"Mother," she called out. "Are you there?"
Marianne tried to get onto her feet, but she was tired and didn't have the energy. She took a few more deep breaths and tried again.
This time she managed. Not without some difficulty. She pressed her hands against the wall to keep herself from falling. It was difficult to balance herself properly.
Once she did, she looked over at her mother's bed. Her mother wasn't there. Her confusion turned to worry.
"Mother?" she cried out. "Where are you?"
She pushed herself away from the wall and stumbled to the bed. She placed both hands down on it.Where had her mother gone? What had happened? She looked around.
Then she saw that thing on the other side of the bed again.What was it?
She took a closer look.
It was her mother's nightdress!
Marianne tried to rush over to help her mother, but it wasn't easy. Her legs kept threatening to give out underneath her.
When she got to her mother, she looked down. The old woman was staring at her.Those black eyes.Her face was contorted into a fit of rage.
It was then that it all came back to her.The attack. The change. How her mother had come after her. The people outside. Killing one another.Marianne's legs gave out and she fell back down onto the floor.
This time she didn't faint. She had her back against her mother's bed.
What had happened?she wondered again. She took a few more deep breaths.This wasn't good. Something bad had happened outside. Something bad had happened to her mother.
But it hadn't affectedherself.
Marianne ran her fingers to her cheeks. She held them there for a few moments. Feeling her soft skin. Wondering if this was all a dream of some sort. She didn't think so. But she didn't know what to think of it, either.
When Marianne decided to move again, the room was a lot darker. Though she could still she her mother beside her.
She tried not to look at the old woman, but couldn't help it. She kept staring at her mother's big black eyes. They had never looked that way before. Such anger. Almost evil.
Her mother was anything but. She had been a lovely lady. Had always taken care of Marianne. Given her what she needed. And when she had gotten too old and sick, Marianne had tried to take care of her.
Now, here she was, lying dead on the floor.
It caused Marianne's nerves to run wild. It made her mind think of questions she wasn't able to answer. None of it made any sense.
"Oh, mother…"
She sat in silence for a while, until she realized that she couldn't hear anything coming from outside anymore. The sounds seemed to have stopped. She turned away from her mother and looked toward the window. She couldn't see anything out there; not from where she was sitting.
She got to her feet.
This time, her legs felt more secure underneath her. She felt better. Stronger. She walked over to the window and pulled the curtains back.
It was far into the night, but she could still see a lot. There were smashed cars. Bodies. Blood. They covered the whole of the way up and down her street. There were a few fires. Lots of garbage.
To her surprise, there was nothing else. No more people running around. No one attacking anyone. No one fighting. Marianne thought that whatever had happened might be over.It just might be.
It wasn't.
Marianne heard a scream. She looked out across the street and saw someone.
It was difficult to make out who it was from this distance, but she could see that it was a woman. She was crouched down by one of the cars, leaning over another body, pounding her fists against it.
The woman screamed again.
Marianne gasped and felt a chill run through her. The scream reminded her of her mother - how she had screamed when she had attacked. She almost let go of the curtain, but didn't. She wanted to keep watching to see if she could figure any of this out.
The woman screamed once more. Then there was another shout from somewhere down the street.
The woman turned her head to listen to it. She stopped beating on the body and scanned the road.
Marianne couldn't see anyone else out there, but she heard another shout.
The woman did too. She stood up and screamed back. Then she ran toward where the other voice had come from.
Marianne knew that there was going to be another fight. Whatever had happened, people wanted to kill each other. That was all that she knew. Just like her mother had wanted to kill her.
She looked over at her mother. From where she was, it was far too dark to see her all that well. Except for the eyes. She could still see those.
Day 2
Chapter 1
Marianne opened her eyes. It was early morning, the sun barely coming into the room. She was lying in her mother's bed, but didn't know how she had gotten there. She couldn't remember crawling under the covers, resting her head on the pillow, going to sleep. She didn't remember any of it. Yet there she was. In her mother's bed. Herdeadmother's bed. She rememberedthat much. She also hadn't forgotten about the killing outside. She had seen the bodies lying out there, seen the blood.
But when did she get into bed?
She supposed it didn't matter.
She took a deep breath and got up.
Her mother was still lying on the floor.Of course she was. Her lifeless body wasn't going to go anywhere.
Marianne looked down at the corpse. At hermother. The old woman's skin looked a little paler; but, other than that, nothing else had changed. Her face had that same expression of anger on it. The eyes continued to stare.Those black eyes.It all brought such a horrible feeling to Marianne. She felt sadness mixed with confusion. She wasn't sure if fear played a part, but assumed that it must have.
"Oh, mother."
She turned away from the dead body and made her way over to the window. She pulled the curtains back and looked outside. Things were easier to see in the daylight. They weren't much different than she had expected. The street was a mess. There were car accidents, broken windows. A few houses had been burnt.
