The Zero Trilogy (Book 3): End of Day

by Summer Lane

  “Is.” Elle frowned. “I never should have trusted him.”

  She hated herself for it. Stupid girl. She should have seen through him! He was too smooth, too self-righteous. But he had fooled everyone – including Bravo.

  “Are you saying that Cheng led Omega to Bear Mountain?” he said.

  “I’m saying that Omega has been looking everywhere for Cheng,” Elle said, “under the orders of Veronica Klaus. And if someone turned him into Omega authorities, that would have brought them right to us.”

  Felix sighed.

  “My God,” he said. “All of those children. Their parents.”

  Elle shuddered. She didn’t want to think of the burned and mutilated corpses of the Civilian Ward.

  “It’s over now,” she murmured. “It’s all over.”

  Felix pressed his lips together.

  The wind blew softly through the trees. Elle didn’t want to get up. She didn’t want to move, or pull on her clothes, or finish the tea.

  She had no one left, therefore she had nothing to live for.

  Even her hope had abandoned her.

  Evening. Elle tied the laces of her shoes. Her clothes were hot and crisp from the fire. She rested her hands on her knees, sighing. She felt infinitely tired. Infinitely disappointed.

  Infinitely stuck in a bad dream.

  “You didn’t break any bones,” Felix had said earlier.

  “You sure about that? I hit my head twice and got punched in the jaw.”

  “I’m sure. You’re just bruised.” He had gestured to the head. “Be careful. If you feel tired – rest. If you feel hungry – eat. Don’t push yourself, let your body heal. The best thing you can do to heal is to do nothing.”

  Elle was okay with that. She felt like doing nothing.

  Bravo was probably hundreds of miles away by now.

  She had nothing to care about anymore.

  “What happened to the other girl?” Felix had pressed. “Luli?”

  Elle looked down.

  “I’m sorry,” Felix had muttered. “That’s too bad.”

  It was. Even now, staring at the crackling fire, Elle was sick about it. She had never liked Luli – the girl had never treated her kindly, after all. But she was only human, and she was only a girl. The apocalypse had driven her to her death, and that was unfair. Cruel. Elle hated it.

  She clenched her fists and stood. She swayed a bit – dizzy – then took a deep breath. She steadied herself and walked around to the other side of the fire. She packed up a few supplies that Felix had given her – packaged food he had foraged from empty houses, mostly. She slipped them into a small leather backpack and hoisted it around her shoulders.

  “Where will you go?” Felix asked, sitting motionless on the ground.

  “Sacramento,” Elle replied.

  “Why there?”

  “Because that was always the endgame.”

  “Sacramento is supposedly the safest place in California right now.”

  Elle nodded. She had always imagined herself walking through the streets of Sacramento – a militia stronghold and safe haven – with Bravo by her side. She should have never gone to Bear Mountain to look for her uncle. She should have gone straight to the city.

  Stupid girl. What were you thinking?

  Hope. She had been holding onto hope. How foolish.

  Elle held out her hand.

  “Thank you, Felix,” she said. “For everything.”

  He looked at her outstretched hand.

  “You’re welcome,” he replied at last, grasping it firmly.

  “What about you?” she asked. “What will you do?”

  “I’m going to rest here,” he said, half-shrugging. “And then I’ll go up into the mountains and find Camp Freedom, where the Mountain Rangers are. They’re the most famous militia, aside from the Freedom Fighters.” He sighed. “I’m sorry things worked out the way they did, Elle. Bear Mountain was safe. It really was.”

  Elle kept her expression tight.

  “I know,” she said. “I’m sorry, too.”

  He sat, and she stood. They remained silent for a minute or so, and then Elle ghosted into the trees, and she was gone. Felix sat there for a long time after she left.

  A single tear slid down his cheek.

  Alone. The sullen wilderness of the valley pervaded Elle’s mind. She kept her head down and her shoulders tucked. The weather was cold, the sky was cloudy. She would occasionally glance to her right, a habit she had acquired during the long, endless walks across highways and frontiers.

