Mass Extinction Event (Book 2): Days 9-16

by Amy Cross

  Getting to her feet, she looks across the basement and realizes that there's no way out, no chance of escape. She also knows that her father will never set her free. Her only hope is to spur him to come back down and kill her quickly; otherwise, she knows he'll leave her to starve.

  "Satan is in this house!" she screams at the door, hoping to goad him into killing her. "Satan walks through these rooms and takes the guise of a vain and pompous old fool!" She hears her father's footsteps above her. "I have seen the face of Satan," she shouts, "and I have seen the face of my father, and they are one and the same!" She waits for him to come back down, but finally she realizes that she hasn't yet said enough.

  "Kill me!" she screams, banging her fists on the low ceiling. "You coward! Get down here and cut my throat! If you think I'm so evil, kill me!"

  She waits, but all she hears is silence.

  "Father!" she screams. "I dare you! Come and do the Lord's work! End my life!" Finally, collapsing in tears, she crawls over to the far corner and curls up into a ball. "Please," she whimpers, "kill me. I beg you. Come down here and end my life, so that I might pass on to the next world." She waits, but there is no sound from above, and all she can do is sob and hope that the end comes soon. She still believes, however, that she'll be free of her father's influence eventually, even if this freedom doesn't come until after her earthly body has failed.

  "Dear Lord," she whispers, "grant me escape from this man." She pauses. "And... grant me the opportunity, one day, to make him see the true horror of his cruelty."

  Day Fifteen

  Prologue

  One year ago

  "Knock knock," says a voice over by the door. ""Patricia? You decent?"

  "No," I reply, sitting at my desk as I go through the files for a couple of my patients. "You can come in anyway, though."

  The door creaks open and John's smiling face appears. "So I was thinking that maybe you and I could go and get some lunch together." He pauses, as if he's waiting for a reply. "On me, of course. Think of it as a kind of peace offering."

  "There's no need for a peace offering," I reply, turning to the next page in Mrs. Ormiston's file. "Anyway, the best peace offering you could give me right now would be to let me get on with my work. I'm drowning in a sea of paperwork."

  "Everyone needs a break," he replies, walking over to the desk. "You're gonna go crazy if you just sit there all day, Patricia. Come and have lunch with me. We'll go to that place down the road. You'll be away from the surgery for half an hour, maximum." He pauses. "For my sake? Can't you at least give me the opportunity to make up for being an ass this morning?"

  "You weren't an ass this morning," I reply, before realizing that there's no way he's going to drop this until he thinks he's forgiven. "You just pushed a little too hard," I add, looking up at him. "You didn't see things from my point of view, and you treated me like an idiot, but it's fine. I'm a big girl, and I can get past it. What I can't get past is this pile of paperwork. I have to go through it all, and if I don't get it done during my lunch break, I'll have to stay late tonight. If we sacrifice having lunch together, we might actually be able to have dinner together for once."

  "You know what I dream of?" he asks tentatively.

  "What?" I reply with a sigh.

  "A day when we have lunch and dinner together." He pauses. "That's my vision of an ideal marriage. Hell, breakfast too. Do you think we can ever manage that? Breakfast, lunch and dinner together, as a family."

  "We're not a family," I reply, unable to hide the irritation in my voice. "Family implies more than just a husband and wife, John."

  "We'll get a dog."

  "I don't want a dog."

  "Cats, then."

  Sighing, I sit back and try to work out how the hell I'm going to get him to understand my point of view. "Is it so weird," I continue after a moment, "for a woman to not want to have children?"

  "No," he replies, "I just..." He pauses again, and I can see that he's struggling. "It's a little weird not to mention such a life-changing decision to your husband a little earlier."

  "I should have told you before we got married?" I ask. "So you could decide whether you still wanted to go ahead?"

  "Patricia -"

  "You're right," I continue. "Okay? You've got me. You're absolutely, 100% right. I should have told you. It's dumb, but at the time, I didn't think it was a big deal. You'd never mentioned wanting kids!"

