How she dreaded seeing Leila. Her stomach churned, and she wished she bought something other than the cream-laden latte. Across the aisle, a woman intently read a tattered Angela Carter novel. She was older, the age Melanie’s mother might have been had she lived. How her mother had loved Angela Carter. So much so, she named her daughter for the protagonist in Carter’s The Magic Toyshop. Sadly, the moniker became more an omen than a name. Little did Mother know on that sweet, sunlit morning that her daughter’s future would follow a similar path as the fictional Melanie. The real Melanie would also find herself with a mother and father scattered in pieces along a stretch of faraway land. She would become an orphan, cast away to live under the shadow, not of a maniacal uncle, but of a cold, unsympathetic woman who would more quickly turn her out into the Swedish winter than welcome her into their home.
She rested her head against the back of the seat and closed her eyes. Her mind drifted back to the day she’d learned of her parents’ death, five years ago.
“Your parents, Melanie. They’re… gone,” the headmistress said, her normally stern tone suddenly soft. Somehow, that odd softness only added to the nightmarish reality of the words. She grasped Melanie’s hand in hers, making Melanie want to pull away from the old woman’s cold, dry touch.
Sunlight poured into the office, too bright for a day when a girl’s parents had died. A man was there, blond as an angel. She should have known him—she’d seen him before—many times in her seventeen years, but in her state, she just couldn’t place him.
“Melanie. I’m a good friend of your father. Remember me? I’m Tomas…”
Melanie withdrew her cell from her coat pocket and sat a moment, trying to decide what to do. She wanted to just call and tell Tomas she wouldn’t be back, that some of her friends had decided to remain in the city and spend Christmas together. She dialed Tomas’s number and her favorite photo of him holding Christopher popped onto the screen. She stared at the picture a moment, her thumb hovering over the Talk button. She had never seen a happier expression on Tomas’s face than when he was with his son.
After another moment, she hit Home and put the phone back in her pocket.
***
Trollhättan, Sweden
Tomas returned home without Bo, unsure of how to handle the dog’s disappearance with Christopher. He’d hoped, by some wondrous miracle, the shepherd might be waiting on the front lawn. No dice. He wasn’t sure if he was more anxious over the dog being gone or his young son’s reaction. The kid loved that dog; he had known Bo all his short life. Christopher was a creature of routine. The evening would be difficult, unless the festival could provide enough distraction.
Tomas entered the warm house, went to the kitchen, and tossed his keys onto the counter with an echoing clank. Upstairs, Leila sang Christopher some little song from Bolibompa. Christopher chimed in, giggling and off-key, making Tomas smile even as he leaned over the sink to wash the blood from his face and hands.
The morning had been shitty so far, but hearing Christopher’s little voice made everything seem all right again. Briefly, he allowed himself to imagine things were still good between him and Leila, and for a moment, even the dilemma of the missing dog no longer seemed such an immense problem.
He flipped on the small countertop television set, hoping to catch the weather report. He didn’t want anything to spoil the Solstice festival. He had looked forward to taking Christopher for weeks.
A female announcer grinned too widely at the camera. “A solar event could disrupt electrical systems on Earth. Coronal mass ejections, or CMEs, do not produce intense light. However, areas of northern Europe and Britain have fragile power grids and may possibly be without power from several hours to several days. Although most researchers agree the utilities will likely go unaffected, those with generators may want to consider checking their fuel reserves, just in case.”
Tomas frowned and changed the channel. The news networks loved to play up the smallest stories. It must be a slow news week.
Winter sun poured through the skylights, and glancing upward toward the rectangles of endless blue, he remembered the previous summer and going to the sea with Christopher. Warm weather seemed a thousand years away. He sprinted upstairs to see his son, anticipating Leila’s third degree over his torn clothes and the missing dog. There wasn’t much he could tell her, anyway.