  To check her right was to check on Bravo, to see what he was thinking.

  She frowned and walked faster. She was following the curve of a country road in the valley. The pirates had dumped her overboard into the Kings River, flooding its banks now that – according to rumor – the dam holding the water had been destroyed in a militia battle with Omega.

  She walked between rows of dead orchards, their branches dry and snapping in the wind.

  It would take her days – if not weeks – to reach Sacramento. She was moving slowly, sluggishly. She was not motivated to move any faster. No one’s life depended on it.

  She didn’t really care about hers anymore.

  Yet somehow, she was still completing those mundane functions that kept her alive – eating, drinking, sleeping. She could stop if she wanted. She could sit and close her eyes and slowly starve to death.

  Why didn’t she?

  No, something kept Elle going. She wasn’t sure what it was. But it was there, beating under her skin like a living thing: the human will to survive. The instinct to preserve her physical existence was even stronger than her sorrow.

  So she kept walking.

  She wondered where the bounty hunters had taken Cheng, and if he had already been reunited with his mother. She wondered what they had done with Bravo. Would Matthias turn him into a vicious guard dog like the mastiffs in Falcon Point? She hoped not. She just wanted him to be alive.

  Escape, Bravo! she screamed mentally. Just escape. That would make me happy.

  The cold wind cut against her face like a knife. She hardly noticed. Her head still throbbed, but it was duller than it had been before. Not so sharp, or so consistent. Still, it was times like these she would have killed for basic pain medication.

  She heard the distant howl of coyotes and wild dogs. It was an unearthly sound, haunting and eerie. Since the apocalypse, roving dogs had slowly begun to emerge in the valleys and mountains. They roamed in packs, in search of prey or garbage, starving, and searching for any food they could find – not unlike the humans that did the same.

  When the night was at its darkest and the moon shone bright against the cloudy sky, Elle stopped to eat a few bites of the food Felix had generously given her. She chewed on dried meat and washed it down with water. It was tasteless and dry. She wanted real food. Real meat. Clean, cold water. Dessert – maybe a strawberry cheesecake or a crème brûlée?

  Not helping, she told herself. Not helping at all.

  She got up and continued the monotonous rhythm of walking. One foot after the other, over and over again. As the night wore on, she came close to a small town. It was a farming community. There was a cemetery and a collection of houses. The streets were empty and lonely. Many of the homes had been burned. Dogs barked and howled in the neighborhoods.

  Elle shivered and walked into the cemetery. Most of the headstones were overgrown with weeds and dead grass, but the old graves still stood tall. They were big, marvelous pieces of granite and marble, carvings of angels with their hands stretched to the skies. Most had been vandalized, arms or legs broken off. The wall around the cemetery had been spray-painted on the far side:

  FREEDOM

  FIGHTERS

  Elle paused. So the militias had been here at some point? Good.

  She kept moving through the cemetery, stopping only to touch one of the angels. The stone was cool. The name had been erased from time, beaten into anonymity by two centu
ries of outdoor elements.

  How odd, to cease to be remembered. To have your existence wiped from the minds of mankind. It was a chilling thought, and it begged too many existential questions. Elle kept moving until she reached the edge of the cemetery, crossing a street. There was a park and playground here. The slide had been mercilessly vandalized, as well, and there was evidence of bloodshed.

  She tried not to look, following the abandoned roads, past the neighborhoods. There was a high school that had been blown to pieces. All that was left of the structure was the gymnasium, and even then, a hole had been punched in the roof. Elle wondered what had happened to the people in this town. Had they died of starvation? Had they gone mad and killed each other? Or had Omega executed them all?

  She would never know.

  At some point, she began to tire. Felix’s advice rang in her head – if you feel tired, rest – as she slowed, and she began looking for a place to bed down for the night. She stood in a triangular intersection, surrounded by antique country homes. One of them looked clean enough, and she headed toward it. The house was white and blue, with a large front porch and a loveseat that faced the street. She paused at the front steps, hesitating.

