Cruel World

by Joe Hart

  Quinn put two rounds into its head.

  It fell on top of him, its momentum carrying it forward. He tipped to the side, the stitches in his thigh straining, then bursting, and managed to slide away from its full weight before it pinned him to the ground. Regaining his feet, he saw the other three were closer now, lumbering toward him as fast as they could, their marionette movements clear and horrible in the light of day.

  He turned and fled.

  The baritone calls chased him, the air vibrating with them. They’re excited. Must not be any of the ones that got supper last night, he thought crazily as he pelted across the lawn, trying to focus on the bottoms of Alice’s feet ahead of him. She and Ty were already on the street leading from the facility toward the bridge. Movement to their right caught his attention, and he glanced that way, stumbling, as he saw two more stilts running across the grounds, their eyes locked on Alice and Ty. Quinn fired three more times, and a chunk of flesh exploded from one of the creatures’ shoulders in a red haze. It spun and bellowed, putting a massive hand to the wound before finding him, its gaze boiling with pain and hatred. It redoubled its pace, blood flowing down its arm and dripping from bony fingers.

  “Go! Go! Go!” Quinn yelled, glancing over his shoulder. The three behind them were closer, the distance closing with each enormous stride. He came even with Alice and Ty and his hand found Alice’s arm. Blood ran down his leg, and their collective panting was a rasping soundtrack to their flight. The bridge neared, the vehicles’ bright paint muted beneath the stainless steel sky. He threw another look backward and nearly cried out. The two groups had melded into one pack of skeletal limbs and flexing joints, eyes black and mouths yawning. Hungry. The Tahoe seemed to be further away with each step they took, the sound of the stilts louder, closer.

  They made the bridge and sped between the cars, their footsteps slapping hard against the cement. Quinn searched the opposite side, somewhere for them to hide, but the only building was the antique shop, its front decimated by the eighteen-wheeler. For the first time, he read the script painted in bold letters on the side of the tanker: NITRO-LOCK-REFRIGERATED LIQUID. The rear of the truck was dead center of the road, blocking the middle of the bridge with its girth. A square, steel box was bolted to its end, one of two doors hanging open. As they neared it, Quinn veered off to the truck, and Alice turned sideways, still moving with Ty clutched to her chest.

  “What are you doing?” she yelled.

  “Just go!” he replied, swinging the second door of the truck open. The sound of the stilt’s breathing filled the air, the world. He would feel their long fingers grabbing him any second just as Graham had done, their teeth biting through him. There was a number of gauges and pipes inside the truck’s attachment housing, some of them covered with a thick layer of frost. A brass hammer hung from a support and he snagged this, bringing it down as hard as he could on the closest freezing pipe.

  The pipe snapped off midway through and spurted a stream of liquid surrounded by white steam past his face. A portion hit his shoulder, his skin burning like nothing he’d ever felt before. He spun away from the back of the tanker, bringing his rifle up as one of the stilts lunged at him. He blew away a portion of its throat in a spray of tissue and blood that coated its brethren behind it. Its eyes flew wide, but it continued to reach for him, snagging its filthy fingernails in his shirt and tearing it partially from his chest as it tipped forward.

  Quinn fell on his side, slamming to his throbbing shoulder but keeping hold of the rifle. His vision shook with the impact and his breath rushed from him. He rolled, coming up on his feet in the time it took the stilt to slide to a stop. He made it two shaking steps back before he paused, the view before him stopping him in his tracks.

  The width of the bridge was covered in fog.

  The liquid nitrogen spread like something alive, coating everything it touched in speckled white frost. It flowed out of the damaged pipe in an arching fountain that reminded him of the one near the facility. It ran to where the fallen monster lay, turning the already pale skin a lighter shade of gray as its warm flesh froze in a matter of seconds. The remaining stilts were backing away, the low croak running between them in a steady chorus as the nitrogen crept closer, pouring over every inch of the bridge. The tallest near the front of the pack loomed over the top of the tanker truck, its eyes finding Quinn’s, locking tight. Marking him. Quinn brought up the rifle, but the creature retreated farther out of sight.

