by Geo Dell
She couldn't make it all come back. She had gone so that she would not chance coming back and attacking Bear. It had seemed a crazy thought, but the longer she had thought of it, the less crazy it had seemed. The more it seemed to make sense to her.
They had come at her down by the river, three blocks... four blocks from the apartment. Surely it had been no more than that. Her heart had begun to skip and beat irregularly. She had hoped she could make the river. She thought if she could throw herself in, it might work. But it was clear she wasn't going to make it. She had stumbled into an alley, slumped against the wall, pulled the pistol Bear had gotten for her from her pocket, and slipped the barrel into her mouth.
The taste of the steel, and the coldness of the barrel had made her gag, and that had been her mistake. She had not seen them when she stumbled into the alley. As soon as the gun left her mouth, one of them, the same one who had ended up shooting her - shooting her with her own gun as a matter of fact - had stepped from the shadows and snatched the gun from her hands. The others had surged forward then. They had dragged her deeper into the shadows and taken her.
She stared up at the full bloated moon hanging directly overhead. Except it had been early evening, and now it was not early evening. The moon did not hang in the middle of the sky during the early evening. She touched her chest, felt across the swell of her breast and found the bullet hole.
A big bullet hole. A scary bullet hole. She tried to suck in a deep breath and panicked when she realized she couldn't draw the breath. Not being able to breath was not possible. People could not live if they could not breathe. The panic rose fast and hot, bright in her thoughts.
The hole was crusted with blood, but sticky wet towards the center. And she probed it even in her panic. Maybe despite her panic. Her baby finger slid right in up to the second joint. Her breath still wouldn't come. She pulled harder. Harder. No good.
She struggled to her feet, still no pain... still no breath. She staggered off down the street. Weaving, she saw. Not surprising I'm dying. I'm dying because I can't breathe. I...
She stopped in the middle of the street. She was dead... dead or dreaming. That was all that made sense. Nothing else did.
She had lain on the ground for... She looked down at her wrist, 9:29 pm. It meant nothing at all to her. Watches really couldn't keep time anymore. They could only record passing time if you had a point of reference, and she hadn't thought to look at her wrist when the whole thing had started. So she did not know how long she had lain there gazing up at the stars, and it didn't matter. The last time she had looked at it, it had read sometime just past midnight. She had been on the balcony, looking out at the city. Over twenty hours had passed then, and how could that be? And did it matter?
The thing that mattered was that she had lain there awake, gazing up at the moon, and she had felt no pain, same as she felt no pain now. She had lain there gazing up at the moon, and she had not been breathing, same as she wasn't breathing now. And it had been a long time. A long time she had lain there. A long time she had not be able to breath, had not drawn air. She was not dying at all. She was dead already.
She let the panic bleed away. A dream or really dead, she decided.
Pinch yourself and wake up.
She didn't wait. She took a piece of the flesh on her side and pinched. Nothing. No pain. No waking in pain. Nothing. She did it again, pinching harder. Nothing at all. She looked down at the flesh between her fingers, smashed flat. It should hurt, and it did not hurt. She let go, smoothed her shirt, her blood-encrusted-shirt her mind added, and then looked off down the street. The street was in shadow. She began to walk.
At first her vision was blurred, but as she walked on, it had changed. Her eyes had changed. The world seemed to jump suddenly into sharp focus once more.
She had stopped, her knees buckling at the sudden urge to reverse and run away. She had actually taken two scrambling steps backward before she realized she could not run away from this... this change, she decided to term it.
She made her way to the water, and she had seen herself reflected back from the water of the harbor. Her hair was a ruined mass of black. Stringy, tangled, plastered to her head like a helmet in places. But it was her eyes that had caused her to stare the longest. They were cloudy marbles in the moonlight.
She had seen those eyes reflected back from the water of the harbor. She had gone for the water because you had to have water to survive, every living thing did. She had not yet accepted that she was no longer a living thing.
The moonlight reflected off the trash strewn water. A drowned cat floated by and transfixed her. She had been torn between vomiting and reaching into the water and retrieving the cat... bringing it to her mouth... tasting it. But the moment had passed, and she had shaken herself... come back to herself. And that was when she had seen her eyes reflected in the harbor water.
She was only hours dead, and it all came back. They had shot her. They had.... But she had run from the group of men after they had shot her. They had laughed and let her go, and so she had run.
The pain in her chest had been worse than it had ever been, and she had run right into the arms of someone else... something else. She never saw him... her... whatever it had been. Its teeth had found her neck. The blood had spurted, and she had spiraled down into darkness, the pain no more.
She bent to bring the water in her cupped hands to her dry, cracked lips, and she had seen her eyes. Dull, colorless marbles in her head. Barely reflecting light at all. And she had known... known she was dead. Not that all the other things had not already told her, but that her mind had finally clicked over, taken the information it had shoved to the corners of her cloudy thoughts and thrown it out into the conscious.
She had shaken it off. Scooped the water to her mouth, swallowed and then gagged, vomiting the water back up. Her body would not accept it. She had stood from the water, shaky, unsure of anything.
