Mass Extinction Event (Book 1): Days 1-8

by Amy Cross

  "There'll be more," I say quietly, suddenly experiencing a moment of total clarity.

  "You don't know that," Henry replies.

  "It makes sense," I continue. "Why would one of those things exist, but not others? Didn't you see how it was moving when it was talking to us? It was alive, at least partially. It was something else, something different, and there's no way that'd happen just once. There'll be more, I guarantee it."

  "You might be right," Bob says, cutting a piece from his steak. "See, Henry? Sometimes you need to listen to your sister." He turns to me. "We're gonna have to train you up on how to use a gun, Elizabeth. Not only for your safety, but for ours as well."

  "I don't know about that," I reply. "I don't really like guns."

  "A gun ain't nothing to be scared of," Bob says. "Treat it as a tool, treat it with respect, and you've got nothing to fear."

  "This is a big mistake," Henry says through gritted teeth. It's almost as if he's close to tears.

  "Would you rather your sister sat down here undefended?" Bob asks. For the first time, he seems slightly annoyed at Henry, as if he's getting tired of my little brother's tantrums. "What would you have her do? Sit around with a carving knife? Sit down here totally undefended, without even so much as a telephone so she can raise the alarm?"

  "You don't know her," Henry says, staring at me. "She's my sister. I know what she's like. She's dumb."

  "Thank you," I say, smiling at him.

  "You see?" he continues. "She can't even take this seriously."

  "Let's just calm down," Bob says. "We need to conserve energy, and you two squabbling is just a nightmare that I don't need right now. We need to work together, not pick each other apart. Henry, your input is appreciated as ever, and I hope you know by now that I value your opinion. However, we need to adapt to the situation, and if that means pulling in more resources, then so be it."

  "But if she -"

  "That's an order, soldier," Bob says firmly, glaring at my brother with an expression that leaves absolutely no doubt of his seriousness. Once again, Bob seems to be enjoying his role in charge, and now, for the first time, he's having to exercise his full authority and make Henry behave.

  "Fine," Henry mutters quietly, though it's clear that he's not convinced.

  "What's that, boy?" Bob asks, staring at him.

  "Yes, Sir," Henry says, taking a deep breath. "I shouldn't have questioned you. I know you know what you're doing, it's just that sometimes..." He looks over at me, and I swear there's genuine hatred in his eyes. I can't help wondering what, exactly, Bob has unleashed in my brother. "I'm sure she'll be fine," he says after a moment.

  "We'll do some practice work with a gun later," Bob says, turning to me, "just so you can get a basic understanding of how they work."

  "I can show her," Henry says darkly.

  "No, I'll do it," Bob replies, as if he's intentionally trying to embarrass Henry and push him away. It's pretty clear that Bob likes playing games, and that for some reason he's decided, after a few days of winding Henry closer and closer, to push him away. It seems kind of crazy that, even as we're dealing with a completely changed world, Bob is apparently keen to play mind games; even crazier is the realization that less than a week ago, when everything was normal, I'd barely even noticed that Bob existed, while Henry was just my annoying younger brother who spent too long playing video games. Has it really taken just five days for the world to turn on its head?

  The rest of the meal passes in relative silence. There's palpable tension in the air between Henry and Bob, and it's clear that Bob seems to be doing this deliberately. I feel as if I'm being used as a pawn in some kind of private feud between the pair of them, and I want to reach out and help my brother. Unfortunately, I'm pretty certain that Henry would rebuff any attempt at mending the fences between us, so I figure I just need to keep my head down and wait for him to come to me instead. It has to happen eventually.

  "I'll do the first night shift," Bob says eventually, as he finishes his steak. "I'll start tonight at 10pm, and then one of you can relieve me at 6am. You can sort it out between you, just as long as one of you'd there to take over. Henry, I'd appreciate it if you could check the roof of the building and make sure there are no unsecured doors or windows up there. I'm starting to think we need to be prepared for attacks from all levels. Elizabeth, we'll meet down here in half an hour and do some work on the guns. There's not much you need to know, but like I said, a little respect and learning goes a long way."