  “Quinn! Come on!” Alice’s cry shook him from his immobility, and he turned and sprinted the last twenty yards to the Tahoe, climbing into the passenger side as she gunned the engine and they sped away down the street.

  Well-groomed yards flashed by outside his window. Houses, garages, sidewalks, pavement, more grass, trees. The trees were beginning to cause a feeling inside him, their slender trunks, long branches, reaching. He blinked, biting down hard on the inside of his mouth. His breathing slowed, his heart’s pace coming down from hummingbird range closer to a human being’s. Alice blew through stoplights and surged around sharp corners, the Tahoe’s wheels screeching their protest. A repetitive sound came from the back seat, and he finally turned to see what was making it. Ty wiped at his nose and sniffled again, creating the scratchy sniffling, lower lip trembling. He kept running his hands over the dowel in his lap. He’d managed to hold onto it through their flight from the facility. Quinn reached back and put a hand on his small knee. The boy jumped.

  “It’s okay, Ty. We’re going to be okay,” he said. Ty rocked in his seat and nodded, biting down on his lower lip as if he knew it was betraying his courage.

  Alice brought them out of the city, the last neighborhoods clinging to the sides of the streets like patches of lichen before giving way to old growths of forest that lined the turnpike. They rode in silence, slowing only to circumvent the random vehicle that blocked the highway. After a half hour, Quinn glanced at Alice and opened his mouth to speak when he saw her arms trembling, knuckles white on the steering wheel.

  “Are you okay?” he asked quietly. She gave no sign she heard him, her eyes locked on the road ahead. A tollbooth approached, bordered by the first clearing they’d seen since leaving the city. The orange arm was down and blocking their lane. Quinn was about to open his door to get out and raise it when Alice put the SUV in park. She didn’t look at him, instead climbing out and walking to the edge of the silent turnpike overlooking the field. She stood there, arms crossed before her, head down.

  “I’ll be right back, Ty,” Quinn said, exiting the vehicle. He moved across the lanes, rocks snapping beneath his father’s hiking boots, eyes scanning the woods surrounding the field, but there was no movement. When he neared her, he noticed her shoulders shaking and thought she was going to be sick. It was only when he stopped beside her that he saw the tears coating her cheeks. When she didn’t say anything and continued to cry, staring ahead at the field, he spoke.

  “I’m sorry about your mother.”

  She looked at him as if seeing him for the first time and lowered her face once more. Another silent sob coursed through her, and he extended his arm to put it around her shoulders before dropping it back to his side. He glanced at the idling Tahoe, Ty only a small shadow behind the tinted glass.

  “I almost got him killed. The most precious thing in my life,” she finally said, her voice raw. “It was stupid, so stupid to go there.”

  “You were only doing what anyone would,” Quinn said. “I don’t know what type of person wouldn’t have gone looking for their own mother.”

  “But at the expense of what?” Alice burst out. “Ty’s life? Yours? I knew she was dead already. I could feel it. But I had to check, had to satisfy that gnawing doubt. I…” she opened her mouth to say more and just shook her head. He did reach out then, his hand finding the softness of her shoulder.

  She stiffened and turned away.

  Quinn lowered his hand, pressing it against his hip, unsure of what to do with it. What had he expect
ed? For her to fall into his arms? Of course she shrank away. Who wouldn’t? Maybe she feared she could catch whatever he had, like the plague was still virulent and he was a carrier.

  “I’ll be in the car,” he said, giving her a last look. The wrapped layers of her dark hair shook once, and he left her to cry alone on the side of the road.

  Chapter 14

  Lonely Miles

  They found an old farmhouse on the top of a hill to stay in for the night.