  "I thought it was assumed."

  "It's best not to make assumptions about other people," I point out. "Most of the time, people don't fit into the neat little boxes you want to impose on them."

  He stares at me for a moment, as if he doesn't know what to say. I can tell that he's hurting; until this morning, I never realized that John was so desperate to have kids, and now suddenly I feel like some kind of evil monster who's come along and told him that he can't have his dream. The truth, though, is that I've never, ever wanted to have children. Maybe that makes me selfish, maybe it even means that there's something wrong with me, but I can't change the way I feel, not even if my marriage is at risk. I'm not gonna squirt out a kid just to put a smile on John's face.

  "You're still standing there," I say after a moment, "staring at me with those puppy dog eyes."

  "Will you definitely be home for dinner?" he asks.

  I nod.

  "Definitely?"

  "Definitely."

  "I'll make something special," he continues, with a defeated smile. "It'd be good to be able to unwind and relax and -"

  "Talk?"

  "Talking's good," he adds. "Right?"

  "It depends if you're talking because you're having a good time," I reply, "or talking because you're trying to change someone's mind about something?"

  Walking around to my side of the desk, he kisses the top of my head before turning and heading back over to the door.

  "I'll be home around seven," I tell him.

  "I'll have dinner on the table at eight," he replies.

  Once he's gone, I take a deep breath. Tonight is going to be hell. There's no way that John's going to just accept my decision this easily; either he'll bring it up over dinner and try to pressure me to change my mind, or he'll take a more drawn-out approach and try to nudge me toward the idea of children. I love him, but the guy's about as subtle as a brick to the face, and I'm starting to realize that he's more caught up in the idea of having children than I ever anticipated. I'd like to believe that we'll get through this difficult phase and that, eventually, we'll carry on as normal. The truth, though, is that I think maybe there's no way back from here.

  Opening a drawer in my desk, I take out the packet of cigarettes I stashed away a few months ago. I open the top and look down at the one remaining cigarette. I've been telling myself to save the last cigarette for an emergency, but although I'm tempted to light it up right now, I finally manage to overcome the urge and, instead, I put the packet away. Closing my eyes, I try to relax. Things are going to be okay. They have to be okay. John has to accept my decision eventually. Everything's going to be fine.

  Today

  Elizabeth

  Pennsylvania

  "How's she doing?" Patricia asks as she walks quietly into the room.

  I nod, not wanting to disturb the baby as she sleeps in my arms. It's about 6am and the sun's first rays are starting to lift bring light to the farmhouse. Having cried for most of the night, the baby has finally fallen asleep and seems to be absolutely content in my arms. I'm terrified to move, though, in case I wake her from her slumber; she looks so peaceful and happy, and there's a part of me that thinks she's better off sleeping. Every time she opens her eyes, she seems upset and troubled, almost as if she senses that there's something horribly wrong with the world.

  "Did you change her?" Patricia asks, sitting next to me on the edge of the bed.

  I nod again.

  "And you used talcum powder?"

  I nod again.

  "And did she sleep okay?"
r />   "It wasn't too bad," I reply. "She cried once, around two in the morning, but that was because there was another of those booms in the distance. Did you hear it?"

  "The windows rattled," she replies, and it's clear that she's worried.

  "It was the fourth one this week," I point out. "What do you think it is?"

  "Probably nothing."

  "It's something!" I reply. "It comes from different directions at different times. It's like..." My voice trails off for a moment as I realize that I don't quite want to say what's on my mind.

  "Like the end of the world?" she asks with a smile.

  "I just wish it'd stop," I continue, "or if something's going to happen, I wish it'd hurry up and just happen. I'd rather get it over with." As the baby starts to screw her face up, as if she's about to cry, I lean down and kiss her forehead; she seems to calm down, and she reaches up and touches my nose with her wrinkled little fingers.

  Patricia smiles. "You're a natural." Looking down at the baby for a moment, she pauses. "Some people have got what it takes to be a mother, and some haven't. It's genetic."

