
Warren hopped over the counter and moved to the front of the Wendy’s restaurant, where Amanda stood staring through a window. He followed her gaze and saw a woman of about forty get out of a car. A nice one, too. He couldn’t tell for sure from this distance, but he thought it might be a BMW or Porsche.
Warren said, “Holy shit. Let’s get over there.”
Amanda looked at him. The expression on her face was wary. And resolute. She shook her head. “No. I think we should stay out of sight until she’s gone.”
Warren frowned.
The woman was the first living person they’d seen since early in the previous day, when they’d encountered an elderly man sitting on a bus stop bench in downtown Baltimore. The main was physically frail and their conversation with him hinted at an early stage of senility. He talked about his wife as if she were sitting there next to him, but he’d been alone on the bench. Otherwise he was lucid, and he talked about the destruction of his city with the cool detachment of a veteran combat correspondent. Until, that is, he grew unaccountably belligerent and chased them off by swinging at their heads with his cane.
As far as Warren and Amanda had been able to tell, the man was the only human being left alive in a city of millions. Warren couldn’t fathom it. There should have been other people in a place so big. But there were only corpses. Thousands upon thousands of them. Human and demon. Many of the human casualties were obvious victims of demon attack. But a significant percentage appeared physically unharmed. Something else—some invisible gas perhaps—had killed them. Warren could imagine the government utilizing chemical weapons in a desperate, last-ditch attempt to defeat the swarming creatures. The potential huge loss of human life would have been seen as an acceptable risk. But the chemical weapons theory didn’t explain the survival of that one feeble old man. Or their own survival, for that matter.
Thinking about it frustrated Warren. Whatever had happened, there was no explanation forthcoming from whatever remained of the government (if anything). Maybe they’d all offed themselves after seeing the horror wrought by their final solution.
Baltimore was a ghost town, invested with the atmosphere of an ancient and crumbling place, a once-vital metropolis fallen to ruin long ago. Warren had sensed a formless malevolence, a nameless taint that infected the empty buildings and the air itself. It wasn’t a feeling of being watched, or at least not just that. It was a creeping dread, a growing certainty that the physical substance of the city had acquired a kind of quiet and feral life of its own. Warren felt this most acutely when passing beneath a traffic light. It was still functioning, but the color of the light never changed, remaining a bright, unblinking red that made him think of the bulbous crimson eyes of the winged demons.
So rather than making camp in the city as they’d planned, they got the hell out of there and spent the night here in Halethorpe. But the smaller town was as empty of life as Baltimore. There were bodies everywhere. Dead people. Dead demons. After a full day of baking in the sun, the ripening corpses gave off a stink that permeated the cool air.
After encountering so much death and desolation, Warren was thrilled to see the woman across the street. A growing voice of paranoia had been whispering the opinion that he and Amanda might be the only two surviving humans in the entire world. A more rational part of him didn’t find the notion plausible, but these days he was inclined to lend thoughts tinged with paranoia a greater degree of credence. It was a depressing thing. He didn’t much relish the idea of adopting the role of Adam to Amanda’s Eve. But here was proof that he’d been wrong.
He couldn’t understand why Amanda didn’t share his excitement. “You mind explaining that? Because I have to tell you, that’s crazy. She sure doesn’t look dangerous.”
Her gaze still riveted on the woman, Amanda made a pensive noise and shook her head. “Looks can be deceiving, Warren.”
Warren groaned. “Oh, come on. Look, I’m going over there. Otherwise she’ll be gone and we’ll still be here arguing.”
He turned away from Amanda, but she grabbed him by the elbow and spun him around. Her eyes were wide and flashing with anger. “You’re not going anywhere.” Her grip tightened on his elbow and she pulled him closer. “We’re doing fine on our own, Warren. We don’t need anyone else.”
Warren held her gaze a moment, then closed his eyes and sighed. “Jesus…” A sharp pain between his eyes made his brow crease. He opened his eyes. “No.”
He tugged his arm free of her grip and walked out of the restaurant. He strode rapidly across the restaurant’s parking lot and kept his gaze straight ahead, willing himself not to glance back to see if Amanda was following. He knew there might be hell to pay later for defying her, but right now he didn’t care. He couldn’t allow her paranoia to kill this opportunity.
The BMW’s owner turned at the sound of his footsteps when he reached the middle of the street. There was obvious apprehension in her eyes, and she took an unconscious step backward. He smiled and waved to show her that he wasn’t a psychopath. She moved another step backward and might have kept moving, but the gas pump blocked her path. He increased the wattage of his smile, hoping it didn’t make him look like a grinning maniac.
