by Amy Cross
"The fucker had a gun!" the creature shouts from the bottom of the pit, firing several more times into the air. "Can you believe my luck? There was a gun in his hand when he died! I didn't even have to pick it up! I just took over his body and there it was, already clutched in his delicate little hand!"
"Are you okay?" I ask, watching as Toad blinks a couple of times. With the rain continuing to fall, much of the blood from his shoulder wound is already starting to flood down onto the forest floor. He opens his mouth, as if he's trying to say something, but the effort is too much. He might be alive now, but he won't be for much longer unless I can find a way to staunch the flow of blood and patch him up properly. For a fraction of a second, I can't help thinking back to the moment a few days ago when I watched Henry die. Is the same thing about to happen again?
Panicking, I reach into the pocket of the waterproof coat and take out my gun. I check that the safety catch is off, and then I decide that I've only got one chance here. Filled with anger, I listen for a moment to the sound of the creature laughing in the pit, and then I step forward and fire straight into its face. The first shot blows one side of its head clean away, and as it slumps back down against the spike I fire again and again, and finally three more times until the gun clicks and I realize that I'm out of bullets. I stand and stare for a moment, convinced that the damn thing is going to still be alive, but finally I realize that I've blown its head apart. There's no hint of life, and no more movement other than a trickle of blood flowing from the neck. Still feeling breathless, I look down at the gun and realize that my hands are shaking.
With rain still falling all around me, I put the gun back into my pocket and hurry over to Toad. As soon as I kneel next to him and check his pulse, I realize that he's still alive, but he's bleeding heavily. For a moment, all I can do is stare at him, as if my mind has completely frozen. Finally, however, I realize that I have to do something. If I just sit here and wait, he's going to die, the same way that Henry died. I might not have much of a chance, but at least I have to try to save him. There's got to be a way.
"Can you hear me?" I ask, trying not to panic.
He opens his mouth, but no words come out.
"What do I do?" I continue. "You've been shot in the shoulder. What am I supposed to do? How do I fix it?"
For a moment, he seems to be trying to say something, but the effort is clearly too much.
"I'm taking you back to the cave," I say, struggling to pick him up. At first, I figure that there's no way I'm strong enough to carry him, but finally, somehow, I'm able to get to my feet while holding him in my arms. The effort require to carry him is immense, and I feel as if I'm going to collapse at any moment, but finally I start staggering across the forest floor, heading back the way we came. I don't know what the hell I'm going to do, but I have to try to do something. Three days ago, I lost my brother to a gunshot wound, and there's no way I'm going to let someone else die. If it's the last thing I ever do, I'm going to find a way to save Toad and get us back to the farm.
By the time we reach the cave, however, I'm almost ready to collapse. I place Toad on the ground, out of the rain, as I realize that the fire has already burned out. There's a rumble of thunder high above, and I look down at Toad's face, hoping for a sign of life.
"Wake up!" I shout, with tears running down my face. "You have to wake up!"
No response.
Reaching down, I check his pulse. To my surprise, I realize that he's not dead yet, even though he's lost a lot of blood. Still, he's unconscious, and he clearly doesn't have much time left. I know I should do something, but I'm scared that I'll just make everything worse. Blood is still flowing from his wound, and he's starting to look pale. If the situation was reversed, he'd know what to do; he'd fix me up and get us back to the farm. I'm useless, though. I don't know the sfirst thing about saving someone from a gunshot wound.
Outside, the rain seems to be falling more heavily than ever, and lightning is still arcing across the sky in the distance. I have to do something. I have to save Toad, and then I have to make sure that we get back to the farm. Right now, however, I feel as if I'm frozen in place. This is what happened when Henry died. I failed him, and I'm going to fail Toad. I'm no use in a crisis, and I can't even begin to save the life of someone who's been shot. He's going to die right here in front of me, and then I'll be trapped alone here, lost in the wilderness. It's over. I'm going to die out here.
