Tomas, Stu, and Tana dashed across the deserted street, each carrying a large gasoline canister. Earlier, they had experienced a moment of near chaos when Stu hopped into the driver’s seat of the bus and discovered the keys weren’t there. Stu had emerged, seething with anger.
“The keys aren’t there. That idiot!”
“What is it?”
“That Ken. That stupid asshole. He must have kept the keys in his pocket.”
Tomas wanted to become discouraged, but forced himself to keep going. They moved into the next parking area, toward a smallish box truck with a logo bearing the legend “Top o’ the Morning Donuts and Coffee.”
Tana giggled breathily, steam rising in front of her lips. “How stupid of me.”
Stu held up. “What is it?”
“The school. There will be buses there. With petrol,” Tana said, her pretty smile glinting in the shadows. “My son’s school. How could I’ve forgotten?”
“Brilliant woman.” Stu kissed her.
They headed out with Tana giving directions. The primary school building sat like a dozing giant against the orange-stained sky.
Tomas didn’t like the looks of the school grounds. The shadows were wide and deep, appearing like bottomless holes in the pavement. It was tempting to use the flashlights, but even a low beam opened up the darkness like a beacon. It was best not to use them until they were inside.
Tomas used the butt of the gun and broke out a small window in the side entrance of the main school building. He reached inside, fumbled with the lock, terrified a cool, dry hand might reach out and caress his fingers. Then there was a soft click, and they were inside a long, black corridor.
They switched on their lights, but it was just enough to break the dense black of the hall.
“All right. I think the offices are down here and to the left,” Tana said. She moved ahead of them leading the way.
Rats hurried along the walls, silver-eyed and frightening, their claws scratching softly on the linoleum floor.
“I hate those bastards,” Stu muttered.
Tana stopped short and he walked into the back of her. She cursed him, but laughed at the same time.
“Silence,” Tomas said. There was another sound of rustling movement, but this one was made by something weightier than a few rats. “Let’s find those keys and see if we can get one of those buses started.”
The administrator’s office was a mess of strewn papers and file folders, but miraculously the keys to the buses outside remained on pegs, hanging on the wall over the secretary’s desk.
“The mother lode,” Tomas commented, relieved. He snatched three sets of keys from pegs and shoved them into his pants pockets. Tana and Stu did likewise, and they headed for the exit, happy for the cold darkness and the stiff wind of the outside.
***
They split, each carrying three sets of keys tagged with the bus numbers. Stu would have preferred to stay by Tana’s side, not simply because he wanted to protect her, but because he wanted her to protect him—one to watch for Ragers and the other to see if he could get the engine fired. But separating was the quickest way to get the hell back to the safety of the market.
A row of nine buses sat in a row in the parking area behind the school building. It was as dark as a cave out there, the spaces between the buses cavernous. As an American schoolteacher, the buses seemed strange to him—smaller, modern, and pale, unlike the stinking, yellow mammoths they had back home. Snow covered the wheels almost completely. He removed his gloves and shoved them into his jacket pocket, then fished a key from his jacket. He flipped on his flashlight on long enough to read the tag—Bus 2903. He felt along the side of the rear section of the bus until his fingers brushed the slightly raised vinyl numeral decals. Wrong number. He moved to the rear of the next bus. That number matched.
He climbed aboard and quickly checked for any stowaways. Finding none, he slipped behind the wheel, jabbed the key in the ignition, and twisted. The response was the hollow click of a dead battery.
He stepped out. A couple of buses over, the same weak click echoed like a dull tap of a pencil on a school kid’s desk.
Pulling another set of keys from his coat, he moved toward the next bus. He thought he heard something behind him, maybe the scraping sound of boots on the icy pavement. He jerked a glance over his shoulder, his hand going to the gun inside his pocket. Nothing.
He heard another sound, but it seemed to come from higher, instead of ground level. Thumps on metal. Bam, bam. He glanced up.