He could see now that he’d been right about her approximate age. And she was slender and attractive, with a striking face that would garner her second looks from men for many years to come.
He couldn’t help thinking of Anne Bancroft in The Graduate, but with blonde hair. She was attired all in black, like a person in mourning.
He called out to her as he reached the other side of the street. “Hello, there! I’m harmless, I promise. You have no idea how happy I am to see you. Other than one crazy old man in Baltimore, you’re the first living person we’ve seen since…that day.”
The woman still seemed wary of him. He guessed he couldn’t blame her for that. You’d have to be a fool to trust a stranger in this environment. On the other hand, she didn’t seem about to bolt, so Warren guessed he didn’t strike her as particularly scary-looking.
Warren stopped walking when he reached the rear of her car, sensing he shouldn’t get too close just yet. “I hope I didn’t scare you.” He dialed down the wattage of his smile. “My name’s Warren Hatcher.”
The woman’s smile was less tentative now. “Jasmine Holtz.” She moved away from the pump and extended a hand, which Warren shook. Her skin was soft against his. It would feel good to be caressed by that hand. Which was a strange thing to think at a time like this. Warren thought of Amanda and felt a brief surge of shame.
Jasmine’s gaze was frank. One could almost call it ‘probing’. Warren felt heat touch his cheeks and couldn’t believe it. He was blushing. He felt like a kid in this woman’s presence. She was so refined, so evidently sophisticated.
But if the woman sensed his awkwardness, she showed no sign of it. She said, “Is someone with you?”
“Um…”
Her gaze flicked to the Wendy’s building. “You said I was the first living person ‘we’ve’ seen.” She looked him in the eye again, and he had to fight the impulse to fidget beneath that unwavering gaze. “Or did you just misspeak?”
Warren glanced over his shoulder at the restaurant. The glare of the morning sun made it impossible to see into the building, but he supposed Amanda was still inside, glaring at him from the other side of that window. The silver Mazda they’d driven down from New Jersey was still parked in front of the building, and seeing it made him feel marginally better. He’d half-expected her to drive off in a fit of pique, leaving him to stew here for hours until coming back for him.
He looked at Jasmine, shrugged. “My, uh…girlfriend is in there. We were foraging for food. I was trying to figure out how to work the equipment, maybe cook up some burgers and fries.”
Jasmine pursed her lips. Her gaze went again to the restaurant. “What’s your girlfriend’s name, Warren?”
“Amanda.”
Jasmine smiled. “Pretty name. Are you in love with her?”
“Um…”
Warren cursed inwardly. He wished she’d asked him anything but that. He liked Amanda. But he wasn’t ‘in love’ with her. At least not the way he’d been in love with Emily Sinclair. But judging her against Emily wasn’t fair. The all-consuming passion he’d felt for Emily was one of those once-in-a-lifetime kind of deals. That was something he’d never experience again, and it was high time he accepted that.
Warren nodded, deciding then to tell the pretty lie.
“Yeah.” He coughed. “I guess I am.”
Jasmine sighed. “Well, that’s wonderful, Warren. You’re lucky to have someone to love. I…” Jasmine’s voice drifted off. She arched an eyebrow and nodded at something over Warren’s shoulder. “Here comes your lady love now.”
Warren turned and watched Amanda cross the street. He studied her face, tried to discern some hint of consolation there, but her blank expression was hard to read. Only her eyes, hard and focused, gave any indication of her feelings. He’d felt a spark of hope at Jasmine’s words, but now that tiny flame snuffed out.
Amanda reached the pump. She stood apart from them, with her arms folded under her breasts. She glanced once at Warren—those hard eyes stinging him—and fixed a gaze on Jasmine that was nakedly mistrustful. “I’m gonna lay it out for you, lady. We’re not going to bond with you. We’re not joining forces. I don’t even want to know what your fucking name is.”
And now she looked at Warren. “This is how it’s gonna be. You’ve got a choice to make, Warren. You can either do the honorable thing and stick with me, or you can hook up with this old hag. But before you decide, you remember this—you made a promise. You said you’d get me home. You said you’d protect me.”
Warren gritted his teeth and seethed. He looked at the ground and shoved his hands into his pockets (to hide that they were curling into tight fists). He refrained from saying anything for several moments, knowing that to speak from anger was to invite disaster. Regardless, he was definitely angry. Beyond angry. He was pissed off. Big time. Amanda had no right to be issuing ultimatums.
He let out a big breath, pulled his hands from his pockets, and rubbed his eyes. When he looked at Amanda again, her expression was the same—resolute, unyielding. Though her attitude infuriated him, he knew he would ultimately do what she wanted. He didn’t want to, of course, but he would not break his promise. Giving in to her selfish wishes would taint their relationship, maybe even irreparably harm it, but he planned to stick by Amanda’s side until she told him she no longer wanted him there.