  Without replying, Henry stands up, grabs his rifle and walks through to the stairwell. It's pretty clear that he's sulking, and that he hates the fact that Bob seems to be drawing me closer to his 'inner circle'. There's a part of me that's glad to see Henry taken down a peg or two, but at the same time I hate seeing my brother having such a hard time.

  "Elizabeth," Bob says after a moment, "I think we need to talk about Henry." Letting out a sigh, he grabs a half-empty bottle of whiskey and pours himself a glass. "Can I offer you a drink?"

  I shake my head.

  "Suit yourself. More for me." After taking a sip, he sighs again. "I made a mistake. I thought your brother was made of the right stuff, Elizabeth. I thought he could take orders, and I thought he could keep a cool head. Instead, he seems to have this untamed wild streak that just won't be brought under control. I hoped to get his head into the right shape, but it's becoming clearer all the time that it's just not gonna happen. To be honest, I'm starting to worry that I've maybe created a monster."

  "He's not a monster," I say.

  Shrugging, Bob gets to his feet and heads over to the door. "I'm gonna grab some water," he says, "and then we'll see about your training." With that, he walks away, and I hear his tired feet slugging up the stairwell.

  Sitting alone, feeling the weight of the gun in my hand, I try to imagine myself firing it at something. At someone. In my mind's eye, I keep replaying the moment when Henry shot the man in the car, and I try to work out whether I'd ever be able to pull the trigger in such a situation. The truth is, I feel like I could; if my life was in danger, or if the lives of other people were in danger, I feel I could do it. Maybe that makes me a cold-hearted bitch, and it's certainly not something I'd ever have predicted just a few days ago. At the same time, the rules of the world have changed dramatically. If it came down to a kill-or-be-killed situation, I think I could kill. In fact, I know I could kill.

  I'm terrified of dying.

  Looking up, I suddenly realize that I heard a noise in the distance. The hairs on the back of my neck immediately stand up as I imagine a group of intruders breaking through the door at the rear of the building. Sliding the safety switch off, I take the gun over to the door that leads through to the rear of the building. For a moment, there's nothing but silence, but then I hear the noise again: a kind of slipping, shuffling sound. Just as I'm about to turn and fetch Bob and Henry, I hear the noise again, but this time it seems to be a little clearer, and a little more distinct.

  Someone's weeping.

  It takes a moment before I realize that this must be Mallory, the girl Bob has been keeping tied up. In all the confusion that's occurred today, I completely forgot all about her.

  The weeping continues. She sounds truly miserable, as if she's lost all hope.

  Glancing over toward the lobby, I see that there's no sign of Bob. I guess he's still on his way up to his apartment. Figuring that I have the gun, so I have no reason to be scared, I force myself to ignore my fears; instead, I make my way through to the next room, and then through to the storage room where Bob and Henry have been keeping Mallory tied to a chair.

  "Hello?" I say as I finally spot Mallory at the far end of the dark and gloomy room. She's still tied to the chair, and I can see that there's no-one else around.

  The weeping stops.

  "I heard you crying," I say, making sure to stay far enough away, just in case she tries something.

  "Who are you?" she asks, with her back to me.


  "That doesn't matter," I say. "Do you want something? Are you hungry? Thirsty?"

  "You have to help me," she says, her voice trembling and weak. "Untie me, before he comes back. He's going to kill me!"

  "He just needs to make sure you're on our side," I say, taking a deep breath. My heart is pounding, and I'm convinced that she's going to suddenly burst free from the ropes and make a run at me.

  "He's going to kill me," she replies.

  "No," I say. "He's just checking that you're -"

  "Look at me!" she says, turning so that I can see one side of her face. It's immediately clear that she's got several cuts and bruises around her eyes and cheek. I'm certain that she did have any marks on her when she first came here yesterday.

  "How did that happen?" I ask, starting to get a horrible feeling of apprehension in the pit of my stomach. Glancing over at the little wooden table by the wall, I see an array of tools laid out: a hammer, some pliers, some wire, some needles, all of them covered in blood.