Thomas
Missouri
Sitting in the corner of the basement, with my back to the wall, I stare across at the dead body by the far wall. I've been over here in this corner for hours now, too scared to move, but I can't take my eyes of the horrific sight that I uncovered when I pulled the sacks away. I swear to God, this whole house is the creepiest, weirdest place in the world.
"Please," I whisper for the thousandth time, "get me out of here." I've spent the past few hours praying, desperately hoping that God might take pity on me and find a way to get the door open. Then again, God hasn't been much in evidence lately. Why would He allow the world to go to hell like this? Why would he let my parents die, and my brother, and all those other people whose bodies I've seen? Why would he let that Lydia woman die in such a painful and horrible way? I want to believe that there's some kind of plan here, that the world hasn't just fallen into chaos, but right now it's as if everything is falling apart.
Finally, after hours and hours of doing nothing, I get to my feet and start walking toward the far corner, where the dead body is partially uncovered. I've been putting this moment off for as long as possible, I figure I need to take a look and try to work out what happened. I've seen a hell of a lot of dead bodies over the past week, but I'm still not used to the damn things. Then again, as I get closer, I realize that this body is different to the others. She's not bloated or decomposed, and she doesn't seem fresh. In fact, if I had to guess, I'd say she's been dead for a hell of a long time. Years, maybe even decades.
Although my gut instinct is to turn and run, I crouch next to the body and stare at her face. Her mouth is open in a kind of twisted scream, and although her eyes have long since shriveled up, I'm pretty sure she was staring up at something. Her skin is totally dry and gnarled, and her limbs are almost like the roots of a tree. There's some long black hair still attached to the top of her head, and I can't help noticing that part of her neck looks to have been damaged, as if it's been eaten away. She's too far gone for me to be able to tell what killed her, or even how old she was when she died, but as I stare at her face, I'm overwhelmed for a moment by a feeling of pity.
Reaching down to the cloth sacks, I pull them away from her feet and see that there's a pair of iron chains still attached to her ankles. Did she also happen to stumble upon this house, many years ago? Did the old man capture her, the same way he captured me, and keep her down in this basement until she died? I've been assuming until this moment that the old man's madness has to be connected with everything else that's going on in the world, but what if it's completely separate? What if this girl was captured back when the world was normal? What if he just likes to leave people to die in his basement? Turning to look over at the door, I suddenly realize that maybe he isn't ever coming back.
Day Twelve
Elizabeth
Pennsylvania
Frantically tipping the contents of Toad's bag onto the ground, I immediately see that as well as some food, he was also carrying what appears to be a set of bandages. Sure enough, I quickly find not only the bandages, but also a pair of scissors, some cotton swabs, and a small bottle that I'm hoping contains something I can use to clean the wound. He definitely came prepared.
"What do I do?" I ask, desperately hoping that toad might wake up and give me some advice. He seems like the kind of guy who'd have no problem performing a spot of battlefield surgery. If this was the other way around and I was the one who'd been shot, he'd have patched me up by now; unfortunately, his life is in my hands and I'm the worst person i
n the world to have to do something like this.
He's going to die. Just like Henry.
I look over at him and see that he's still breathing, but only just. It's dark, but I've managed to get the fire going again. Having realized that we were both in danger of dying of exposure, I copied everything that Toad did earlier: I whittled away the wet bark from some pieces of wood, and I used some of his matches to get the fire restarted. I swear to God, it's the first really practical thing I've ever done, and I cried with joy when I realized that the fire was going to last. Sure, it might not last all night, but I've got more wood and I'm hoping I can manage to keep us warm.
"Okay," I mutter, carrying the medical supplies past the fire and kneeling next to Toad. "Now what?" I wait in vain for a reply. "If you can just wake up for a moment," I continue, "I can follow any instructions you give me. Please..." Reaching out, I gently tap his chest, hoping against hope that he might be strong enough to talk.
