The Fifth Day

by Gordon Bonnet

  It was possible. He’d hiked fifteen miles in eight hours before, in full gear and under a blistering sun, on his tour in Afghanistan. But possible didn’t mean it was true.

  So he needed to find out. This could be important.

  Jackson closed his eyes, and his face went slack. The conscious part of him sank into the stillness, into the Place Where the Answers Are. He lost all sense of time and space. It could have been two minutes or two hours later—he had no way of knowing, there in the curtained motel room—his eyes opened, and he blinked, once, twice.

  He knew now. The shadow in Las Arenitas and the thing he’d heard snuffling outside his door were the same. Why and how it had tracked him here, he didn’t know. The knowledge that he found waiting for him in the depths was not always complete, but he knew from early years that what the Voice down there told him was always true.

  Except about Susan. It had been wrong about Susan.

  But that was one of the things he couldn’t change, whether he wanted to or not—so he put it out of his mind.

  He looked at his watch. His interior journey had only taken five minutes or so this time. Fortunate. He wanted to get on the road. He made notes in his notebook, as he always did after a visit to the Place Where The Answers Are, even though this time all he’d found out was that he should take two trips to bring his things to the truck, leaving one hand free to hold his drawn gun.

  —

  HE DROVE INTO the quaint village of Adelaide Bay, and did his methodical passes up and down the streets, honking the horn at each corner. Again, no one, or at least no one who showed his face. He returned to the center of town, briefly considered whether he should stop and stock up on more food, and decided not to. This part of the coast was dotted with small villages. Travel light, there’d always be other places to stop.

  He mulled that over as he turned the truck back northward on Highway 1 toward the next village.

  Then he passed a woman standing on the sidewalk.

  He braked to a stop, staring.

  She was small, curvy, with a round face and lots of curly black hair. She had her hands clapped to her cheeks, her mouth in a perfect O.

  It was like the poster for that stupid movie. That stupid movie about the kid. What was the name of it? Left Home, or something like that.

  He leaned over and rolled down the window.

  “Oh, my god.” Her voice quavered. “Am I imagining this?”

  Well, that was not what he expected to be asked. “No.”

  She gave a hiccupy sob. “I haven’t seen anyone since yesterday morning.”

  “Me, either.”

  “I thought I was the only person left alive.”

  “You should get in.” To his surprise, she did.

  It was drilled into women not to get into cars with men they didn’t know. Either she already trusted people too much, or she was so traumatized she’d trust anyone. He should keep that in mind. Those weren’t the same, and wouldn’t lead her to do the same things.

  “I’m Jackson Royce.” He stuck out a hand.

  “Olivia Carr.” She met his handshake with a surprisingly firm grip. “Where are you going?”

  Jackson shrugged. “North. I don’t have any plans other than that.”

  “Can I come with you?”

  “Yes.”

  Suddenly her dark eyes were swimming with tears. “Thank you. I’m—I’m sorry. I’ve spent the last twenty-four hours thinking I was the only person left on Earth.”

  “I understand.”

  They went back to her apartment, a tiny one-room with a single counter for a kitchen, a small stove, and a rusted fridge that looked like it was vintage 1970. As soon as she opened the front door, she began throwing things into a suitcase and backpack, jamming them in randomly, not seeming even to see what she was taking.

  Apparently her dwelling meant as little to her as Jackson’s had to him.

  More information. Interesting.

  While she packed, she kept up a constant stream of chatter. Jackson learned that she was originally from San Francisco. She owned a bakery in Adelaide Bay that was doing well enough, but the overhead and rent was eating up most of the profit. She’d hoped to be able to move into a better apartment by this time—she’d had the bakery for three years, did she mention?—but it hadn’t worked out. She was between boyfriends, but had her eye on a nice-looking guy who worked at the Safeway.

  “Ripped arms. I see him down at the gym. I’ve always liked guys who lift. I saw him jogging one time. Running shorts and no shirt. I almost jumped him then and there.”

  Jackson didn’t respond, not that she probably expected him to.

  Then she went into a long, winding exposition of how hard a job baking was. “It’s not all making cupcakes. I’m exhausted in the evenings. Fall into bed, go to sleep until four a.m., then get up and start it all over.”

  Finally, she stopped, looked at him with a crooked smile. “I’m sorry. I haven’t given you a chance to say a word. I guess I saved all my talking up from the past day, and used it all at once.”

  “That’s all right.”

  “I didn’t even ask you where you were from.”

  “Santa Isobel. Down the coast a way.”

  “I’ve been there. Cute town.”

  Jackson shrugged. “I didn’t have any trouble leaving it.”

  Olivia frowned. “So, you really haven’t seen anyone? Not anyone at all?”

  Best not to tell her about his encounter last night. “No.”

  “What happened to everyone?” She swallowed. “I went to work yesterday, and was in making sweet rolls and cookies for the day. Then I realized that I had forgotten to put on coffee—I have a few chairs, and there are some folks who stop by early for coffee and a croissant—and when I went out into the store, it was so… so quiet. No car noise, you know? My first thought was that something had stopped traffic. Like, an accident or something. But I went outside, and there was all of these… these pieces of people.”