There was smoke in the air. She could see it, and it frightened her. Suddenly frightened her. She looked down at the water, shiny, black, and then something jumped into her mind. A word... South... South... And it made sense. It made sense of the fear of fire. It made sense of not being able to breath. It made sense of the hole in her chest. It explained nothing, yet it made perfect sense.
She turned in the street. She did not know north from south. For a second that seemed to matter, but as another second slipped by, it stopped mattering at all. She stood for a second longer and then walked off into the shadows of the street.
March 13th
Donita
She came awake in the dark, sat up, and stared into the darkness. The old factory was still, quiet, but she knew something had pulled her from her sleep.
Her body had been reduced to skin and bone. The skin had stretched tight, illuminating the bones beneath it, causing ridges and valleys where she had never seen any.
Her skin had peeled away from her face in a few places, and the bone showed through yellow-white, gleaming in the moonlight. Her face was framed by her black hair. It had come back, thicker, changed, but back. It made her wonder what else might change too.
She wandered slowly from the old factory and focused on the moon above, the moon that had never meant much of anything to the old Donita. Now it talked to her, pulled something inside of her - spoke to her very being.
She stood quietly and scented the air. People had been here. Something else, traveling by, had wondered about her but decided against tasting her, warned by some instinct.
The people worried her the most. She could tell from the scent that they had lingered, and they would be back. If she stayed, she would have to deal with them if they came back again.
She looked up at the buildings. Some city, she did not know where it was or what it's name was, only that it was south, and south was where she was headed still, New York far behind her.
She looked off at the other buildings. The hunger drove her. She needed to feed, but she needed more. It o
ccurred to her that she needed more of her own kind. They were out there. They were out there waiting for someone to lead them. Maybe that someone was her. She had no idea where that thought came from, but she trusted in it. She looked up and down the street once more, scented the air and then moved off toward the river.
CHAPTER THREE
Harlem
March 15th
“What I care about is how it goes,” Madison said. “Things are goddamn crazy...” She leaned forward and lowered her voice. “Cammy, these guys intend to run things here... Right here!”
“Never happen,” Cammy said. Her eyes slid past Madison and found Dollar where he stood with the curtains barely opened, looking out into the street, one gun stuffed into the back of his jeans, the other out and in his hand where he flicked the safety on and off, on and off as he peeked through the curtains at every new gunshot. There had been running gunfights most of the day. He was crazy, and getting crazier as the time rolled by.
“I know. Which is why we need to go. When it fails, they'll come here and kill all of us,” she whispered.
Dollar's head suddenly appeared over Cammy's shoulder. “And what are you two bitches whispering about?” His eyes were wild. He had access to as much cocaine as he wanted, and he had been shoveling it in for the last few days, unsure of how much he wanted, how much his body could handle, where to draw the line, or even if there was a line he should draw. He scared the hell out of Madison, and it took a lot to scare Madison.
“Shit women talk about,” Madison spat. She pushed Cammy away, got up and got right in Dollar's face. “We need shit, and I already told you, I'm going to get it.”
“Go and I'll shoot you dead,” Dollar said. He waved the gun in her face.
“You know what, I don't think you will,” Madison bluffed. “And, anyway, we're not leaving, we're just going to get some things... lady things... then we'll be back. You really gonna kill me over some shit like that?”
“What things?”
“Tampons.”
“Oh, Jesus,” Dollar said.
Madison laughed.
“I don't want to hear that shit. That's woman’s shit. I don't want to hear it at all.”
“Yeah, dipshit. I tried to tell you that, but you wouldn't let us go, and now it's critical... Crit-it-cal! So unless you want us bleeding all over the place, we have to go.” She was still in his face, inches away.
Dollar stared at her. “I can't fucking believe you said that. That's... that's way too much information.” He spun quickly toward the front windows as the crash of nearby gunfire broke the silence of the street. “You go out there, you'll get killed.”
“Yeah, well, we'll go the back way. Either way, we're going,” Madison said. Her hand moved fast, fished the pistol that was jammed into the back of his pants - behind the belt - out, and then stepped back away before Dollar realized what had happened and spun around.
“And I said...” Dollar started as he turned around. “Wow.” He froze and stared at the gun that had appeared in Madison's hand like so much magic. “Now why did you take my gun?” he asked. His empty hand felt along the back of his jeans where he was sure the gun had come from. He stuffed the gun in his hand into the waistband of his jeans, this time in front. Madison laughed.
“That is not the question you should be asking,” Madison said.
“No? Then what is the question I should be asking, bitch?” Dollar asked. He began to walk towards her. “I bet you ain't got no period either... neither of you. Just said that to keep me away, I bet.”
Madison laughed. “Well, you're right, but that isn't where we were in this conversation. Where we were, was the question. You...” She pulled the slide back on the Automatic, chambering a round. “... should...” Her thumb swept downward and clicked the safety off, “...be asking me the question, and you're not.”
Dollar stopped in his tracks. “Don't fuck around, girl. That ain't no toy.”