Silence.
The wound on his left shoulder appears to have stopped bleeding, but as I carefully peel his shirt away, I realize that there's more damage than I'd expected. It almost looks as if someone punched a fist-sized hole in the top of his arm, and for a moment I feel as if there's absolutely no way I can ever do anything to help. I hate the sight of blood, and as I peer closer at the wound, illuminated only a little by the light of the fire, I can't help thinking back to the injury that killed Henry. It's all happening again, except this time I'm going to try to do something.
"I'll take the bullet out," I say, looking at Toad's unconscious face. "I don't know if you can hear me, but I think I can see it, so I'm going to try to pull it out."
No reply.
"It's going to hurt," I add. "I don't know if you can feel pain right now, but I doubt I can do this cleanly, okay? It's going to..." I pause as I stare at the fleshy mess caused by the bullet, with blood glistening in the firelight and pieces of torn skin and meat around the edges. "It's really going to hurt," I continue. "Like, more than anything in the world. But I haven't got a choice."
Taking a deep breath, I grab the small bottle and open the lid, before splashing some of the liquid onto the wound. It smells strong and medical, so I'm going to assume that the wound is not sterile. I take the scissors and hold the blade in the flames for a moment, figuring that this should help to avoid any kind of infection, and then I take a closer look at the wound. I'm not certain, but I think I can see something dark and metallic deep in the flesh, and I can only assume that I'm looking directly at the bullet. In a way, the whole thing is strangely, beguilingly simple.
"Fuck," I mutter, realizing that there's no point hesitating.
I pause.
Why haven't I started yet?
I guess it's because I think he's going to die. While I'm preparing to do this, I can fool myself into thinking that there's a chance I might save him; somehow, I might turn out to have amazing, hidden surgical skills. The truth, though, is that there's very little hope. The most likely outcome is that I'll poke around in the wound a little, and then he'll die, and then I'll be left all alone out here.
"You can do this," I say out loud, hoping to build up my confidence even though my hands are shaking. Focusing for a moment, I manage to steady myself, and finally I realize that I have to get started.
Slowly, I open the scissors and slip the tips into the wound. Once I close them again, I realize that the black object is definitely made of metal. I make sure to get a good grip, and then I carefully try to pull the bullet out. To my surprise, it comes out fairly easily, although once I get a good look at it, I realize that the tip appears to have shattered, which means there are probably fragments deeper in the wound. I stare at the bullet stub for a moment, and it's as if my brain has frozen. There has to be a way to fix this, but at the same time, there's no way I can start digging deeper into Toad's shoulder.
Dropping the damaged piece of metal onto the ground, I peer more closely at the wound. I can just about spot what appears to be a bullet fragment, so I press the scissors into the wound, but Toad immediately lets out a faint groan and I sit back.
"Can you hear me?" I ask.
No reply.
"Please," I continue, close to tears. "You have to wake up. You have to tell me what I'm doing wrong."
I wait, but he doesn't reply.
Reaching the scissors into the wound again, I manage to get hold of the fragment and pull it out, and this time Toad doesn't respond. As I drop the second fragment, I look into the wound and see several more small pieces, but it's clear that the tip of the bullet was completely shattered, which means there's no way I'll ever be able to get every piece out.
"I can't do this," I say, my voice trembling. "If you can hear me, I swear to God, I did my best, but I can't do everything. You need a proper doctor."
Finally, I decide that all I can do is try to patch him up and then hope that he can survive until we get back to the farm. After all, Patricia's a doctor, so she should be able to help. Grabbing the bandages, I find that they each come with a small roll of adhesive tape. They seem woefully inadequate for covering such a major injury, but I don't have anything else, so I pour a little more of the sterilizing liquid onto the wound before finally placing the first bandage directly over the gaping hole in Toad's shoulder. I struggle for a while, trying to get the pad to stay on firmly, but eventually I manage to get it properly sited and I sit back.