  No, she needed to get inside. Shelter was safer.

  She walked up the steps. A thick layer of dry dirt coated everything, and her boots left footprints. She wiggled the cold handle of the door. It was locked. Elle took a knife from her pocket. Felix had also supplied her with the small weapon before she had left. She jimmied the lock. The door swung inward. The air was sour, stale.

  Elle walked inside. There was a staircase to the left, a living room to the right. The furniture was covered with sheets, as if the owners had gone on a trip and expected to come home to a perfectly preserved home.

  Wishful thinking, Elle mused.

  She walked into the living room and trailed into the kitchen. It was wide and spacious, painted in muted tones of gray and black. She slipped back into the living room and stopped at the foot of the stairs. One step, two steps, three steps. She climbed slowly, hesitantly. When she reached the top floor, she was thrust into total darkness. The doors were shut. She swallowed a nervous lump in her throat and padded down the hallway, to the end. There was a window. She pulled the curtains back. Moonlight spilled into the hall.

  Three bedrooms.

  Elle slowly opened the door closest to her. She held her breath. Silence. She took one step forward. Her eyes adjusted to the darkness. She walked to the window and threw back the curtains, as well. It was a master bedroom. Here, it was chaos. Someone had rummaged through the closets. Clothes and random objects were scattered across the beds. Elle guessed that whoever had lived here left in a hurry, grabbed what they needed, and took off.

  Never to come home again.

  She closed the master bedroom and checked behind the second door. It was a nursery. An empty crib sat in the corner. A mobile of trains and cars hung from the ceiling, covered in dust. Elle quickly closed the door. She stopped at the last door. When she opened it, she smelled paper. Lots of paper. It was an office, and piles of books were stacked near the walls.

  She smiled.

  Elle closed the door behind her and locked it, sitting down on the carpeted floor. She would rest here for the night. No one could sneak up on her in here. She curled into a ball and closed her eyes.

  Safe. For a moment.

  An hour later, she heard noises. It was a light thumping sound, and it stirred her awake. She blinked slowly and listened.

  Thump. Thump.

  Thump, thump, CRASH.

  It was all distant, coming from downstairs. It could have been an animal, it could have been the wind. It could have been anything, but it sounded closer than it should be.

  Thump, thump.

  A shiver ran down Elle’s spine. If Bravo were here, he could have told her if it was anything to worry about. He would sense the validity of the threat. But now Elle was alone, and she was dependent on her mediocre human senses of sight, smell and sound.

  She stood and pressed her ear against the wall.

  THUMP. THUMP.

  Footsteps? No. It sounded more like someone was banging on something. Elle gripped a small knife that Felix had given her, hardly daring to breathe. The sound kept coming, and Elle broke into a cold sweat.

  She rested her hand on the threshold of the door.

  She couldn’t just wait for whatever it was to come kill her.

  I can crawl out the window and get out, she thought.

  Elle turned and padded to the window. She threw back the curtains. Moonlight illuminated a row of nails on the bottom of the window.

  Why had they been nailed shut?

  With the newfound light in the room, Elle looked around the office. The books smelled good, but she noticed something dark in the far corner. She walked toward it, pausing, reaching her hand forward. Her fingers closed around bags of zip-ties, piled in boxes. Bloody fingerprints were smeared across the cardboard containers.

  Elle felt nauseous.

  The thumping continued downstairs. What were her options? She couldn’t slip out this window without finding a way to break through the glass, and that would be noisy. No. She needed to slip outside, find another window or door, and get away from this place.

  The safety of the room was then a dark thing, a threat. Elle stood at the door again and listened. She touched the handle, unlocked the bolt and turned the brass knob.

  It was silent on its hinges – she was grateful for that.

  She kept a firm grip on the knife as she stepped into the hall. She half-expected something to pounce on her from the hall and sink its teeth into her, but there was nothing here.

  She released a breath.