  They’d driven for hours after Alice came back to the Tahoe, the ivory skin of her face red but clear of tears. She’d placed an unopened can of soda atop the button that raised the toll arm and they’d driven through, the lane open forever to anyone who came after them. They’d stopped only to wash off the patient’s blood in a small creek beside the road, the water so cold it left them gasping as they doused their faces, hands, and hair in it.

  The driveway that led to the house was overgrown, the mailbox pitted with rust and time. Quinn had spotted the ‘For Sale’ sign, half tipped forward to the ground like an exhausted sentry. The house itself was narrow and tall like many in New England. Faded white siding and dark blue eaves that peeled in the evening light. A field stretched out before it on the southern side, sloping down to a brambled meadow where several deer grazed, their watchful eyes finding them when they stopped near the house before going back to the ground’s meager offerings.

  The house was musty and empty with mouse droppings covering many of the surfaces, but the living room had a wide view of the field and drive along with a stone hearth. There were no beds in the rooms upstairs, but a dusty, pea-green sofa sat against one wall in the living room, which Ty flopped down upon and immediately fell asleep propped up against one arm, his eyes partially shut. Without speaking, Quinn and Alice unloaded what they needed for the night. As he made his way up the stairs on the last trip, he winced and stumbled, the gash in his leg brightening with pain. Alice emerged from the doorway and stopped him as he passed.

  “What?”

  “Why are you limping?”

  “I think my stitches reopened,” he said, setting down a bag full of food.

  “Let’s have a look.”

  “It’s probably okay.”

  “Don’t be dumb; that’s how little problems become big ones.”

  She led him to a decrepit bench on the porch, grabbing the first aid kit on the way. When she stopped before him and raised her eyebrows, he glanced around the space.

  “What?”

  “Drop ‘em, bud.”

  “Drop what?”

  “Your pants. I’m guessing you don’t have unlimited pairs from home, and you ruined the ones from yesterday.”

  “Uh…”

  “I’m not going to take advantage of you.”

  “I wasn’t worried about that,” Quinn said quickly, unbuttoning his pants. He turned away and then sat on the bench when he’d lowered them to his knees. The top two stitches were frayed ends poking from bloodied flesh, but the rest held.

  Alice didn’t say anything, going about cleaning the wound with peroxide again before re-stitching the cut closed in a few deft movements. When she was finished, she gave him one of her rare smiles. It was like the sun drifting from behind a cloud the way it changed her face.

  “All patched up and…what happened to your shoulder?”

  Quinn glanced at the spot where the liquid nitrogen had landed. The cotton of his shirt was stiff and matted and it felt as if someone were constantly holding a flame to the skin beneath.

  “Some of the liquid nitrogen got on me.”

  “For God’s sake, why didn’t you say something. Off with your shirt.”

  “Can I pull up my pants first?”

  Alice barked her harsh laugh and nodded. He stood and after fastening his pants, drew his t-shirt off, the patch on his shoulder making him grit his teeth with the movement. There was a swollen and upraised blotch of skin the diameter of a pop can where the liquid nitrogen had hit him. It was white at the center, fading to a purple-ish brown at its edges.

  “Holy shit,” Alice said, stepping closer. Her breath was hot on his chest, and he raised his head, trying not to focus on the sensation. “I’m just going to clean it the best I can and wrap it. I don’t think we should put any ointment on it until we see how bad it is.”

  “Sounds good to me,” he said. Alice soaked a chunk of gauze with bottled water and began to dab at the wound, her fingers on the undamaged skin of his shoulder cool and strong. He closed his eyes and let her work, trying not to flinch or jerk when she applied pressure to the burn. He focused instead on his breathing, trying to time it with hers. In and out, calm and collected. When she finished cleaning as best she could, she taped a sterile bandage loosely over the area, allowing the burn to breathe.

  “You could’ve been a nurse,” he said, glancing at the careful work she’d done.

  “And you could’ve been an Abercrombie model.” She paused, her eyes shifting to his before packing up the first aid kit. “I mean, you’re in really great shape. Do you lift weights or something?”