Chapter 2
London, England
“Everyone needs to meet in the lobby following breakfast,” Stuart McCarthy announced. The kids milled around the lobby of the ultra-modern—by Wilmington, North Carolina, standards, anyway—Park Plaza Riverbank Hotel, London. For the last four days, he had had five over-achieving high school seniors in his charge. The other chaperone had fallen sick at the last minute, and Stu was stuck with nobody to fill in. Probably best, anyway. If there was anything he didn’t want, it was another captain on the boat. He wanted to get the little escapade over with as quickly as possible. He was getting Maddy for the holidays without a fight from Shelia. That had made him wonder. She must have met someone.
He’d been a bachelor and weekend dad for half of Maddy’s ten years. He wasn’t exactly fond of the situation, or even used to it, but he’d learned to live with it.
The disheveled kids stumbled around like a bunch of zombies, and he felt like one himself. He doubted the hotel restaurant had enough coffee to get him going. The previous night, every little noise had gotten him out of bed. He needed to be on his toes with a group of horny kids, making sure everyone stayed inside their rooms after curfew. No sex. No alcohol. He’d finally ended up ordering a bottle of wine himself. As he stared out the window beside his bed at the Thames and the London Eye beyond, he became nicely buzzed. Why break routine just because he was away from home? The lights reflecting on the river at night were quite a remarkable sight, but he was ready to be on the plane on the way back to his daughter.
Looking at his English Lit honors class, he decided he must have missed something. Oh well, as long as nobody ended up dead or pregnant, he could pat himself on the back for a job adequately accomplished.
“Mr. McCarthy,” called Josh, the blond running back with a brain and a millionaire dad. “This food sucks. Can’t I order a burger?”
That was the only problem with teaching at a high-dollar private school. The kids were under the impression they could have anything they wanted, when they wanted. They were in charge. He, the lowly teacher, worked for them.
“All I can tell you, Josh, is eat what they have or else wait until lunch.”
“Well, I’m not waiting, and I’m not eating breakfast crap.”
“Then it looks like you’re screwed.” Twenty-six more hours and then they would be on a plane, and he could place music in his ears and pretend he was alone. He only hoped the solar storms the news networks kept reporting wouldn’t delay anything.
“It’s really not what we want, Mr. McCarthy,” Ashley Landers said. She was pretty and knew it well enough to use it. She flashed her dimples and pushed her long blond hair away from her face.
Stu sighed. “All right. I saw a McDonald’s a few blocks over. We’ll walk.”
Josh and his sidekick, a smaller, slightly less brainy version of himself named Brett, grumbled loudly. Stu’s patience was thin enough to tear. He considered sending the kids back to their rooms until time to leave for the airport, but that would be ridiculous. Besides, dealing with spoiled parents was worse than dealing with spoiled teenagers. He bit his lip and wished like hell he had a flask of something that would warm him from throat to belly tucked into the pocket of his sport jacket.
“Everyone up to their rooms. Get your coats. We’re heading to Mickey D’s.”
Still complaining under his breath, Josh shook his head and headed toward the elevators, followed by his smaller doppelganger. The rest of the class straggled along after them, Stu bringing up the rear.
“Josh?” Stu said. “Another word and you’re not getting your Happy Meal prize.”
>
A smattering of sleepy laughter rose, and Josh glanced back, smiling sheepishly. “Sorry, Mr. McCarthy.”
Stu smiled back, relieved to have the bitching behind him, at least for the next ten minutes or so. “It’s fine. I think we’re all ready to get home for the holidays.”
December 21
Chapter 3
Between Stockholm and Gothenburg, Sweden
Melanie sat against the wall of her train compartment, her ass half off the edge of the cot, tapping nervously on the window frame. After a moment, she realized what she was doing and forced herself to stop. Then, she fiddled with her hair. Stop it, Melanie. She found a box of antibacterial wipes in her overnight bag, pulled one out, and began to clean around her space—the armrest, the cushions where she would rest her head, the edge of the window, her own fingers. She cleaned her phone. Her compartment mates watched silently, and she only glanced at them and smiled.