In a frosty tone he said, “I don’t break promises. But—”
Whatever he’d been about to say was forgotten in the next moment—because that was when he was shown that the relative peace of the last few days had only been a lull, a pause in the unraveling of the world.
Amanda dropped like a dead weight, her knees hitting the asphalt with a crunch that made his stomach lurch. Warren went to her, knelt in front of her. He tried to pry her hands from her face, but they wouldn’t budge and he only succeeded in eliciting another pitiful wail. He felt a shadow pass over him, then saw Jasmine kneeling next to Amanda. The look on his face then was the beseeching expression of a helpless child. The older woman’s eyes shone with empathy, but she looked as clueless as Warren felt.
Warren laid a trembling hand on Amanda’s shoulder. “Amanda, honey…please, tell me what’s wrong…please…”
Her body convulsed, and she swayed on her knees. A low, muffled moan issued from behind her hands, which were beginning to slide down her face.
Warren looked at Jasmine. “Jesus Christ, what’s wrong with her?”
Jasmine shook her head. “I’m sorry, I don’t know.”
“Is she having a stroke? What’s going on?”
Jasmine again said, “I don’t know.”
Amanda leaped to her feet so suddenly it caused Warren to fall backward. The back of his head thumped against the BMW’s rear bumper, sending a jolt of pain down his body. Amanda screamed. Warren blinked hard and staggered to his feet. He stumbled a step or two forward before he could see clearly again—and then stopped dead in his tracks. A helpless horror swept through him, making his legs go weak.
Her hands no longer covered her face. But there was nothing there. Just a black space. Her body shook like that of a person gripping a live electrical wire. Warren moved a tentative step in her direction, extended a trembling hand toward her. Jasmine gripped him by the arm, holding him back.
Her body stopped shaking and she dropped to the ground.
Warren loosed a scream of anguish: “NOOOOOOO!”
The black space widened and consumed her body. Warren couldn’t believe it. Only moments ago she’d been fine. Healthy. Whole. The enormity of the loss hit him like a medicine ball to the gut. Amanda was gone. He could never get her back. Could never talk to her again. Never kiss her again.
Something moved within the blackness. A fuzzy brown stalk with a single red eye atop it emerged and twitched when it saw them. Jasmine pulled Warren toward her car. He stumbled backward on legs rendered numb from shock. He heard her open a door, heard her say something, but the words were lost to him—the whole of his attention was focused on the thing crawling out of the black space once occupied by Amanda. More stalks emerged, but these had no eyes. When they reached for the ground, he began to get a sense of something that was l
ike a spider.
A big one.
Jasmine pushed him into the BMW and he fell across the front seat. She shoved him over to the passenger seat and fell in behind the wheel. Then she started the car, put it in gear, and sped away from the convenience store.
Warren sat up straight. He couldn’t accept what he’d seen. Amanda couldn’t be dead. It just wasn’t possible that a woman he’d had sex with only hours earlier no longer existed. It didn’t compute. Nor did the manner of her death. He saw that black space in the center of her face again and touched a finger to his own nose. The tip of his finger was cold, like the touch of an icicle. He pulled his hand away from his face and held it palm out. He squinted, studying the intersecting lines of the soft flesh there. He knew if he took a knife to that flesh, if he opened it, a line of red would gush forth. And there would be pain from the slit nerve-endings. He was made of solid materials and liquid, bone and water and blood. Strands of DNA, atoms, molecules, electrons.
It’d been odd enough—and disturbing enough—to know that these rips in the fabric of reality could occur at all. He’d seen black spaces in roads, in buildings, even in the sky, and seeing them had frightened him every time. But now that he knew he wasn’t even safe in his own skin…well, hell, what was the point in even continuing?
The BMW hit the exit ramp at a high rate of speed and Warren was thrown against the door as Jasmine cranked the steering wheel. Then he was tossed to the left as Jasmine spun the wheel back the other way when they reached the interstate. Warren’s face was buried briefly in Jasmine’s hair, which smelled faintly of lavender. He settled back in his seat and groaned.
“Ugh…I’m gonna be sick. Pull over.”
Jasmine glanced at her rearview mirror. She looked tense. Scared shitless, actually. But she relaxed after staring at the mirror for several moments. She let out a sigh and guided the car to a stop at the road’s shoulder. Warren had the door open before the car came to a complete stop. He leaned over and vomited on concrete. Then he wiped his mouth and sat back up before the puke smell could make him sick all over again.