  Jackson nodded.

  “I don’t mean like arms and legs. I mean their things, and clothes, dropped on the ground.”

  “I knew what you meant. I saw the same thing.”

  “So it’s everywhere?” Her voice was hushed.

  “Everywhere I’ve been.”

  “Christ. What could have done this?”

  “I’m hoping that sooner or later, I’ll find that out.”

  She picked up her suitcase and backpack. “Let’s get the fuck out of here.”

  Jackson nodded.

  Olivia didn’t even bother to shut the door.

  —

  THEY GOT NO further information that day, nor any hint of other survivors.

  The sun was setting when they found a place called the Catalina Hills Bed and Breakfast. It was set back from the road in a pine grove past a sign saying Caldwell, 16 Miles. Caldwell was a good-sized town, so it would take a lot of time to search. Best to leave it till tomorrow and daylight.

  There was no rush, after all. No time clocks to punch.

  The B&B was shi-shi, with lots of gingerbread around the eaves, lace curtains, hanging baskets filled with deep purple petunias, and a porch swing hanging from a chain. The front door was locked, and no one answered Jackson’s knock.

  “Will you have to break a window?” Olivia asked quietly.

  “Maybe.”

  But they went behind the house, and found the back door unlocked. It led into a kitchen, where a cast-iron skillet sat on the stove next to piles of chopped chives, a package of bacon, and a plate full of shredded cheese. There was a glass mixing bowl on the floor, cracked in half, and now glued to the linoleum by a sticky mass of clotted raw egg.

  Next to it was a crumpled blouse, a neat pair of blue jeans, and some sensible brown leather shoes.

  Jackson walked right past them, saying only, “Good thing she hadn’t turned the stove on yet.”

  Olivia gave them a wide berth, as if she were afraid that they’d sudde
nly rise up like a ghost, pursuing, chasing away these strangers who dared to enter the province of the vanished.

  They hauled their meager belongings inside, dropping them in a sitting room furnished with antique chairs and an ornate claw-foot sofa. A still-life of a bowl full of roses hung from the wall, and there was the faint perfume of lavender in the air, the breath of its former life.

  They were able to make a decent dinner from what was left in the fridge and cabinets—cheese, apples, bread, crackers, dried fruit. Dessert was a pair of slices of chocolate cake, warm now but still edible.

  “Avoid anything that could have spoiled,” Jackson said. “And the more days pass, the more cautious we have to be. You get sick in this world, there’s no one left to help you.”

  Olivia nodded, eyes wide.

  They left the dishes on the table rather than wasting water washing up for no purpose.

  It was going to be another bright, moonlit night. Jackson made a circuit of the house, checking each window and door.

  “We should sleep.” He jiggled the front door handle. “Whatever room you sleep in, make sure your windows and door are locked.”

  “Why are you doing that? I thought you said you hadn’t seen anyone else.”

  “I haven’t. There’s—something else. Not human. It’s been following me.”

  She stared at him. “What do you mean?”

  “Exactly what I said.”

  “What kind of thing?”

  He probably shouldn’t have mentioned it. But if she was warned, she’d be keeping a lookout, too. Advantage and disadvantage either way. Too late now, in any case.

  “Large. Walks on two legs. Long snout, and pointed ears like a wolf.”

  “You....” Her voice came out in a tremulous squeak. “You’re making this up, right?”

  “No. No, I’m not. Why would I do that?”

  “I—I don’t know.” She swallowed. “So it’s not enough that we have to deal with everyone being gone? We have to deal with fucking monsters?”

  “A monster. I’ve only seen one. But yes. Something is stalking me. I’ve seen it twice. If I get another chance, I’m going to shoot it. But it didn’t get into my motel room last night, so we can hope that it won’t try to get in here. Or that maybe I lost it. We covered a lot of ground today.” He pulled upward on one of the front windows. It didn’t budge, and he gave a grunt of approval. “It doesn’t matter what room you take. Second floor is probably better if something does get in. On the first floor, it could break a window and be inside before you could react. Of course, the second floor means you could get trapped if the thing is down here.” He paused. “Advantage and disadvantage either way.”

  Just like telling her about the monster.

  She stared at him, visibly shivering. “Will you—” She stopped, cleared her throat. “Can I sleep with you?”

  He simply stared at her.

  She gave a nervous laugh, and ran her fingers through her dark curls. “I mean, I can’t believe I’m asking. I’m not that type. It’s just—” Tears coursed down her cheeks. “I don’t want to be alone, and you probably don’t, either—And I—” She hitched a sob. “If you make love to me, then maybe I’ll actually believe you’re real.”

  “It’s okay. Yes, you can stay with me.”

  Through the next hour, he thought several times that men dreamed about this happening. Alone, with a beautiful frightened woman who couldn’t stand it if she didn’t share his bed. He had to play along, or she’d think there was something wrong.