  "I can't take the pain," she whimpers. "He knows I'm not a threat. He just wants to hurt me."

  Stepping a little closer, I keep the gun raised, just in case this is a trap. Still, as I move slowly around the chair, I can see that Mallory's in a terrible state. Her clothes are torn, ripped open in place to expose her naked body. Her face is bruised and battered, and her hands and arms are covered in blood. When I look at her eyes, I see that she's struggling to remain conscious.

  "Please," she whispers, with tears streaming down her face, "if you won't let me go, then just shoot me. Do something. Before he comes back. I can't take it anymore. Save me or kill me, it's up to you. Just don't let him come near me again. I can't take this anymore. Kill me."

  Chapter Eight

  Oklahoma

  "What are you waiting for?" Joe asks, as we stand on the lawn. "You gonna do it, or what?"

  We're ready to torch the house, but I can't quite bring myself to strike the match. Not yet. The thought of our family home going up in smoke is bad enough; the thought of our mother's body sitting at the kitchen table, her dried blood on the notebook, a pen in her hand, her eyes staring straight ahead, is just too much to comprehend. I can't keep myself from imagining the flames as they roar through the kitchen, consuming her body, burning her skin to a crisp and eventually leaving nothing but bones. It's such a horrible thought, but I can't stop going over and over and over the same images in my mind, and each time I think of her suddenly looking over at me and screaming as the skin melts from her face.

  "You want me to do it?" Joe asks, sounding bored. Since he woke up a few hours ago, hungover and in a foul mood, he's been stomping around like an asshole. He took the news of our mother's death in his stride, saying it wasn't much of a surprise, and he didn't even seem that surprised when I told him about the cop. I guess he doesn't really believe me; he thinks I'm a stupid kid who makes things up and gets hysterical. Even when I showed him the burnt skeleton on the lawn, he just shrugged and acted like it was nothing important. Sometimes, I feel like Joe exists in his own little world where the actions of other people don't matter at all.

  "I'm gonna do it," I say after a moment. "I just think maybe we should say something first. Like, something as a mark of respect."

  "You're gonna torch the place, and you're talking about respect?"

  "There's two bodies in there," I remind him.

  He shrugs. "You wanna say something, then say something. Otherwise, let's get going. We've wasted today already; I don't wanna waste tomorrow as well. We've gotta hit the ground running."

  "If you hadn't been wasted -"

  "Get on with it," he says firmly, scratching his scalp as if he's bored and restless.

  Sighing, I stare at the house. "Dear Lord," I say, struggling to think of the right thing to say. I should have listened better, all those times I heard religious people saying important stuff. "Dear Lord, please watch over our mother's soul and... let her into Heaven. She lived a good life, she didn't ever do anything wrong to anyone and she deserves to be up in Heaven now. So does our father, so please let them be together. And Lydia too." I pause for a moment. "Joe, what was Lydia's second name?"

  He shrugs.

  "Please take Lydia into Heaven too," I continue, "and forgive them all any sins they might have made. Please show your mercy and do the right thing by them all. And please bless our journey, because we're not sure what's going to happen when we get to Scottsville. We pray that you see to it that things get put back to how they were. We pray that not too many people have died. We also ask you to take into Heaven the police officer who -"

  "Okay, that's enough," Joe says, grabbing the matchbox from me and striking one of the matches, before holding it out above the trail of gasoline that leads to the house. "It's a shame," he says after a moment, "but I guess it's come to this. Don't thank God. If he's real, this is all his fault anyway." With that, he drops the match. Almost immediately, a line of fire bursts toward the house, up the steps, and in through the front door. For a few seconds, it seems like that's about all that's going to happen, but finally I spot some flames around the back as well.

