by Amy Cross
"You're a doctor?" I ask, loitering by the door.
"Don't get too excited," she replies. "This kind of thing isn't my specialty, not by a long shot. I can take out bullets and deliver a baby when the time comes, but I'm not going to be much use when it comes to trying to work out what the hell's going on." She pauses. "I'm pretty good with a sterilized needle and some thread, though."
"We're gonna stick around for a few weeks," Erikson adds. "I've spoken to Toad, and he's fine with it. Well, maybe 'fine' isn't the right word, but he's gonna let us stay. Patty's a doctor, so we figure it'll be useful to have the baby here, just in case there are any complications." He pauses. "You're welcome to get going by yourself, but if you want to wait for us, we're still probably gonna take the van eventually. It's just gonna be delayed, that's all."
"Where's this Toad guy?" I ask. "I haven't met him yet."
"Out in the woods," Patricia replies. "Some of the others go off foraging during the day. Most of them come back empty-handed, but Toad knows the land. He always finds something, and he's pretty good at setting traps. He knows which mushrooms are safe to eat, and berries, and he's already been cultivating some patches of land for a while. In a way, he's the only person I've met so far who seems remotely equipped to deal with this situation. He's got a huge stash of canned food in his basement, too, and pitchers for collecting rain-water."
"Toad was a survivalist," Erikson continues. "Sort of, anyway. He moved out here and started going a little peculiar. You know, one of those people who decide to go and live alone in the sticks and become totally self-sufficient, because they think the end of the world's coming."
"To be fair," Patricia says, with a half-hearted smile, "he might have had a point."
"I guess maybe it was a good idea after all," Erikson mutters. "I mean, he's sure saved our asses." He pauses. "But this isn't the end of the world. No fucking way. This is just a little pause while everything goes nuts. It's a correction. Things'll be back to normal soon."
"You'll meet Toad later," Patricia adds. "Just don't go expecting much in the way of conversation. He keeps himself to himself."
"Not in a good way, either," Erikson says, before taking another swig from his bottle of beer. "In a potential serial killer kind of way. The guy's totally fucked up." Getting to his feet, he comes over to join me at the door. "I know it's against the rules, but seeing as Toad's out, I figure I might go down and get one more beer."
"That's stealing!" Patricia says firmly.
"I think the world owes me one fucking beer," Erikson replies. "After everything that's happened in the past week, one beer isn't too much to ask for!"
"Toad doesn't owe you anything," Patricia says.
"It's just a beer," he mutters, stepping past me and heading inside. "Just one time. Keep your mouths shut. I'm celebrating the imminent birth of a baby. I'll skip my beer next week or something."
"He's an idiot," Patricia says after a moment, fixing me with a curious stare. "Please tell me he's not actually a friend of yours."
"I met him yesterday," I reply.
"That's better," she says. "I've met men like him before. They're no good, in the long run. I pity that poor bitch who's carrying his baby. Christ, I can't imagine letting such a waste of space into my bed, but I guess it's different strokes for different folks." She pauses. "Can you fire a shotgun, Elizabeth?"
"Me?" I stare at her for a moment. "I guess so."
"Wrong answer," she replies. "Either you can or you can't. If you can't, it's fine, but you need to be honest so we can teach you." She stares at me for a moment. "That's a good general rule around here. Don't try to cover up anything. If you can't do something, just say so, and someone'll teach you."
"I can't fire a shotgun," I admit. "I mean, I've never tried."
"I'll teach you this afternoon," she says. "You'll have a hell of a bruise from the kickback after the first couple of times."
"Why do I need to be able to fire a shotgun?" I ask.
"Two reasons. First, you need to be able to shoot at random people who drive up to the house." She pauses. "That was a joke. But seriously, those creatures we talked about, they're real and they're bad news. The policy here is to shoot on sight. No questions, just get a couple of shots off. Fortunately, they seem to drop pretty easily. Blam, if you're a good shot, you can get 'em down. Blam blam if you're not so steady. Anyway, once one's been killed, you keep the hell away from it. Someone's always on watch, twenty-four-seven, which is why we're happy to have a few new arrivals. You're gonna have to take your turn, Elizabeth, and the first couple of times are pretty damn spooky."