“The question, you dumb fuck! The question,” Madison screamed. She pushed the pistol into his face.
“Okay! Okay! The fucking question... The fucking question...” Dollar shrank back, but bumped into the wall and stopped. “I don't know the question. I don't know it.”
“Will she do it?” Madison said. “Will the crazy bitch shoot me?”
Dollar's eyes squinted. Madison waved the gun up and down. His hand darted for his own gun where he had stuffed it into the front waistband of his jeans.
“Yes she will,” Madison yelled as she fired. Dollar was falling before she finished yelling her answer. A second later, as Dollar gasped for air, laying on his side, his knees drawn up, a sucking sound coming from the hole in his chest, Madison reached down, caught Cammy's hand, and they both fled toward the back of the apartment, and the door that lead into the alleyway.
Watertown New York
Mike's Journal
It’s been a very long day in more ways than one. We are five now. Lydia is gone. It’s crazy, but true. Tom is in bad shape, sitting by the fire, reading Lydia’s diary.
We buried her today in Huntingtonville, a little place outside of the city. There’s a cemetery there right by the river. Tom's parents are buried there. Now Lydia is too. It took a lot of work; the ground is still frozen a few feet down. It could’ve been worse. If everything wasn’t melting, we would’ve had a much harder time digging the hole. Tom couldn’t bring himself to do it. Bob and I did it.
To make the explanation short, we were ambushed. I shouldn’t say we. I wasn’t even there. Neither was Jan. We were left behind to watch the cave.
It started in the night; these kids came and stole one of our trucks. We didn’t know they were kids, of course. It turned into a mess. Three kids are dead, young kids. What a waste. We don’t even know why they did it, why they chose to shoot at the others, none of it.
Everyone is messed up - me, Jan too, because we weren’t there. But it’s over. This part’s over, but really it’s not over at all. I don’t know what’s next. None of us do. The day has already lasted fifteen hours so far. The sun doesn’t seem to be moving at all. We don’t know what to make of it. Everyone just wants to get past this day, for it to be over.
Donita and the boy
She had made the boy a few days before. She had been heading out of another city when she had found him and his mother. The mother had given in with no fight. Donita had considered her for her army, but then rejected her. Perhaps if she had fought, maybe. But it seemed to not be a part of who she was. And Donita could not take the chance that she would evolve into a non fighter. It was not something she needed.
The boy's changing was slow, but it was happening She had thought about it before she had done it. The young would be useful. The willing... The powerful... But there was no way to convince them to this side, and so it would have to be the young at first. They were more easily subdued. They could grow into it. They would still change, still become powerful, but they would be much easier for her to control while they did.
Once she had more than the boy, she would have help. No longer would it be only her. She could see the way it would be, not the way her old self saw, but this new way, this new way of knowing that had nothing to do with anything inside of her. Nevertheless, it was solid, real. She could, and did, trust the knowledge that came to her. She would have her army. It would only take time.
Watertown New York: March 17th (Late)
Candace's Diary
I know Mike has written tonight, much earlier, so I won’t go over the same things that I assume he wrote. It’s been a nasty couple of days, and we don’t know if the bad things are over or not. We have new people with us. I really like Patty. I can talk to her, and it’s been awhile, even back in the world, since I’ve been close to another woman like that. Relationships seem to form fast now. It’s just the way of the new world. We’re just taking life as it comes, at face value I guess. There are no directions for us.
Patty, her man and her brother have decided to stay. They
also decided they’ll leave when Mike and I do. They don’t want to face a North Country winter in a cave. We are not cave people and don’t want to be. But we talked about that too; we may end up in some other cave. It could be the quakes have caused devastation everywhere. If so, where else would it be safe? We talked a lot. We talked ourselves out. There’s always tomorrow to talk some more.
Park Avenue: Bear
Bear was curled up on the carpet, Amanda Bynes' carpet, where he had been for hours. Whatever had gone wrong with the world had gotten worse.
It had started yesterday with wind that was like a hurricane. It had blown into the city, and the rain had not been far behind it. Heavy rain, torrential rain. He had been in Mobile Alabama one year, waiting on a train to go back to New York. A hurricane was closing in. It had hit the city a glancing blow, and it had seemed the same as this. Heavy rain, the wind so hard it seemed to roar.
Then the lightening had come, and the thunder. Huge bolts. Deafening. Then there was a bad earthquake. The entire building shook, and he was convinced it would go down, believed it had to. How could it stand through that? But it had.
He had begun to get sick shortly after that, vomiting until there was nothing left, and still his stomach had not been satisfied. He still dry heaved for hours, it seemed.
The night went on and on, seemed to last forever. It was like the sun just decided not to rise the next day. Or the next day never came. He didn't know which, anymore than he knew what day it really was now.
There was sunlight. Sparse, barely there, but he could see through the sliding glass doors to the balcony. It seemed to be covered with dirty snow. Mounds of it. He closed his eyes, squeezed them tightly, and rolled up into a sitting position. His stomach threatened again, but he waited it out. Once he felt he could walk, he got to his feet, walked to the glass doors and slid them open.