“Sorry. I’m a little nervous about going home. I’m kind of crazy.”
The girl laughed. “We’re all kind of crazy. No worries.”
After a while, Melanie settled down and pulled a blanket over herself. She wanted to sleep, but every time she began to doze, her compartment mates started jabbering again. The boy and girl were from school, but Melanie barely knew them beyond their first names—Oskar and Sara. Both appeared younger, but perhaps they were simply immature. Melanie had answered an ad on the commons bulletin board for a couple of people to share the expenses of a compartment back to Gothenburg, not to save the money, but because she wanted some company. Even the incessant chatter of the two, who obviously had friends in common, was better than a three-hour train ride in silence.
She was exhausted and still fairly drunk. She and Kira had gone to the Solstice festival for a while, and then ended up at a party away from campus. But Melanie grew bored, as usual, with Kira forcing her to hang out with her boyfriend’s friend, someone with whom she shared nothing in common. She wasn’t sure how many different types of recreational drugs one guy could do in one short evening. Before the evening was over, shallow David was beginning to look pretty good.
She had sent Tomas a text about her departure, and he responded that he would be there. Alone. He hadn’t wanted to drag Leila and Christopher out into the cold so early. She was glad. She could gauge Leila’s moods by Tomas’s demeanor. Tomas was always in good spirits, but sometimes it appeared he struggled to make himself seem that way. Melanie often wondered how Tomas could love someone so different from himself.
Sara and Oskar shared a large chocolate bar, and Melanie was vaguely reminded of Hansel and Gretel from the old Bugs Bunny cartoon. Both were a bit on the heavy side, with bright yellow hair and crayon-blue eyes. Oskar offered Melanie a piece, but she declined. He shrugged and removed a silver flask from his coat. Another offer and again, Melanie declined. Sara took the flask and turned it up mannishly, then wiped her mouth with the back of her wrist.
Hansel and Gretel seemed to be warming to her, not that Melanie especially cared. Still, it made the trip more comfortable. Outside, the darkened countryside whizzed past like smears of black and blue paint. Snow swirled against the glass like ashes rising from dying embers. The three of them made small talk, and speaking of home helped Melanie relax a little over the prospect of seeing the hateful wench.
After a while, Sara, who’d just finished off whatever had been in the silver flask, excused herself to the washroom. Noisily, she was sick. After a moment, she emerged, ghastly pale.
“May I close the screen?” she asked. Without waiting for an answer, she leaned across Melanie and drew the window screen closed. “I think watching the world pass by has made me sick.”
“You think?” Oskar quipped, drowsily.
Melanie held her breath until the girl, who smelled of vomit and vodka, moved back over to her bunk. Melanie pulled her blanket up again and tried to doze for a couple of hours. Her mates had quieted, thankfully, their breathing slow and deep.
Melanie fell into a restless doze and dreamed Leila was watching her sleep, perfectly arched eyebrows drawn tight in disgust.
***
The train slammed to a halt, tossing Melanie off her couchette. The compartment was as dark as a cave. Nearby, Sara fumbled about, whimpering drunkenly. Hands groped across Melanie’s thighs, and she pulled away quickly. She stood, her back grabbing painfully for a moment. Later, she knew she would feel as if she had been in an auto accident, muscles sprung and sore.
“Everyone okay?” Oskar asked.
“I think so,” Melanie answered.
Sara stopped whimpering long enough to ask, “Do you think we crashed?”
For some reason, they all seemed to feel the need to whisper.
“I don’t think so.” Oskar’s breath reeked of vodka, but he sounded completely sober.