“Oh, shit,” he whispered, seeing a shape looming on the roof of the bus.
Before he could wrap his fingers around his gun again, the black shape dropped down, forcing him to the freezing ground. His breath left him in an agonizing rush as a couple of ribs snapped under the faceless Rager’s weight.
The crazed Rager clawed at Stu’s face, ripping away his toboggan. The thing went for Stu’s throat, tearing away his scarf and then shredding open the collar of his coat. The Rager thrust its face forward, and for an instant, Stu could see it clearly—a damned kid, no more than fifteen, dressed in tattered jeans and a sweater. The Rager’s jaws snapped open and closed, his sharp teeth clicking in front of Stu’s face. His stinking, rotten breath made Stu’s gorge rise. The Rager-boy yanked Stu to his feet as if lifting a ragdoll and drove him face-first against the side of the bus.
Stu’s head rocked back and the world became blurry and dim. He fought to remain conscious. He tasted blood on his tongue. Stu shoved at the young Rager, but the boy had threaded his bony fingers through Stu’s hair, and he pulled Stu to him. Rager-boy wrapped his other arm around Stu, amazingly strong for a kid his size, trapping him a deathly embrace.
With his free hand, Stu found the handle of his gun and managed to yank it free of his pocket. As he tried to bring the gun around, the Rager clamped down on the space where his shoulder met his neck. Pain seared through Stu’s left side, and his knees buckled. He pressed the pistol under the Rager’s chin and pulled the trigger.
The Rager’s face vaporized into a bloody mess, but he held fast to Stu until Stu shrugged him off. Stu reached up and touched his torn neck. The rent felt frighteningly deep, and blood pulsed out hard and fast.
Suddenly, the weight of what had just happened hit him. He doubled over, afraid he was going to vomit and felt a hand on his back.
“Stu, baby? Are you okay?”
Tomas pulled Stu upright. “Are you bitten?”
Stu couldn’t answer. He only nodded and pulled open the neck of his coat, exposing the gushing wound.
Tana’s face crumpled, and Stu felt his heart break. “Tana,” he whispered, hot tears streaming.
Tana touched his cheek, the knit of her gloves catching on his whiskers. “Don’t say anything.” She leaned close and kissed him softly, her lips lingering on his cheek, her sweet, hot breath caressing his face. “Close your eyes,” she whispered against his mouth.
Stu heard the deafening explosion of the gun, even as the bullet tore through his brain. As he sank into darkness, he thought he saw Maddy skipping toward him across the snow-covered parking lot.
***
Tana collapsed to the pavement and pressed her face into the snow. She screamed into the ice, tearing at her hair.
Tomas sank to his knees and pulled her to him. She pressed her face into his shoulder.
“Get it together, Tana. You have a son to think of.” She grabbed at his coat, her fists balling the fabric, tugging at him. She wept loudly, and he hated hearing it, hated feeling so damned helpless. He wanted to cry, too. He liked Stu, felt a kinship with him. The night’s events made him again aware of how quickly things could change and unwind.
He hated leaving Stu bleeding out onto the snow, his body there to be violated by the Ragers. They would do as they wanted, leaving nothing but a cage of bones. But Stu was dead. Would it even make a difference?
“Tell him goodbye, Tana. We have to go.” Tomas took Stu’s pistol and shoved
it into his jacket. “Do it. You need to get back to Davis.” Perhaps mentioning her son’s name might get her moving. He knew that would be enough to get him to his feet again.
Tana looked up at him, her eyes wide, agonized, and confused. She closed Stu’s staring eyes and then kissed him on his slack, dead lips. Tomas could smell blood on the air, rich as fresh meat. Could the Ragers smell it, too?
“Oh, Stu,” she whispered.
Tomas pulled her to her feet and pressed her gun back into her fist. “Listen to me. They heard the shots, Tana. That means they’re on the move. We have to get back.”
Tana seemed to come to her senses. “What about the buses?”
“It doesn’t matter. They’re coming.”