"You mean they come here?" I ask, shocked at the idea of those things suddenly appearing on the horizon. I turn and look out at the field, but there's no sign of anything so far.
"We've only had two so far," she replies. "Actually, one was before I got here, and the other was two days ago. Still, they were both headed straight for the farmhouse, which has got us a little spooked. It's almost as if they're drawn here, like moths to a flame. I'm assuming it's either scent-based or they're attracted to heat. Granted, we don't know what they'd do if they actually got here, but none of us wants to find out."
"They talk," I say.
She raises an eyebrow.
"The one in New York talked," I continue. "It didn't really make much sense. It seems confused, but it seemed kind of lucid. Like it was taunting us."
"I didn't know they could talk," she replies, visibly a little shocked. "That's gonna make shooting them a little more interesting."
Feeling as if my legs might give way, I walk across the porch and take a seat. The enormity of this situation has suddenly become very apparent to me, and I can't help thinking that maybe we should just keep running. After all, if those creatures are attracted to this place, we're clearly not safe.
"It's okay," Patricia says after a moment. "It's going to be fine."
"What is?" I ask.
"This. The world. I don't know how or when, but it's going to get fixed. This is just a temporary emergency."
I stare at her. "Who's going to fix it?" I ask, thinking back to a few days ago when I told Henry more or less the same thing, only to be proved wrong when Bob opened fire.
"You don't think the government's out there, working on something?" she asks, taking a cigarette packet from her shirt pocket and removing a single cigarette. "This is my last one," she continues, turning the little paper tube around and around between her fingers. "Fuck, I'm gonna miss it when it's gone. It's the one damn thing Toad hasn't been bothering to grow himself. No tobacco. It's gonna be a problem when I've finally smoked this one, but I'm saving it for a special occasion." She pauses, and it's clear that she's genuinely struggling to refrain from lighting up. "I just hope there's a special occasion before..." Her voice trails off, before she slips the cigarette back into the packet and puts the whole thing back in her shirt pocket.
"I think Erikson might have some cigarettes," I say after a moment.
She shakes her head. "He smoked his last one earlier. Don't think I don't know he's got his eye on mine, either. There's no way he's getting it, though." She pauses. "So, Elizabeth, I guess we should start training you up on one of the rifles. There's no point sitting around wasting time." She turns and looks out at the horizon. "We don't know when another of those things might turn up around here, but it could come at any moment, and I figure it's better to hit them while they're still fairly far out." Getting to her feet, she turns to me and smiles. "Come on. It's not that scary, really. Once you know how to use a gun properly, you'll feel a hell of a lot safer."
Before I can say anything, there's a distant rumbling sound and the whole world seems to shake for a moment, rattling the house before the tremor subsides.
"Not the first time," Patricia says, staring at me with a look of fear in her eyes. "You felt that before too, right?"
I nod.
She pauses. "Whatever it is," she continues eventually, "I don't like it. It doe
sn't feel natural."
Chapter Six
Missouri
"Faster!" the guy shouts, standing at the top of the hill and watching as I struggle with the barrel of water I'm supposed to be dragging to the house. "We haven't got all day!" he continues. "I want this done before it gets dark! There's still a few more jobs I need doing!"
"It'd be easier if my legs weren't chained together," I mutter.
"What was that?" he calls out.
"Nothing!" I shout, giving the barrel another heave as I finally get it onto the level ground that surrounds the house. It's taken me almost half an hour to get the damn thing up a slope that seemed at times to be running at a forty or fifty per cent incline. Given that the barrel is completely full of rain water, I guess I shouldn't be surprised that I almost collapsed several times. "Why do you keep this thing down by the road, anyway?" I ask, out of breath and generally feeling as if I might black out at any moment. I swear to God, with the late afternoon sun beating down on me, I'm sweating like a pig, and there's no sign of any let-up.