Then there were the bodies. They were lying about everywhere, blood and body parts underneath them.
Marianne shook her head.This was bad.
What was worse was that she was left to deal with it.On her own.
She knew that help wasn't going to come. If it had been, she would have heard something outside. Seen something like a police car or an ambulance.
She looked back at her mother and couldn't help but wish that the old woman was alive. She knew that she wouldn't have been much help in the situation. She could barely speak at the best of times. And she rarely ever moved. But if her mother had still been alive, Marianne knew that she wouldn't feel so alone. She'd have someone to talk to, someone to care for.
"Oh, mother," she said again.
And, just like that, she realized that she couldn't stay in her house anymore. Not with her mother decomposing in front of her. She walked passed the old woman and out of the bedroom.
She made her way to her own room. It was small, but big enough for what she had needed - which hadn't been much. A bed, a closet, a little reading chair.
She went over to the closet and opened it. Her clothes were hung neatly on their hangers. Bright colours, nearly all of them, flashed back at her.
She loved colourful things. They made her happy. She thought that they made other people happy too.
She pulled out a few of her favourite blouses and laid them on the bed. She looked them over, but without much hesitation she reached out and grabbed her favourite. It was a bright yellow one with blue and purple flowers on it.
This shirt always made Marianne smile. And, though she didn't smile at it today, she felt a little better looking at it.
She took it off the hangar and forgot about the others. She had no interest in taking them with her.
Next, Marianne walked back to the closet and looked for a pair of pants. Most of her pants looked the same, none of them the bright
colours of her shirts. She could only go so far with that. She didn't want to look ridiculous. There was something nice -classy - about wearing a bright shirt with dark-coloured pants. She didn't know what it was. Only that they looked good together.
She pulled out a pair of black slacks. They were a little dressy and probably not the best for walking outside with all of the damage done out there, but she wasn't going to worry about it. Right now, she simply wanted to look nice.
She took off her old clothes and started to get into the new ones. She changed her socks, bra and panties first. Then she slid her pants slid smoothly over her legs. But, as she pulled the yellow shirt over her shoulders and did it up, she was surprised to she that her hands were shaking. She struggled with the buttons.
She let out a sigh once she had finished and she walked out of her room. It would be the last time she would be in there, but she didn't hold much sentimentality to it. It had been a place that she had lived in, not that she had loved.
She made her way back to her mother's room and looked down at the dead body. Now this was what she had loved,who she had loved. She could hardly believe it that her mother was dead.
Marianne bent down onto her knees and ran her hand along her mother's back. The body was somewhat cold, somewhat hard. She bent over and kissed her mother's temple, trying not to look at the dead woman's black eyes. Unfortunately, they were hard to miss.
Marianne pushed her feelings of fear aside. This was her mother, after all.
"I'll miss you," she said to the dead woman. "I love you."
She waited a few seconds for it all to set in.
Marianne bent over and kissed her mother once more. Then she stood up and walked down the hallway.
*
As Marianne approached her front door, she started to feel nervous about going outside. It wasn't going to be safe out there. She might get attacked. Maybe even killed. Except the idea of staying in her house wasn't all that much better.
She had to risk it. She couldn't stay here.
She put on a pair of walking shoes. She didn't think that they matched her outfit all that well, but she couldn't wear dress shoes. Not out there. Not in the blood. Not through the dead bodies.What if she had to run? She had to be practical about this.
She laced up her shoes and stood up.
Over on a little table near the door was her purse. She grabbed it and put it over her shoulder. She had carried a purse with her for the past twenty-five or so years and wasn't going to stop now. She patted it a few times just to make sure that she had everything.
Though really,she wondered,what in there did she actually need?
She decided not to think about it. She wanted to bring her purse with her and that's what she was going to do.
Besides,she figured,it might come in handy.
She unlocked the door and opened it. The light shone so brightly that she had to squint her eyes.
"Ah-ha," she said to herself.
Quickly, she dug her hand into her purse and pulled out a little case. Inside were her sunglasses. She took them out, closed the case and put it back inside her purse. She placed the sunglasses on her face.
See, it came in handy already.
She took a step outside.
Once her foot left her house, part of her wanted to run back in and hide with her mother. It was a brief sensation that was replaced by her common sense. Her mother was dead. She couldn't look to the old woman for any help. She had to find it somewhere else.If it existed.
She took a few steps forward. Then another few.
"Good bye, mother," she said.
And, with that, Marianne started on her way.
Chapter 2
John opened his eyes. His head was resting on his arm. He had fallen asleep on the workbench sometime during the night. He stretched and sat up.
His wife was sitting beside him. She looked awful. Her skin was pale, her eyes red.
John knew that she hadn't gotten any sleep. She had just stayed in that position all night. Holding the can of pop. Looking at the wall. Probably thinking about all that she had witnessed.Mr. Williams.