  "I'm just doing what anyone would do," I reply uneasily.

  "She bawled non-stop when I held her yesterday," she points out. "Face it, Elizabeth. You've got the gift."

  I take a deep breath. I keep telling myself not to get too attached to the baby, but the truth is, I already feel as if she and I have some kind of bond. After all, no-one else has paid her nearly so much attention. Somehow, I seem to have fallen into the role of her carer, and although I'm wary of taking on too much responsibility, I can't deny that this role seems to be coming to me very easily and naturally.

  "Do you think she knows?" I ask after a moment, keeping my voice down. "About her mother?"

  "I have no idea," Patricia replies. "Not on a conscious level, obviously, but maybe..." She pauses. "No," she says eventually. "I guess that's a conversation she'll have to have later, when she's older."

  "Was it hard?" I ask. "I mean, you had to make a decision right there and then, whether to save Shauna or the baby... Was it hard to choose?"

  "Not at all," she replies. "The choice was between a fully-grown woman and a new-born child. I chose to prioritize the child, even though I knew it meant the mother would likely die. I think that's a perfectly rational decision. The child, theoretically, has more years ahead of her. It's simple math."

  "But you can't look at it like that, can you?" I reply. "You can't reduce it to logic and numbers?"

  She nods. "Yeah," she says after a moment. "I can, actually. It saves a whole lot of time. If I'd stopped to debate the ethics of it, they'd probably both be dead." She pauses for a moment, staring down at the baby's face. "So has anyone decided on a name for her yet?"

  "I guess that's Eriksen's job," I point out.

  "He doesn't give a crap," she replies. "Does he even bother to hold her?"

  I shake my head.

  "She needs a name," she continues. "Maybe you should choose?"

  "Me?"

  "Why not? If Eriksen isn't going to do it, you seem like the best-placed person to -"

  "I'm not her parent," I say, holding the baby out and trying to get Patricia to take her. Suddenly filled with a kind of panic, I feel as if I'm in danger of being installed as a substitute mother, and that's not something I'm ready for. "Why don't you look after her? You're a doctor, aren't you?"

  "She cries when I hold her," she replies, pointedly refusing to take the child. "You're doing a good job with her, Elizabeth." She pauses, and it's clear from the look in her eyes that she's amused by my reaction. "What's so bad about choosing a name for her? Just pluck something out of thin air. It doesn't have to be anything special. Make something up. What was your mother's name?"

  "I can't use that," I say quickly, feeling as if I'm about to hyperventilate.

  "Why not?" She puts a hand on my arm. "Jesus, Elizabeth. It's just a baby. You're not tied to it for life."

  "I know," I reply, "but..." I take a deep breath, trying to calm down.

  "So isn't there a name you like?" she continues. "Don't think of it as some kind of chain, binding you to the baby forever. It's just a name. Don't you think she needs a name?"

  I stare down at the baby. I know Patricia's right, but at the same time I also feel as if, by naming her, I'd be accepting even more responsibility. This isn't my child, and I don't feel as if I can handle the job of looking after her.

  "How's Toad?" I ask, hoping to change the subject.

  "He had a difficult night," she replies, with a hint of concern in her voice. "The infection isn't spreading, but it's pretty well rooted. I've tried everything in my kit, but it's not like we've got a plentiful supply cupboard. I have to balance his needs with the importance of keeping some stocks in reserve." She pauses. "He's feverish and he's not responding as well as I'd have liked. In normal circumstances, I'd have shot him off to hospital, he'd be pumped full of drugs, and he'd recover without a doubt. As it is, he's..." She pauses again, and it's as if she's debating whether or not to be completely honest with me. "It's fifty-fifty whether he'll get through the day without deteriorating further. If he gets much worse, I don't think I can continue to throw the last of our dwindling medical supplies at him."

  I stare at her for a moment as I realize what she's saying. "So you'd rather let him die," I say eventually, "than keep trying to help him?"