  And he played the role well. He watched her while she undressed, smiling as if in appreciation and anticipation. Then he followed suit, pulling his sweatshirt over his head and off in one fluid movement. He was sure he’d seen a guy do that in a movie, and figured that meant women found it sexy. She kept her eyes on him, still trembling, but at least no longer crying, and once she was naked she lay back on the bed in the moonlit room and reached out for him. Jackson waited until he was sure he had an erection before he pulled off his pants and boxers.

  He couldn’t let her see he was not feeling anything as she made love to him. He knew what moves and sounds to make, recognized when she was going to climax, and faked an orgasm at exactly the right moment. She clung to him, legs wrapped around his waist, shuddering and moaning and drawing scratch marks on his ass as she pulled him deep into her.

  Let it subside. Don’t pull out right away. Let her cue him about what to do.

  And she did.

  “That was amazing,” she whispered in his ear. “I can’t tell you how much I needed that.”

  “So did I.”

  They uncoupled, and slid beneath the covers together. She drifted off in minutes, resting her cheek against his shoulder and one hand in the middle of his chest. It was only after he was sure she was sound asleep that he pulled away from her, letting her arm drop limply onto the mattress, and went to the window, pulling the curtains back. The moonlight fell on a surreal grayscape, each leaf and twig and stone delineated in silver and black and white. And down the driveway of the B&B was a moving shadow, a hunched, loping figure that, only for a moment, turned glowing red eyes up toward him, and raised a lip to reveal a long canine tooth.

  A moment of pure adrenaline surged through him, but he stood still and let it flow past.

  Tell me what to do.

  Jackson’s consciousness slipped downward, sliding away from him into the deep place. All awareness of his surroundings ceased. And out of the depths a voice spoke to him.

  You did the right thing tonight, making love to the woman. She will listen to you and follow you if you meet her needs. Take care with the people you will meet soon, though. There are some among them who will be less biddable. You will need to be on your guard.

  He gave a grim smile. He was always on his guard. But the foreknowledge was good to have.

  “What about the creature?” He did not know if he said it aloud or only in his mind. But whichever it was, the voice answered him.

  Leave it. It will not come for you tonight. You will meet it another time, it and other such creatures that are ahead, waiting for you. The fire and the sword are both ahead. Surt the mighty will arise, and as in the time of old, he will lay waste the land and demand the sacrifice of a life as his tribute. You will be tested then, and if you triumph, you will know the extent of your own power. Now sleep. And do not tell the woman what you have seen tonight. There is no need.

  He came back up, his awareness rising like a bubble in a lake. When his eyes opened, the driveway was empty.

  He let the curtains drop, and spent nearly a half hour sitting by the window, naked, writing in his notebook by moonlight. Then he put the notebook back in his backpack, went to the bed, slipped between the sheets next to Olivia, and was deeply asleep in less than a minute.

  PART TWO

  A Habitation of Dragons

  1

  AND THE SIBYL said:

  Trust only your heart. Not everything that is light is good, nor everything dark, evil. Many forces are in the world that you have not yet seen, and some you will misjudge if you trust appearances. Your task is to cross the forest that lies before you, and if you remain steadfast you will reach the other side unscathed; and then you will understand.

  Go forth now, and help each other, and listen to the counsel that the wild places bring, and most of all, do not despair. Desperation brings no wisdom, only emptiness of the heart. Keep this wisdom always before your eyes, and you will traverse the path ahead of you without harm.

  So says the Sibyl, who has dwelt here for ages past, and will dwell here in ages future.

  And the Sibyl closed her eyes, bowed her head, and silence fell in the cave.

  —

  THE NEXT MORNING, Zolzaya quietly took Margo aside, leaving Jeff and Ben cooking bacon and scrambled eggs over a camp stove.

  Frying bacon. One of the smells from before. One to savor. How many things would be like this—passing by, left behind, a relic of a wor
ld that would never be again?

  She turned her mind from that dark train of thought. There were more pressing things to deal with.

  “What’s up, Z?”

  “I don’t want to freak the others out.” She kept her voice quiet, light. “Mostly because I’m not completely convinced that what I saw was real.” She told Margo about the hairy-faced man in the front yard.

  “He looked right up at me. And it was-—I’m not sure how to say it. His eyes weren’t human. And it wasn’t only because they were green, bright green, green like grass. There was something in his expression that was more like an animal. A different species.”

  Margo gave her a skeptical look. “Don’t you think you could have, I don’t know, had a mixed dream and waking state? It happens to some people. Maybe you were dreaming about monsters, and then when you woke up and went to the window, there was a guy in the front yard, and you put the two together.”

  “I guess that’s possible.”

  “You don’t sound convinced.”

  “I’m not. Look, I know that memory is unreliable and all. But this wasn’t a momentary thing. I was at the window for a good three, maybe four minutes. Then I ran downstairs and locked all the doors and windows. I was wide awake.”

  “You were by then,” Margo said.

  “I know, I know. Maybe it was a hobo, and my brain is so overwrought that I made the rest of it up.”

  “It’s not like you don’t have sufficient reason to be freaked out. We all should be having nightmares.”

  “That’s true.”

  Ben called, “Breakfast is ready!”

  “Let’s keep our eyes open today, okay?” Zolzaya said. “For hobos or for anyone else.”