  Elle walked to the end of the hall and looked at the window. It, too, had been nailed shut. It seemed to be a running theme. Elle was sure that the bedrooms were all the same.

  Yes, she decided. The only way out of here was through the front door.

  Thump, thump, thump.

  It’s just an animal stuck under the house, Elle told herself. That’s all.

  She crept to the top of the stairs. The noises were louder here. They echoed, the sound bouncing off the walls. She took one step. The stairs creaked. She froze, flushing hot.

  Nothing happened.

  She took another step. Another creak.

  Almost there. She stopped at the bottom of the stairs. It had seemed to take hours to descend them all. She dared a deep breath to steady herself. Down here, the noise was very pronounced.

  Thump, thump, thump.

  Elle headed toward the front door.

  THUMP. THUMP… “LET ME OUT!”

  There it was. A muffled but obviously human voice. Elle twitched. It sent a bolt of terror down to her toes. She needed to get out. Something shadowy was in this house. Something bad.

  Go back, they need help, her inner voice said.

  Elle closed her eyes.

  “You’re stupid,” she muttered.

  She went back because Bravo would have done it. Because Bravo was always helping people, and because if she could be like anyone, it would be him. Always him.

  Elle slipped through the living room, passing the sheeted furniture, following the noises. She stopped in the kitchen. There was a door in the wall, underneath the staircase. She stared at it. It rattled and snapped on its hinges. Someone was hitting it from the inside, over and over again.

  She heard a moan, then an unintelligible jumble of words.

  Someone was locked inside. But why?

  She was afraid to find out.

  Elle placed her hand on the door. It jerked and moved, bouncing her backward.

  “Hello,” she said.

  Silence. Dead silence. A freeze.

  “Hello,” she said again, louder. “Who are you? Why are you here?”

  Quiet.

  And then,

  “Don’t lie to me.”

  It was a man’s voice, raspy and broken.

>   Elle backed away from the door.

  No. She wasn’t opening it. No way.

  Crazy people could stay locked up in the closet for all she cared. She was getting out of here as fast as she could…

  The door to the kitchen slammed open. A great, hulking shadow of a man charged inside. In the moonlight, he was little more than a mass of tangled hair and shoddy clothing – old overalls and leather boots.

  “Get back in your closet!” he shrieked.

  Her heart dropped into her stomach, and the icy frost of adrenaline shot its way through her veins. She gripped the knife and leaped over the small kitchen table, making a mad dash for the living room. The man tore through the house behind her, throwing himself through the air, grabbing Elle around the waist, and bringing her to the floor.

  He screamed incoherent profanities as he wrestled her to the ground. Elle kicked, but he didn’t seem to feel it. She twisted her right arm from under his body weight and jammed the little knife into the soft flesh of his stomach. He screamed and clutched his abdomen. Elle rolled away. As she scrambled to her feet, sweating, he swept his hand through the air and grabbed her ankle, slamming her against the ground again.

  “You don’t just LEAVE,” he was yelling. “You’re my GUEST!”

  “LET ME GO!” Elle screamed, jamming the heel of her boot into his left eye. He grasped the eye in pain, blood gushing down his face. Elle sprinted for the door. It was closed. NO! Her fingers closed around the handle and she yanked it open, just as the man’s bloody hands grasped the hood of her jacket.

  He yanked her backward. The air rushed out of her lungs. She gagged as the collar of the jacket tightened around her neck. The man held her against the wall, his grip tightening and tightening. Elle struggled and sputtered, her face turning a muted shade of blue.

  “I’ll make a lesson out of you yet,” the man muttered.

  In the clear moonlight, she could see his bloodshot eyes, his yellow, rotten teeth, and the dried bloodstains splattered across his overalls.

  No, Elle thought. Not like this.

  Her oxygen was cut off, and her strength was failing, but she forced her arms upward – an act of sheer willpower. She shoved her thumbs into the corners of his eyes, feeling the soft, gooey texture of his eyeballs on her skin. It didn’t sicken her. This was life or death, and she pushed harder.