  "I can't throw good drugs after bad," she replies. "If I make a judgment call that he's unlikely to get better, I need to keep those drugs back in case someone else needs them some time."

  "You have to save him," I continue, starting to panic once again. "We need him!"

  "You seem very attached to Toad all of a sudden," she replies, with a hint of a smile. "Tell me something. If it was Bridger or Thor, or me, in the same situation, would you be quite so concerned?"

  "Of course," I reply, even though there's a heavy sensation in my belly that makes me realize I might not be telling the whole truth. "Is it really so easy for you?" I continue. "First Shauna, now Toad. Can you just quantify human life like this and make calm, logical decisions about whether someone lives or dies?"

  She nods.

  "Really?"

  "Really." She pauses. "I've always been able to take the emotion out of a situation. Even back at medical school, other people would get all tied up in knots, and I'd be able to just stand back and make a calm, calculated decision. Believe me, as a doctor, it helps to be able to take a step back. I don't know whether that makes me a good person or a really bad one, but it's just how things have been. Always."

  "I wish I was like that," I reply after a moment.

  "It might not be up to us anyway," she continues. "The others have got wind of Toad's condition, and they're starting to worry that..." She pauses. "There's been some talk about his condition, about what might really be causing it. Some of the others are starting to worry that maybe he's infected by the same thing that's causing those creatures to keep showing up."

  "He's not," I say firmly. "It's the wound in his shoulder. That's what's making him sick."

  "I know that," she replies, "and you know that, but... we're only two people. Bridger, Thor and Eriksen are three people. If it came down to a vote -"

  "No-one's voting," I reply, starting to feel as if things are spiraling out of control. In my arms, the baby wriggles a little and lets out a gurgle, as if she's picking up on my sense of panic. "This is about someone's life," I continue. "You're a doctor. Your decision should be the one that stands."

  "We try to do things democratically around here," she replies. "One person, one vote. Sure, I'd expect the others to listen to me, but that doesn't mean they'll blindly do what I say. Anyway..." She pauses again. "There are other politics involved, Elizabeth. One less mouth to feed means more for the rest of us, and that's certainly one viable way of looking at things."

  "This is Toad's farm!" I point out.

  "So what?" she replies. "It's survival of the fittest, Elizabeth.
The strong survive and the weak die. No pack prospers by spending precious resources on the needs of the weaker members. Sure, it'd be nice if we could look after Toad and do everything in our power to keep him alive, but in case you haven't noticed, we're hardly living in an ideal world. Toad was one of the strong ones, but he got unlucky and now he can't really look after himself. The weaker members of a pack always have to die, otherwise they slow the group down."

  "But Toad's going to get better!"

  "I'm just saying that people are worried," she continues. "There's a plan to discuss it later. You can say what you need to say, and I'll certainly give my opinion, but if the others insist on a vote, I can see things going against Toad. I'm not saying that's what I want, but..." She pauses, before getting to her feet and walking over to the door. "It's democracy," she says, glancing back at me. "The vote carries the day, Elizabeth, and if the others ask me whether Toad might be infected with something dangerous, I'm going to have to give them an honest answer."

  "And what would that be?" I ask, even though I'm pretty sure I already know what she's going to say.

  "That I don't know," she replies, before leaving the room.

  In my arms, the baby starts to wriggle again. I look down and see that her eyes are open, and she's staring up at me with a look of wonder. I want to tell her that everything's okay, but I know that'd be a lie. Instead, I force a smile and wipe away a tear from the corner of my eye. This is no world for a child. I want to believe that things are going to get better, but the truth is, everything seems to be going to hell. I can't even begin to imagine the world that this child will inherit, even if she somehow manages to survive until adulthood.

  "It's okay," I lie, leaning down and kissing her forehead. "Everything's okay." And that's when, for a fraction of a second, a name flickers into my mind. I force it out. I'm not naming this child. If I name her, that means I'm taking responsibility for her, and that's not what I want. Someone else can give her a name. Someone who's actually going to be around while she grows up.