"Alice?" he said. He grabbed her hand and tried shaking it. He felt the liquid inside the can move. She hadn't drank much of it. "Honey?"
She didn't respond.
He shook her hand again. Then he reached over and rubbed her shoulder.
"Alice, it's me, John. Are you okay?"
Nothing.
"Can you hear me?"
John started to panic. He knew that his wife needed help, that she had gone into some type of shock. He could feel tears well up in his eyes and, no matter how hard he tried to stop them, they soon started flowing down his cheeks.
"Alice, Alice, Alice."He wiped his tears, then placed his hand back onto his wife's. "Alice?"
She didn't respond. She was stuck in a thought that he didn't think that he could distract her from.
"Alice, please."
His voice sounded strange to him in the silence of the basement. It sounded fragile, tired, defenceless. At the moment, he felt all of those things as well.
But he knew that he couldn't give up. He wasn't going to leave his wife like this. He had to try something.
"Alice," he said once more.
Nothing.
At that, the thought of going upstairs entered his mind. He could bring her something. Maybe her favourite sweater. Or, even better, he could get some photos of their family, of their friends. That might snap her out of it.
Of course, he second-guessed himself,that might only make matters worse. They had no idea what had happened to their children or to their grandchildren. It was possible that they were all okay, but they hadn't been able to contact them because Alice had dropped the phone upstairs...
The phone! He'd get the phone! He might be able to find out a little bit more about what had happened. Possibly reach their children.
He looked at his wife again. He could hear her breathing, though even that was hard to make out. She took soft, little breaths. So much so that he couldn't even see if her chest was rising and falling. He assured himself that it was. It had to be.
He wiped away the rest of his tears and stood up from his chair. He didn't want to leave his wife alone, but he didn't think that he had much of a choice. He needed to get some things from upstairs that might help.And the phone!
He also thought he could bring down some food. He knew that she must be hungry.Hewas.And he needed to go to the washroom.
He wondered if his wife did too. Except, right now, he didn't think that he'd be able to do much about it.
"Alice?"
Nothing.
"I'm going to go upstairs."
As he spoke, part of him had hoped that she would react to his words. The night before, she had been so adamant that he not go upstairs.
She remained still.
He leaned over and kissed her on the forehead. She didn't appear to notice. John let out a sigh.
"You'll get better soon," he said. "I promise."
He got up and walked toward the foot of the stairs.
As he passed by the broken window, he looked over at it. He couldn't hear anything coming from outside anymore. It was quiet. Like any other normal day.
He wanted to look out of it, but knew that he'd be able to see more than enough when he went upstairs. He could wait.
He made it to the bottom of the stairs and stopped. His body was feeling a lot better now that he had had some rest. There were no longer the sharp pains running through him.
He placed his foot onto the first step. He'd make sure to take it slowly, hold onto the railing. He couldn't risk another accident. Not with his wife sitting in the basement, staring at the wall. Not with help nowhere to be seen.
He took one careful step after the other and eventually made it to the top. He reached out and grabbed hold of the lock. He didn't open it right away. He needed to catch his breath. Climbing up the stairs had taken a bit out of him. More than that, he ne
eded to prepare himself. He didn't know what -if anything - was on the other side of the door.
He waited a moment longer. He couldn't hear any noise out there. He slid the lock free.
John let out a deep breath that took him by surprise. He hadn't known that he had been holding it. He must have been more scared than he had thought.
He grabbed the door knob.
This is it, he told himself.Ready?
He nodded his head and turned the knob.
Chapter 3
Scooter didn't know what the hell had happened. One minute he had been on the way from his high school to his part-time job. The next, people had been trying to kill each other -and him. He had managed to get out of the bus he had been riding and hide underneath it.
He had spent the whole night there, watching. He had seen feet scurry past. The people that fell in front of him tore at each other's faces, ripped off arms and legs, punched, kicked, bit.
None of it seemed possible.
He had only been able to build up the courage to move once the sun had come up.
Now, as he walked through the dead bodies, blood stuck to his big boots. Corpses were everywhere. There didn't seem to be any of thosethings -the ones that went crazy - around. He didn't know where they had gone.
Probably killed themselves off, he figured.
He kept walking and only stopped once he got to the edge of a large parking lot. It spread out before him. He could see cars smashed into one another, bodies on the ground.
He had arrived at his work: the airport.
Scooter didn't know why he had come here. He was sure that everyone he had worked with would either be dead or turned into one of thosethings. But he had been on his way here, so it seemed like the best place to come.
He had thought of going home, except there wasn't much for him there. He lived in a small apartment with his family. They never seemed to hold much love for him. They probably wouldn't even know that he was missing. If they hadn't changed, that was.
Scooter made his way through the parking lot.
Not far into it, he noticed a car off to his side. The driver's side door was open. A body hung half-way out of it. A woman. He walked up to the car slowly and looked inside. No one else was inside.
Glory (Book 2) Page 4