They stood for a moment, motionless, silent, listening to the night. The faint sound of many footfalls bruising the pavement grew louder.
***
The mood inside the market was as dismal as the darkness outdoors. Tana was despondent, and nothing anyone could say would bring her out of it. Melanie found her deep in the stockroom, hidden behind stacks of boxes and crates of useless items.
“Tana, you’re going to have to come out of this,” Melanie said. She sat down beside the woman, noticing how swollen her eyes were from crying.
Tana said nothing. She only stared ahead, wetting her lips over and over.
“Davis needs you. Those kids out there need you. Stu wouldn’t have wanted—”
“Stu was an ass. That’s why he’s dead. Those people don’t mean anything to me. Only my boy, he’s the only one left.”
“Don’t say that, Tana.” Melanie slipped her arm around Tana. It was a gesture she would’ve never dreamed of doing before, but things were different now. She had never been much of a friend or a comfort; she was too shy, too unsure of her words and actions. But things were winding down. She had never realized how important human companionship was. She had her tiny circle—her mother and father, and then after them, her few friends, all gone, most likely—and Tomas and Christopher. But she missed so many things—faces on the street, laughter of strangers, kindness of others. Nevertheless, missing those things mattered very little. She couldn’t allow foolish compassion to put those she truly loved in peril.
“What else do you want me to say? That I want to keep up this charade? That I want to drag a bunch of retarded kids across the island to some imaginary haven? Come on, Mel.” Tana shrugged away from her embrace.
Melanie asked, “What’s here?”
“Nothing. The same as out there. But at least in here, we can go on for a little longer. Either way, time is almost up.” Tana stood and turned her back on Melanie. “I have no reason to do anything more than keep Davis happy and comfortable until the end. When it comes to that point, I have two bullets. I’ll use them. To hell with the rest of them.”
Melanie left Tana to her despair. Tomas was getting anxious to be on the road. He had put aside a few supplies, unwilling to take more than necessary from the nurses and the kids. No matter how he had tried to reason with them, they weren’t interested in trying to find help.
He refused to speak of Stu, but Melanie could read the hurt in his eyes. He’d formed a quick and common bond with the American. The night before, Tomas had admitted he felt he could place himself in the same situation.
Melanie didn’t mention her conversation with Stu in the stockroom only hours before he’d died. She had made a promise to keep Tana and Davis safe, but she had pissed on that the moment Tana announced she wouldn’t entertain the notion of leaving. So Melanie was a liar, but what did it matter? Stu obviously wasn’t going to show up and give her a tough time. All that mattered were Tomas, Christopher, and herself. Extra baggage would only slow them down, anyway.
February 13
Chapter 48
London, England
Just as they had left Finn and Colleen behind, they left Tana, Davis, the two nurses, and the kids. In the backseat, Christopher wept over leaving the other children, and Tomas had Melanie bring him up to the front seat for a while, even if it wasn’t the safest thing to do. Melanie cuddled Christopher and assured him he would find more children to play with once they reached Sanctuary. She only hoped she wasn’t telling yet another lie.
Deserted London passed by the windows, the buildings mostly dark, although there were a few spots of flickering light here and there behind blinds or drapes. A hospital had been set on fire, and recently by the looks of it. Smoke still rose from the blackened ruins, and the stink of it, like the odor of burnt meat, penetrated the car despite the closed windows.
As Tomas eased the Cooper past the E.R. entrance, Melanie heard him curse softly. She followed his gaze. From the skeletal remains of the awning, four bodies hung, a man and three women still dressed in the medical whites. Or at least what used to be white. Blood darkened their clothes until only snatches of white showed through in places. Their dead, slack faces looked nearly relieved. Melanie’s stomach clenched up, although seeing such things had become too common.