  It's weird, but I assumed we'd just turn and walk away when the fire started. Instead, without saying anything to each other, we just kind of stand there and watch as the fire spreads through the house. After a while, I see an orange glow coming from the kitchen, which means the flames have reached our mother. I try to stop thinking about her body, burning up in the inferno, but I guess it's natural to think about that kind of thing at a time like this. Closing my eyes, I dip my head and say a private little prayer, reminding God that he really ought to let my parents into Heaven, and asking him to show some mercy to those of us who are left down here. I can't help feeling that if Joe and I are going to get through this and work out what's going on in the world, we need to have a little help from a higher power.

  "You ready?" Joe says, turning and walking away. "You can drive," he calls back to me after a moment.

  Opening my eyes, I feel the heat of the blaze on my face and I realize that although I could stand here all evening and all night watching the fire, it's better if we get moving. Reluctantly, I turn and follow Joe over to the truck. Just as I'm about to get into the driver's seat, I hear a huge crashing sound; looking over at the house, I watch as the entire roof gives way, smashing down and bursting through one of the main walls. Seconds later, another wall gives way and collapses into the flames. Finally, the shape of the house isn't really visible within the fire; it's just a huge blaze, with pieces of wood sticking out from a couple of spots, but you'd never know it was ever a house unless you'd seen it before.

  "It's gone," I say quietly, holding back the tears that are welling up behind my eyes. "Rest in peace, Mom."

  "I'm gonna sleep while you drive," Joe says, getting into the truck. "My head's fucking killing me."

  Once I've got into the driver's seat and started the engine, I switch the headlights on so I can see my way in the late evening gloom, and finally I ease the vehicle down the driveway and onto the main road. Glancing in the mirror, I take one final look at the house, and just for a moment I think I see a figure walking through the flames. It's just my imagination, though, so I accelerate and start us off on the long, dark journey to Scottsville. Within a few minutes, Joe has already started snoring next to me, but I don't really mind. I'm just focused on the road ahead, which is picked out by the headlights, After a while, with no other traffic around, I start to settle into the rhythm of the journey. I reach up and test the radio, but of course there's no-one broadcasting and the dial goes from one end of the spectrum to the other without picking up a signal. Taking a deep breath, I decide to relax as much as I can during the journey itself. After all, we've got no idea what to expect when we reach Scottsville in the morning.

  Day Six

  Chapter One

  New York

  The city looks so strange at night, with no lights and no movement. Skyscrapers rise up like hug
e monoliths, their dark faces seeming almost like the bare bones of a city that that has had all the meat stripped away. Meanwhile, in a mocking kind of way, the stars above have never seemed brighter. The silence of the city makes everything seem even more bare and desolate, and works as a constant reminder of the noise that has been lost. Standing alone at the broken window in our apartment, I close my eyes and feel the breeze as it brushes past me. It's as if I've been transported to some completely different place, to some other land based on fractured images that come from half-remembered dreams. I can't help wondering whether that old world, my old life, was real.

  Hearing a noise in the distance, I open my eyes. Given that there are only four people living in this entire high-rise, any noise is worthy of note. Bob's supposed to be downstairs, keeping guard in case any interlopers turn up at the front door, while my brother Henry is asleep and snoring in his bedroom. The only person left, apart from me, is Mrs. DeWitt, but she hasn't been out of her apartment for a few days. Bob claims to have spoken to her yesterday, and reports that she has some supplies stored away, but I figure she has to come out eventually. Still, it's hard to understand why anyone would be wandering around the building in the early hours of the morning. Try as I might, I can't help being a little worried.

  Then again, there's a fifth person. Or at least, there's supposed to be a fifth person. Down in one of the rooms at the back of the building, tied to a chair and awaiting her next round of 'interrogation', Mallory is supposed to be fully restrained. That's the idea, anyway. That's the theory. The truth is a little more complicated. Mallory isn't tied to chair. Not now. I let her go a couple of hours ago, but I didn't tell anyone. I'm just waiting for Bob or Henry to realize what's happened, at which point I guess they're raise hell and start trying to track her down. Maybe that's what the noise is, then; maybe it's Bob, racing along the corridors as he tries to find his former prisoner. If that's the case, there's only one thing left for me to do: I have to hope and pray that he won't find out that I was the one who loosened Mallory's ropes and helped her get away.