"None of your business," he replies, raising the rifle so that the barrel is once again pointed at me. "You're not done yet. I want this thing over by the door. It's the best clean water source we've got right now. I don't know how long I'll be having you around, boy, but I might as well make use of you while you're here."
Figuring that there's no point trying to argue, I start rolling the barrel toward the house. There's a part of me that wants to just make a run at the old bastard and try to knock him down. Sure, he might manage to get a shot off and blow my head to pieces, but on the other hand I might just manage to get to him. It's not that I want to kill him, but I sure as hell don't plan to let him keep pushing me around like this. I've already got some kind of plan worked out: I'm going to lull him into a false sense of security, make him think he can trust me a little, and then I'm going to bash his head against a rock.
"This is what happens to murderers," he says, watching me for a few meters away. "Thieves, too. You're gonna have to work off your sins, and I intend to make sure that you do just that. God wouldn't want it any other way."
"This isn't anything to do with God!" I say, but before I can add anything else, there's a kind of rumbling sound, and for a moment everything starts shaking. I look over at the guy, and I'm just about to make a lunge for the gun when the trembling stops and everything goes back to normal.
"See?" he says. "That's what God thinks about you. He's sending a message. You've sinned, boy, and you've got to make it right. There's no point pretending otherwise."
"That wasn't God," I tell him.
"Who else can make the ground shake?" he asks. "Who else can make the whole world tremble? You'd do well to remember that the Lord's watching you, boy. He can see everything you do, and he knows what's in your heart. He's everywhere. Don't they teach you kids anything these days? Don't you even know what God is and what he can do to you?"
Setting the barrel in position next to the door, I take a step back. I've always thought that I'm in pretty good shape, but that was by far the hardest job I've ever had to do in my life, and right now I feel as if I need to rest. It's pretty clear that this guy is going to keep pushing me until I drop.
"Grab a shovel," the guy says.
I turn to him.
"Do I have to say everything twice?" he asks. "Get a shovel. There's plenty resting over by the side of the house. Just grab one. Doesn't matter which, as long as it's sturdy. You're gonna be using it for a few hours, though, so make sure it's one you can grip properly. Don't get the biggest one. It's too big for you."
Sighing, I walk over and pick up the nearest shovel. It's clear that this guy, whose name I don't even know, has decided that I'm going to be his general, all-purpose slave, and while he's holding that rifle, there's no way I can even hope to get the hell out of here. Still, he's pretty old and frail, so I'm sure I can overpower him once I've managed to get close enough, so once again it's clear that my best option is to find a way to make him think that I'm harmless. I need to spend a few days, maybe even a week, being obedient and well-behaved, and then I need to watch out for the right moment to strike.
"Come on!" he calls out. "The longer you delay, the later you'll be working!"
Carrying the shovel back over to him, I follow as he leads me over to the trees. We walk a few hundred meters into the forest, before finally he stops and turns to me. As usual, the rifle is pointed straight at my head, and I have no doubt that he'd use it if he thought I was going to try anything. I can only hope that his trigger finger isn't twitchy.
"Dig," he says firmly.
"Here?"
"Here."
I look down at the dry ground. "Why?" I ask.
"Why do you think?" He smiles. "You don't think we're gonna leave that corpse just sitting in the back of that truck, do you? Jesus Christ, boy, what kind of idiot are you? There's disease and all sorts of reasons why we've gotta get rid of it. You dig a hole, and dig it deep. There's a reason churches put bodies six feet under. It's to make it so wild animals can't dig people up. So get at least six feet down, maybe seven. I don't want any mistakes being made here. If in doubt, go a little deeper. Doesn't have to be too wide, though. It's not like we've got anything fancy like a coffin."
"A grave?" I say, my heart racing as I realize what he wants me to do. "For my brother?"