  “I used to rock climb a lot.”

  “Sure. Well, hopefully that doesn’t get infected. Maybe tomorrow we can find a pharmacy, upgrade our little kit here into something really useful.”

  “Thank you,” he said.

  She hesitated before zipping the pack shut. “You’re welcome. Thanks for what you did on the bridge. I wouldn’t have thought of that, didn’t think of it.” He pulled his shirt over his head and adjusted the fabric covering the bandage.

  “I had no idea if it would work to be honest.”

  “But you tried anyway, so thank you.”

  He nodded, and they looked at one another for a long moment that broke as Alice tucked an errant strand of hair behind her ear and moved toward the doorway leading into the house.

  “It’s going to get chilly tonight,” she said, pausing on the threshold.

  “I’ll find some firewood,” he said. And then she was gone inside the house, and he was left only with the fresh burning in his shoulder and the twilight that crept closer over the fields.

  ~

  He found an ancient wood box outside the back door that was partially full of decaying oak. The light was beginning to fail in the west when he got the fire going, its glow warming the open space of the room. They heated a mixture of MREs in a camp pan near the hearth after Alice tried the lights and the old electric stove in the small kitchen to no avail. Quinn woke Ty with a gentle shake to the shoulder when the food was ready, but the boy only pushed some of the meal around his plate before lying back down and falling asleep again.

  “Stress,” Alice said after a stint of silence broken only by the crackling fire.

  “What?” Quinn asked, setting down his own half-eaten meal. The concoction of beef and beans didn’t taste bad, but the texture was terrible, the mealiness catching in his throat with each bite.

  Alice nodded to her son. “He’s exhausted from what happened today. He didn’t have to see. He knew how close…” Her voice broke on the last word, and she gazed down at her plate.

  “He’s safe.”

  “For how long? Until the next group of those things we run into?” She shook her head and glanced out the darkening window. “We have to get to Iowa. It’s the only place that we have a hope.”

  “We’ll get there, you’ll see.”

  She looked at him, and the light played off the angles of her face, her eyes unmoving from his. His skin warmed, and he finally looked away, setting his plate on the floor.

  “We didn’t find another car for us,” Alice said.

  “No.”

  “And you didn’t ask to be brought back to your house.”

  “No.”

  She opened her mouth to say something more but then a smile played upon her lips and she gestured to the corner of the room. “We have a visitor.”

  A mouse watched them from beside the couch. It balanced on its hind legs, sniffing the a
ir, its beaded, black eyes studying them before scurrying to Ty’s uneaten food. It looked at them again and then began to nibble at a piece of corn.

  “I wonder if that will be us in a decade,” Quinn murmured, watching the rodent’s tiny paws grip the kernel and turn it.

  “What do you mean?”

  “If we’ll be searching out scraps of what’s left of the world.”

  “You mean if we lose.”

  He glanced at her and then out the window. The deer were gone and the meadow was empty with the settling night.

  “You make it sound like a war.”

  “Isn’t it?”

  “The stilts are just an aftereffect of the disease. We’ve already lost, don’t you think?”

  Alice didn’t reply. She moved to the fire and dumped her meal into the flames, quickly pulling her hands away before stepping back.

  “They don’t seem to be territorial, do they?”

  “No. They almost have a pack mentality from what I’ve seen.”

  “What would you guess their numbers are? Roughly.”

  “There’s no way of knowing really, but if I had to guess, well, let me think about it.” Quinn shifted on the floor, leaning back on one hand. “If we go by how many people we saw in Portland to how many stilts we saw, we’d have a three to eleven ratio.”

  “But we don’t know that some of the ones we saw today weren’t from last night either. They’re so damn alike I have trouble telling if they’re male or female.”

  “That’s true, but I don’t think the ones from today were the same that…” He cleared his throat. “…that were near the development.”

  “Okay, so we have what type of percentage of the population dead from the plague?” Alice asked, returning to her sleeping bag that was spread open on the floor.