I did it.
Sure, it's not perfect, and he's not out of danger, but I managed to remove the bullet, sterilize the wound and fix a bandage to hopefully prevent any further damage. I have no way of knowing for sure whether what I've done is actually going to save Toad, but I figure it can't hurt. I did my best, and at least he's still breathing. I have no doubt that he'd have died if I'd just left him alone, so all I can do is pray that somehow he's able to pull through. I guess there's a chance. At the very least, I've minimized the risk of infection. I just have to hope that I've done enough.
Looking down at my hands, I see that there's blood all over my fingers. I glance over at the fire and realize that it's still burning fairly well. I have no idea what time it is, but the rain is still falling outside and the sun has been down for a few hours. Hopefully the rain will stop soon and sunrise will help me to work out which way we need to go in order to reach the farm. It's not exactly going to be an easy journey, but at least I'm starting to feel that there's a chance for us to survive. I remember where the sun rose this morning in relation to the farm, so I figure I might be able to work out roughly which way we need to go in the next few hours.
Walking over to the cave entrance, I stare out at the darkness. I have no way of knowing if another of those creatures is in the area, and even if we're alone, I doubt things will stay that way for long. I keep thinking back to the way the creature talked about coming after us, and it's hard not to imagine more of them - maybe hundreds, maybe even thousands - making their way toward us right now. Maybe we can ignore the danger for now, but sooner or later we're going to have to fight. Up until this moment, I've been allowing myself to dream that somehow the world is going to get put back to normal eventually. Finally, however, I'm starting to realize that things might never be the same again.
Thomas
Missouri
Once I've placed the cloth sacks back over the dead girl's body, I sit for a moment and try to work out what to do next. It's been more than twenty-four hours since I last heard from the old man, and I've managed to survive a whole night down here with the girl's body. Maybe I'm going crazy down here, but I feel as if she and I are somehow connected. After all, we've both ended up down here, and even though the rest of the world seems to have forgotten about her entirely, I figure that if I'm the one who happens to have stumbled onto her dead body, then it must be my responsibility to try to show her some respect.
Reaching into my pocket, I try to find something I can use as a cross, but there's nothing. This whole damn situation is so far beyond normality, t
here's no way to mark the girl's resting place. Then again, I figure maybe I can move her. If I ever manage to get out of this basement, I'm going to dig a proper grave and put the girl's body where it belongs, and then I'm going to make a cross and mark her final resting place. It's not much, and she deserves much more, but it's all I can do right now.
At least she's not like those creatures I saw the other day. They were bloated and decomposing, but they were alive. I'm no expert, but I'm pretty sure that this mummified girl is just a corpse. There's no way she's going to come back to life, although maybe in some strange way I wouldn't mind if I could talk to her. I could ask her how she ended up down here, and what the old man did to her, and why she was never able to escape. I guess I'm finally losing my mind.
"Dear Lord," I mutter, putting my hands together in prayer, "I'm not gonna ask you why you did this, but I want to ask you to look after this girl's soul. Make sure she's right, and don't make her suffer. It's not her fault that she wasn't buried properly, so I don't think it's right that she should go to Hell or anything like that. If you can just wait a bit, I promise I'll put her in the ground properly. It's just gonna take a bit of time, that's all."
Silence.
"Amen," I add, before opening my eyes.
Damn it, have I lost my mind? I feel as if I don't know how to react to anything right now. I should be terrified of the girl's body, but somehow I'm not; instead, I feel drawn to her, as if she's my only friend in the world. I want to talk to her, to ask her about her life, to tell her that everything's going to be okay. I guess I'm going crazy, but for some strange reason, I feel as if I owe this girl a proper burial. Even if I can't get myself to safety, I'm damn well gonna get out of this basement and dig a grave for her somewhere. I swear to God, if that old man ever opens that door again, I'll get him. I don't know how I'll do it yet, but I'll kill him.