Shadowy figures darted between buildings. Howls erupted from time to time, but she found it difficult to tell if they were from humans or otherwise. Rats scurried away from the headlights, glaring back at them with their white Rager-like eyes. Later, they came across a feral dog tearing at the remains of an old man, but thankfully, Christopher had fallen asleep, still cuddled in Melanie’s lap.
Headlights brightened the streets a few times, prompting Tomas to cut his own lights and pull over into the shadows of the buildings.
It was a relief to be outside of London, finally. Tomas’s mood lifted some, but Melanie could see that his mind was still back with Tana and the children. He was beating himself up for leaving them behind, although it had been the only way. Melanie plugged her iPod into the car dock, and music filled the car. She chose The Clash, and Tomas drummed the beat on the steering wheel.
“Blast from the past,” he said. He reached over and ruffled his sleeping son’s hair, then caressed Melanie’s cheek. Melanie brought his weather-roughened fingers to her lips and kissed them. They drove on, not quite happy, but not completely unhappy. Snow flew at the windshield, the wipers beating back and forth to a time of their own. Tomas kept the needle around forty, not daring to move much faster. The snow was wet, and that seemed to make the driving a little easier.
The city gave way to countryside, the fields barren and blanketed with snow. Behind a wire fence, a small herd of undernourished cattle sullenly watched them pass.
“We’re going to be all right,” Tomas said. “As long as the three of us are together, we’ll be fine.”
***
The sign read, “Turn back now.”
The Cooper’s headlights brightened the road sign on the way into Southampton, but someone with an unsteady hand and a can of red spray paint had redecorated. The next sign up, a blackened petrol advert boasted the legend, “Sanctuary is gone.”
“Do you think it’s true?” Melanie asked. She wanted to panic, but tried to keep calm. It could be a trick or some kind of hoax.
She couldn’t read Tomas’s expression by the bluish dashboard lights. He didn’t look happy, but she didn’t think he had lost hope yet. They had buckled Christopher into the backseat at the last piss-stop, making Bo’s night. The dog nuzzled the boy’s face and planted a wet lick on his cheek. Christopher had giggled and playfully shoved at Bo’s snout.
They continued toward the water. The ice-obscured roadway rose, and they were suddenly crossing a bridge that seemed to go on forever. The dense nothingness that lay on either side was surreal, and Melanie imagined them floating through space, untethered from the earth. The hazy memory of visiting Southampton years ago popped into her mind, but like every other city they had passed through, it was nothing but formless shapes of buildings and snow mounded high on stalled and abandoned vehicles.
The city was one built on transport. Railroads snaked through it, concealed by the mounting accumulation of snow and ice. The Cooper thumped d
ully when they passed over the tracks. As they wove through the shapeless blobs of snowy autos, a pair of ocean liners could be seen in the darkness of the bay. Beyond them, a massive freighter ship dwarfed both, but the railcars were burning, the flames low and almost dead.
The headlights brightened another handmade sign. The sign originally contained an alert that Sanctuary was just ahead, but that message had been crossed out, replaced by a painted skull, the red paint running like thin blood.
“What do you think?” Melanie turned off the music.
“I think it’s not looking too good,” Tomas answered. “But I have to see for myself. To be sure.”
He guided the small car closer to the terminals. The wind howled up from the water, making the Cooper bobble slightly. The snow flew faster, covering the windshield quicker than the wipers could clear it. Tomas reached over, found his toboggan, and tugged it on, fitting it over his ears.
“Can’t we just drive closer?” Melanie asked, alarmed that he was leaving the safety of the car. At least if a Rager appeared, they could just floor it and get away.
“Are you able to see very much?” Tomas asked, slipping a small Maglite into his coat pocket. Next, he found Stu’s pistol with the laser sight. He checked the magazine and then glanced at Melanie.
Tana had also given them one of the service rifles and a couple of boxes of ammo. Melanie felt a bit guilty that they had taken the weapon, but Tana had insisted. Melanie had gotten the uncomfortable notion that Tana had counted heads and then bullets. She pushed that idea from her mind, unable to stand the thought of it.
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