"He's liable to start stinking," the guy continues, with that big smile still plastered across his face. "There'll be flies and everything if we don't get moving, so I figure there's no time like the present." He pauses for a moment. "What are you waiting for, boy? Dig!"
Chapter Seven
Pennsylvania
Dinner at the farmhouse is a strange event. There's a guy named Bridger who seems to be in charge of cooking, and everyone else seems content to let him stir the pot. Patricia, meanwhile, seems pretty nervous, and I can't help but notice that she takes her last cigarette out a few times and twirls it between her fingers, but she always puts it back in the packet after a few minutes. With Shauna having decided to stay in bed upstairs, Erikson seems kind of relaxed, although I'm suspicious that he might have taken more than one extra beer. There's also a guy named Thor, from Sweden, who seems polite but quiet, and it's his job this evening to keep an eye on the horizon and watch out for any unwelcome visitors. As we sit at the large kitchen table, there's not much conversation, and everyone seems intently focused on their food, as if it's the most important thing in the world.
"So what do you guys think Toad'll bring back tonight?" Patricia asks eventually, as she finishes her bowl of meat soup. She turns to Bridger. "What was in this tonight, anyway? Please don't tell me it was rat meat."
"We're not on the rat meat yet," Bridger replies with a half-smile. "I thought we agreed that there'd be a don't ask, don't tell policy regarding the food. Believe me, if we have to sit around here much longer, you guys are definitely not gonna want to know what starts going into the pot."
"Come on, just tell us," Patricia says. "We might as well know."
Bridger pauses. "Beef," he says eventually.
"Beef?" Patricia replies, as if she can't quite believe it. "Seriously?"
"Beef," Bridger says again, with a shrug. "I'm using up some frozen beef that's been thawing in the basement. Don't get too used to it. It's gonna be all gone within a week. That's when we might have to start thinking about the rat meat. There's plenty of rats around here." He glances over at me. "So how were things in New York? After the shit hit the fan, I mean."
"It was pretty empty," I reply, realizing that everyone's turned to stare at me. "Not much going on."
"Sirens and stuff?" Bridger asks. "I've been wondering ever since this started, how it went down in the major population centers. Was there looting and stuff?"
I shake my head. "Everyone seemed to kind of vanish. I think people felt ill overnight and mostly went home. There were bodies in some of the cars, though."
"But no marauding gangs?" he c
ontinues.
"A few psychos," I reply, trying hard not to picture Bob's demented grin. "There were some planes that came down."
"Fuck," Bridger says, unable to hide a smile. "I bet that was a sight."
I smile awkwardly, not really wanting to get into the details. Even though it's only been just over a week since this whole disaster started, I feel as if I'm no longer even on the same planet as New York. Two days ago, I was still in the city with Henry and Bob, and now here I am, a thousand miles from nowhere and sitting in a room with a bunch of people I'd never even met when I set out from the city yesterday morning. Everything's moving so fast.
"Did they, like, just drop from the sky likes fucking stones?" Bridger asks. "Were there explosions?"
I nod.
"She probably doesn't want to talk about it," Patricia says, interrupting the conversation. "I imagine it was a pretty traumatic time."
"Yeah, but -"
"Bridger!" she says firmly. "Maybe leave it, yeah? Think about what it must have been like out there. I'm glad I happened to be out here in the sticks when it happened. The cities must have been hell."
"Toad's back," Thor says suddenly, looking out the window. It's almost dark outside, but there's still a little light, and seconds later I hear footsteps on the porch before a distant door opens and someone enters a different part of the house.
"Told you he's anti-social," Patricia says, turning to me. "Still, you should probably go and introduce yourself. It's only polite."
I stare at her, trying to work out whether or not she's joking. I guess I'm hoping that I won't actually have to go and meet Toad, at least not tonight. After everything that people have been saying about the guy, they've kind of built him up to be some kind of freak, and the last thing I want to do is meet another guy like Bob. Maybe I'm just being paranoid, but it feels as if the events of the past week have brought out the worst in some people.