Melanie pulled back the window screen. Anemic light bled into the small compartment, just enough to allow her to make out her mates’ confused expressions. Her throat wanted to close up, and it suddenly felt as if an elephant had parked on her chest. She tapped her fingers against her thighs—one, two, three, four, left. One, two, three, four, right. Repeating the cycle, she breathed in time with the counting. She had come to detest using an inhaler, and sometimes the breathing technique worked. That time, it didn’t help. She scrambled the Symbicort from her coat pocket and took a quick puff.
Sara again groped for her, and despite her initial impulse to pull away, Melanie squeezed the girl’s fingers reassuringly. “It’s okay, now. I think we’re—”
A horrifying shriek from outside the compartment cut her off.
“What the hell was that?” Sara asked.
“Shh,” Oskar said. “Maybe someone is scared. Or injured.”
Frantic footsteps running along the corridor made the tiny room shake, and Sara’s clammy hand clutched Melanie’s even tighter. Melanie heard more screaming, bloodcurdling, and from the sound of it, just outside the compartment slider.
“What’s happening?” Sara whined.
“Quiet.” Oskar checked the latch on the slider.
They stood motionless, their breathing harsh and too loud. The stink of alcohol and fear permeated the small area, and Melanie wished she could just get out of there and plunge her face into the fresh cold air of the night.
She gently pulled her hand from Sara’s death grip and moved back to the window. The train had indeed stopped moving. Shapes flashed by, black silhouettes against the stark whiteness of the snow.
Oskar moved to her side. “What the hell are they doing? Are they from the train, you think?”
“I don’t know, but they seem to be chasing those others.” Melanie pointed.
Sara pressed herself between them. “Let me see.”
An overweight woman ran past the widow, her frightened sobbing almost comical—she sounded too much like Zach Galifianakis in The Hangover. But it wasn’t funny. It was terrible. She stumbled, and that was all her pursuers needed. A couple of twiggy boys who couldn’t have been more than fifteen converged, driving her down into the snow. She howled, one of her cheap pumps flying off her left foot. Her dress rode up over chunky thighs, revealing a pair of Spanx that looked painfully tight.
“What are they…?” Melanie began. At first, she assumed the boys were sexually assaulting the woman. But no.
One boy, a scrawny snowboarder-boy look-alike, dipped his head to the woman’s large left breast. The woman screeched again, loud and clear even through the steel walls of the train. He clamped onto her boob and shook his head like wild dog tearing away a chunk of steak. Then he rose up, a scrap of the woman’s pink funky-patterned dress in his teeth, along with a bloody hunk of flesh.
The woman flailed her heavy limbs back and forth in the snow, the front of her dress already drenched in dark blood. She tried to turn onto her side, but five more jerking, crazed shapes fell on her. Quickly, she was completely hidden from view.
“Oh, dear God!” Oskar pushed her and Sara away from
the window. “Don’t let them see us.” He slid the window screen back into place.
Melanie sank to the floor and searched the darkness for her bag. Thankfully, it didn’t take very long, and she located her cell phone inside. The screen was dark, so she pressed the power button. Nothing. After another press, it powered on. No bars. And the time seemed to be screwed up. It read 7:10 a.m. That couldn’t be right. It was completely dark.
Something that sounded like claws scratched the compartment door, and then someone tried the latch. Melanie’s breath caught in her throat again, and she waited, watching the shadow beneath the door. She puffed her inhaler, fearful it wouldn’t work, and she would smother on the floor of the compartment.
Some words were spoken, too low and guttural to understand, followed by a bray of laughter that sounded so evil that Melanie’s arms puckered into gooseflesh. Sara moaned. In the blue glow of the phone’s light, Melanie saw Oskar had placed his hand over Sara’s mouth.
Next came a vicious crash against the compartment wall. Melanie held up her phone for light, her hand trembling uncontrollably. The steel wall bowed inward. Horrified, she saw something wet and dark seeping underneath the sliding door.
Sara struggled out of Oskar’s grasp and began doing a dance of terror, her own hands clamped over her mouth, her eyes bulging.
Solstice: A Novel of the Zombie Apocalypse Page 2